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cherri-tomato · 24 days ago

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Venomous.

Pairing: SpiderMan x fem!venom!reader

Chapter Summary: y/n visits an abandoned lab to find some good photos for a class assignment but finds herself in over her head when she comes face-to-face with a creature calling itself venom.

Chapter content: Near death experience, descriptions of injuries, angst, potential body horror (its venom soo), brief mention of animal death, brief mention of vomiting (non-graphic), mention of assault (not to reader)

Series masterlist

The old Oscorp laboratory that sits on the outskirts of New York wasn't exactly the place most college students expected to spend their Friday night. Even y/n, who usually spent her time alone or developing old photos in her university's old darkroom instead of hanging out with nonexistent friends, didn't make a habit of visiting dilapidated buildings alone with only a camera and a flashlight.

The lab was in the middle of the forest, surrounded by a rusting chain link fence—a ‘CAUTION! ELECTRIC FENCE!’ The sign was on the ground beside said fence, having long since fallen off. Normally this would have made y/n turn around and try to find a less dangerous place to take pictures for her photography class, but it just so happened that a large, y/n sized hole had at somepoint been cut into the fence, leaving the perfect entrance for curious (and borderline suicidal) university students to slip through with relative ease.

The laboratories walls were covered in vines, the plants wrapping themselves around anything their tendrils came into contact with. The door to the lab was gone, leaving just a gaping hole as an entrance, and y/n entered easily, snapping a few pictures of the outside as she did. The inside was, much like the outside, a complete mess. The walls, once a pristine and clinical white, now a dirty, greenish-gray, with splatters of what y/n could only hope was just some random chemical and not blood. Blue double doors lined the hall, a small rectangular window on each one. After opening a few doors and taking some photos of the old science equipment, she finally found herself standing in front of the last door at the end of the hallway. Through the small windows she could see it was a stairwell, and pushed the door open, entering the well and taking some pictures of the eerie stairs leading into the complete darkness of the second floor.

Pointing her flashlight up the stairs, she began to climb. She stopped at the second level door which was marked with a large ‘2’, and gave the handle a rough shove to push the door open. The hallway itself was much the same as on the first floor, though it was certainly worse for ware. The walls were covered in an oozing black, ink-like substance, and a couple doors were completely gone. y/n took a step back, only managing to snap one or two pictures of the bizarre scene before she felt something under her begin to shift. The floor below her made an awful cracking sound and some debris crumbled from the ceiling above her. She took a shuttered breath and was about to turn and run when the ceiling suddenly gave out, and everything went dark.

A heavy pressure was the first thing she felt. Then, an excruciating pain shot through her entire body. She tried to scream, but the ruble covering—or rather, crushing—her made any noise impossible. All but her head was trapped. Above her, she could see the hole she had fallen through just barely in the dim light and dust filled air. She coughed, and felt the pressure compress her chest. She wondered, in a hazy and distinctly concussed way, if she was going to die here. Alone, crushed by the heavy cement ceiling of an abandoned building she was never meant to be in. Tears welled in her eyes, and she let them close for a moment before she felt something drip onto her face. ‘Blood?’ she wondered. Her eyes fell on the hole she'd fallen through to see that the inky black stuff was dripping down from the floor above and landing directly on her face.

If she could move, or even feel, her arms, she would have immediately tried to wipe the strange goo off her cheek, but she was immobilized and could only watch in disgust as the black sludge dripped onto her. Then, she felt the inky stuff move. And she froze. The slime wriggled against her skin and she could only hope it wasn't some sort of poison as she felt the thing be absorbed into her skin.

Something changed at that moment. Y/n couldn’t tell what, but something did. She felt her arms twitch, and then her legs—which she was certain were completely broken—seemed to snap back together. She cried out in pain as her body's bones corrected themselves, her scraped skin gluing itself back together before she felt the same black sludge engulf her entire body.

Something was definitely wrong with her. That's the first thought that passed through y/n's mind when she felt herself standing, the rubble that was crushing her now light, and her body, which had previously been torn apart by the fall and subsequent cruising of all her bones, now felt strong, mended and somehow improved. She moved, though she felt as though it was both not her own movements and completely of her own volition. She lifted her hand and- oh. Yes, something was in fact very, very wrong with y/n. Her own hand was gone—or rather, covered by a longer and, well, sharper one. Her skin was instead a black inky mass of sorts—the inky sludge that had covered her no doubt—and her fingers were longer and clawed. She looked down at herself and was met with the same sight. An inky black mass was now replacing her once distinctly human form.

She must’ve passed out then, because when she finally came to, she was once again in the forest, laying on her back and staring up at the stars. She lifted her hand, which was shaky and scratched, but no longer broken or made of slime, so she supposed that was an improvement.

“It's about time you woke up.”

A voice said, and she sat up, looking around frantically for whatever had spoken, but found only forest. She tugged at her sleeve nervously. “Jesus, I must be losing it..” she muttered, trying to steady her rapid heart beat.

“Think again, kid,” the voice spoke again, this time accompanied by a…head? It seemed to be emerging from her back. She turned, but there was no one behind her. That was, apart from the head, now grinning. Its mouth, which was put on full display thanks to that damned smile, was large and full of sharp teeth. its eyes were white and angular, staring into her very soul.

“

“W-what…” She could feel herself break out in a cold sweat, goosebumps covering her skin. “What the fuck are you…?” She asked, because what else could she even say?

“We are Venom.” it said, and her brow furrowed.

“We?”

“You and I, kid. We are Venom. And we are hungry.”

She shook her head, forcing herself onto her feet. “For what? People!?” She stared at the head.

“You learn quickly.” it—Venom—replied, and y/n’s heart dropped to her feet.

“No. Absolutely not.” She took a step back, but Venom, of course, wasn’t exactly going anywhere. “I'm not doing any of this little shop of horrors bullshit!” She was practically screaming at this point. ‘this whole thing is crazy!’

“You owe me, kid. I saved your skin; now it's your turn.” Venom said, its grin growing impossibly larger.

“I-i never asked for your help! I didn't even know you were…alive.” She shuddered at the memory of the inky slime covering her.

“Come on, y/n. You scratch my back, I scratch yours.”

she froze, her blood running cold. “H-how do you know my name…?” She asked, and Venom made a noise that was probably supposed to be a laugh.

“Oh, I know everything about you, y/n l/n. I'm inside your head.” She flinched as venom leaned closer, its black tendrils brushing against her skin. “I know you want power. You want to be seen. I can give that to you.”

she shook her head. “No, no! You’re… you‘re not real…”

She turned and began to walk, ignoring the voice that continued to speak.

“Come on, kid. I know you want to.”

“Shut up! You don't know anything about me!” She forced herself to walk faster, stepping over logs and roots as she finally made her way out of the forest and onto a street. “This is fucking insane. I’m losing my god damn mind…” She muttered to herself, walking down the sidewalk. She didn’t recognize the part of town she was in, but that was the last thing on her mind. She must've been walking aimlessly for quite a while, because when she stopped, she realized she was in the middle of the sidewalk in an area of town where a young woman definitely wouldn't want to be alone at such an hour.

“Don't be scared kid, you have us now.”

She startles, glancing around to try and spot the head of Venom, but not seeing any sign of it. “God, don't do that shit!” She hissed, rubbing the nape of her neck as though to remove Venom from her all together.

She moved to start walking again when a noise stopped her dead in her tracks. It definitely sounded like a cry of some kind. She looked around, and wrapped her arms around herself nervously. Y/n slowly walked forward, not making it very far before she heard the noise again, and turned to stare into an alley.

She narrowed her eyes; somewhere in the darkness she can see the form of two people, one cowering on the ground and the other standing menacingly over them. She bristled. ‘A mugging?’ That was probably the best case scenario all things considered.

“We could help.” venom said, its tendrils curling around her arm. “You want to. Just give me control.”

She took a sharp breath. She could save them, but would the cost be worth it?

She didn’t get to finish thinking, because the looming figure pounced causing the person on the ground to shriek, and then something inside her snapped and she became Venom.

The fight, if you could even call it that, didn't last long. Venom wasn't lying when it said it was hungry, and the assailant was no match for its jaws. The person huddled on the ground—a woman who looked to be in her mid-twenties—had run the second the person attacking her was distracted. Good.

Y/n tried not to think about what just happened, even as venom retreated back into her and she ran from the alley, not stopping until she was standing in front of her dorm building. She unlocked the door, stepping inside and letting out a sigh of relief as she collapsed onto her creaky bed, burying her face in her pillow, and then promptly getting back up to go vomit in her toilet.

Venom was quiet for a while, and she hoped it was because it knew she needed time, but maybe it was just digesting. She didn't sleep much that night.

────────────

Spider Man landed on a roof near the alley he had heard the screams from. It was quiet now, but he knew that wasn't necessarily a good sign. He dropped into the alley, looking around for any signs of someone in danger, and froze. A puddle of blood, some black, inky looking substance, and a woman's purse were the only things in the alley. He picked up the bag and cracked it open, retrieving a wallet and then an ID. He looked around—whoever left the blood was gone, but they obviously weren't looking to rob anyone, considering the wad of cash still in the woman's purse. He was about to investigate further when he heard sirens and carefully placed the purse down; they would have an easier time returning this to its owner after all. He swung out of the alleyway, still unsure what exactly went down in the small amount of time it had taken him to get to the scene.

#cherries fanfictions✧*｡٩(ˊᗜˋ*)و✧*｡#spiderman x reader #spider man #spiderman x venom!reader #angst #venom!reader #fanfic #the amazing spider man #x fem!reader #x female reader #tasm peter parker x reader #peter parker x reader #venom #fanfiction series #series #tw: violence #tw: blood #Venomous.

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atruththatyoudeny · 4 months ago

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Happy 28th! Here are all the amazing fics I read this month:

Have Love, Will Travel | kingsofeverything | [97k] Rather than spend the summer working at their desks, Louis and Harry are given the opportunity to crisscross the country together in a tiny camper, filming their adventures for a YouTube series. It soon becomes obvious to their viewers that there’s something more than friendship between them. Eventually, they figure it out.

everything of mine is yours | blueskiesrry | [33k] "Did you two have a good time?” Harry in his bathroom, brushing his teeth with frizzy hair and tired eyes. Harry on the couch cuddled up with Posy, cradling her in the crook of his elbow, humming a soft song. Harry laughing with his friends in a pub on a Friday night, a flower field in his eyes. Harry in his bed tucked under the covers, naked against fresh sheets like a shock of moonlight cutting through a storm. “Yeah,” he says. “We did.” or: With Harry in New York finishing up his PhD and Louis in London working as a solicitor, they try to navigate their eight year situationship including almost-daily phone calls, the occasional indulgence of casual phone sex, and endless gossip sessions as the feelings they have for each other get harder to ignore.

Sweeter Than I Ever Knew | mandylynn4 | [32k] Harry has spent his heats alone since he's presented, but his roommate, Niall, is convinced that he needs to try out The Agency - an app that lets alphas and omegas partner for heats. Unsure, he signs up and goes through 5 heats with different alphas. Some are good experiences, others are awful. But, in the end, he finds that his heats with the right alpha can be sweeter than he ever knew. TRIGGER WARNING FOR CHAPTER 2 - READ TAGS!!!

Cuddlebug | sun_flowr | [19k] When the call from the adoption agency finally calls, Harry and Louis are surprised to discover that they have been tentatively paired with a young pup named Rami, who suffers from a multitude of issues stemming from the abandonment he’s suffered. But no matter the challenges, they know they will do everything they can to care for and love this pup as if he was their own.

My Lungs Don't Breathe (don't want any kind of life without you, dear) | red_panda28 | [5.6k] Suddenly a cough bubbled up in his lungs and he froze. Laying in his palm was a single flower petal, pastel pink, and velvet soft. The first thought that struck him was well, guess I am in love with Louis. Then another realisation hit. It also meant that Louis didn’t love him back. OR Harry falls victim to the Hanahaki Disease after meeting Louis, Louis has his own secret, and Zayn is a good friend

Yesterday’s gone (it’ll be better than before) | red_panda28 | [3.5k] Leo’s frown. His attempt to call after Louis. Ed saying he was surprised to see Louis here. All those little moments fell into place the moment he spotted Harry Styles. Harry Styles, his former bandmate. Harry Styles, who he hadn’t seen face to face in over three years. Harry Styles, who was technically still Harry Tomlinson-Styles. OR Louis and Harry run into each other at the Euros, there's a mix up at the hotel and they have a past

It's written all over your... (or: the Red Carpet fic) | BlueNeptuune | [11k] The star-studded cast of Steal My Girl graced the red carpet on Saturday night ahead of the premiere screening, sparking an internet sensation like no other. The film itself received an average of 4-and-a-half stars from early reviews, launching it into the spotlight as a contender for the up-and-coming awards season, but the real news came from the carpet itself. Oscar-winner Louis Tomlinson (Kill My Mind, Back For You) made his first public appearance following the badly-hidden split from his management in early 2020, and he wasn’t exactly keen to talk about it. It was also the first time since his earliest work (Still The One is featured on our summer-vibes throwback list) that he’s attended the carpet by himself – rumours swirled that he’d split with his long-time girlfriend, but are the two things related? Tomlinson himself wasn’t spilling any tea, but it looks like one journalist in particular might have coaxed a little more out of him than anyone else...

Sweet Mondays | sweetkalachuchi | [3.5k] Harry Styles and Louis Tomlinson have ended their marriage; neither of them knew the other would be at the Euros. Niall was there too. And there was only one bed.

Get Him Back | softfonds | [17k] After finding out his husband was unfaithful, Harry does one thing that makes him feel good again. But it's up in the air if that one thing will stay.

Wild at Heart | She_bear | [50k] Louis is a lost soul, sailing around a remote archipelago in the Philippines when he makes a surprising discovery. A castaway fic ___________ "Like the island itself, he was a quite bewildering and ever changing landscape of beauty. Nothing was the same now Louis was here. The placid solitude to which Harry had grown accustomed had been replaced by fun and exquisite physical pleasure. By conversation, affection and connection. And with that all his peace was lost."

Sugar, Sugar | parmahamlarrie | [25k] Meeting your soulmate was the most joyous event of one’s life… or at least, it’s supposed to be. Harry, in all of his 25 year old wisdom, was suspicious of the role fate plays in everyone's lives. He'd rather focus his time dating older men he meets off of a sugar baby website. Louis isn’t waiting with bated breath for his soulmate either. He has more important things to worry about than love. Mainly, his career as a writer, publishing under a pseudonym. He spends most of the year buried under research and manuscripts, taking as much time as he would like, much to his publishers' chagrin. After receiving many millions after the death of his Aunt Ethel when he was young, he technically never has to work again. As far as soulmates go, he figures if it happens, he will be so old that he’ll be stuck in his ways. Or he’ll have grey eyes forever, he doesn’t fucking care. He can get his needs met through a sugar baby website. Or… The Sugar baby soulmate AU

The Cottage | HoldingOnToChaos | [70k] Louis hates alphas and he has good reason to, but when his beloved omega grandmother dies, and he inherits her cottage, he meets Harry, an alpha hazelnut farmer who sneaks his way into Louis’ life. While Louis struggles with his severe touch deprivation, he forms a friendship with Harry that turns out to be exactly what he needed. -- Or Louis has severe touch deprivation and Harry has a hazelnut farm.

The Capillaries In My Eyes Are Bursting | 5secsoflarry | [14k] Two armoured palace guards stand there, speaking with the old, widowed beta. Harry watches curiously from the space in the back, ducking down a little in an attempt to hide. There have been whispers through the town of omegas being gathered and forced to the castle all week long - something about the King being ill - but Harry had thought they were only rumours….. OR Medieval times where King Louis is in a near death accident and enters a coma. The royal doctor says they have two weeks to find Louis’ true soulmate (omega) or he dies.

#28th appreciation #fic rec #my fic rec #monthly fic rec #my reads #larry fics

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calif0rnia-lovers · 8 months ago

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daydream look.

pairing: steve harrington x sinclair!oc

author's note: I have so many unfinished harrington stories. Sharing this one. It's unedited, but I hope you enjoy it. I just needed Steve head over heels over someone other than Nancy.

sum: On a Friday night, the streets of Hawkins, Indiana, bustled with activity. Yet, inside the local video rental store, Steve Harrington found himself stuck behind the counter, drowning his pangs of envy with a half-melted slushie as he watched the vibrant energy of the town pass by. However, his mood quickly shifted when a familiar face stepped through the door—a pretty girl whose presence had always left the usual charmer a bumbling mess.

The scorching sun beat down mercilessly on the streets of Hawkins, Indiana, casting shimmering waves of heat over the asphalt. Inside the refuge of the Family Video, Steve Harrington found himself ensnared behind the counter, the oppressive heat seeming to stretch time itself.

The tiny fan behind the desk whirred weakly, offering little relief. Steve's shirt clung to his skin, and beads of sweat glistened on his forehead as he attempted to cool himself with his half-melted slushie. The rapidly melting bittersweet concoction of cherry and lime provided a fleeting respite from the sweltering temperatures, but it did little to alleviate his growing sense of restlessness.

The store, usually a hive of activity, lay deserted, its usual throngs of patrons seeking solace from the heat elsewhere. Steve couldn't help but envy those lucky enough to enjoy a refreshing dip at the local pool while he remained trapped behind the counter, counting down the minutes until closing time.

Just as Steve's boredom threatened to consume him entirely, the jingle of the door interrupted his thoughts. Stepping into the store was a vision straight out of a John Hughes film—Yasmine Sinclair. Steve's heart skipped a beat at the sight of her.

Known affectionately as Yas by her friends, unfortunately, Steve hadn't made it that far yet. Hell, according to Robin, he's not even an acquaintance.

"You're just the creepy older guy who stares longingly at her from the bleachers every Friday night," she'd always tease, her sarcasm dripping like honey.

Steve would usually retort, but deep down, he knew she was right. He's just the guy who can't seem to form a coherent sentence in Yas's presence.

He'd expected to see her still dressed in her Hawkin's cheer uniform. It was Friday night after all. Instead, her long black hair, meticulously braided was pulled into a high ponytail, swaying as she glanced over her shoulder at the sounds of a mother attempting to wrangle her three rowdy boys. Steve loved it when she wore her hair up. It led to no possible obstructions of view, allowing the world to see her natural beauty, her radiant smile, and the warmth of her deep chocolate eyes. Despite the sweltering heat, she looked perfect. Not a single sign that just an hour before she was running laps to end cheer practice.

How could she look that beautiful when he was a sweltering mess?

The corners of his lips turned into a smile at the sight of the cropped Thriller T-shirt. Steve's eyes passed over the high-waisted acid-washed shorts, admiring how they hugged her curves in all the right places. They traveled down the length of her legs, lingering for a moment on the pair of poorly tied white worn Converse.

"Have some dignity, Harrington," Robin's voice broke through his reverie, her tone laced with amusement. Her gaze followed Steve's as he watched Yas hold the door open for the family of four. "You're practically drooling."

Steve tore his gaze away from Yas, feeling the heat rise to his cheeks.

"Shut up, Robin," he muttered, abandoning his slushie on the counter. He quickly glanced at the nearby monitor, checking to see if his teeth and tongue were stained from the icy treat. Satisfied that he appeared presentable, he straightened up.

But Robin was relentless. "You know, if you ever want to actually talk to her instead of just ogling from afar, I'm here to help," she offered, her smirk evident even in her words.

Steve turned to shoot Robin a playful glare, but she merely grinned in response, unfazed by his attempted intimidation. She'd lost track of the times she witnessed Steve Harrington's daydream look in the presence of the pretty Hawkin's senior.

"I do talk to her," Steve protested, his voice laced with mock indignation.

Robin raised an eyebrow, a teasing glint in her eyes. "Oh, my bad Harrington, I forgot you do," she replied, her tone dripping with sarcasm. "It's just so painful to witness, I try to sear it from my mind. Like that time you told her she had the most graceful roundoff backhandspring you'd ever seen? Classic."

Steve's cheeks flushed crimson as he recalled the awkwardly landing compliment he had blurted out as Lucas stopped his sister to let her know he was catching a ride with Dustin and Steve.

"Alright, alright," he conceded, his grin sheepish. "I didn't realize you were cataloging all my lines. Geez."

Robin snorted with laughter, her eyes sparkling with mischief. The pair watching Yas cross the store, eyes passing over the options Family Video had to offer. "That was a line?" she exclaimed, her amusement evident. "First piece of advice, Steve: never use it again."

Steve sighed, adjusting his work vest with a self-conscious shrug. "I'm just rusty," he muttered, his cheeks still tinged with embarrassment.

But Robin was relentless, her teasing knowing no bounds. "Well, if you ever need some pointers on how to actually hold a conversation with her, you know where to find me," she offered, her smirk widening.

Steve rolled his eyes with a playful smirk as Robin concentrated on turning the fan in her direction. "Thanks, Robin," he replied, his tone laced with sarcasm. "I'll be sure to keep that in mind. But, I don't need any help."

Robin's lips curled into a playful smirk. "Aren't you still single, Casanova?" she teased, her voice carrying a hint of challenge.

Steve's grin faltered for a moment before he countered, "Weren't you just asking me how to ask out Vickie?"

Robin gasped in mock hurt, her hand darting out to ruffle Steve's hair. With practiced ease, Steve ducked away, hastily smoothing down his tousled locks with a sheepish grin.

"Hey, cut it out!" he protested, but Robin's laughter echoed through the quiet store.

As Steve watched Yas pause to admire the "new releases" shelf, a pang of nervous energy surged through him. Glancing over at Robin, he lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper.

"What help would you be willing to give? If I was looking, hypothetically?" he queried, his gaze flickering with uncertainty.

Robin shot her best friend a mischievous glance, her eyes dancing with amusement. With a sly grin, she deepened her voice and called out, "Need help, ma'am?"

Steve's cheeks flushed with embarrassment as he turned to shoot Robin a glare, but she had already vanished into the maze of shelves, leaving him to awkwardly lean against the counter. As Yas's gaze swept across the store, her eyes finally settling on him, Steve's heart skipped a beat, and he couldn't help but wonder if Robin's teasing had inadvertently set something in motion.

"Welcome to Family Video, where every night is movie night!" Steve's voice, tinged with a hint of charm, filled the air, echoing against the shelves lined with VHS tapes. His gaze met hers, his once natural gift of charm beginning to dissipate as she started in his direction. "I'm Steve."

His ears reddened as the nearby stacks snickered.

Fuck, Harrington. Steve could practically feel Robin's telepathical remark smacking him against the back of his head. She's got you bad, huh? Just abandon ship!

"Hey, Stevie," Yas greeted him with a giggle, her warm smile sending a flutter through his chest. It was a nickname he'd hated over the years, putting an end to it the second anyone dared to mutter it. But, hearing it from her lips? It sounded heaven sent. "I missed you at the game last night."

Steve's heart skipped a beat at her words, caught off guard by the unexpected mention. Despite his efforts to appear composed, a subtle tremor betrayed his nerves as he stumbled over his words. A nervous habit, his fingers sought solace in the tousled locks of his hair, a gesture not lost on the beautiful girl.

"Yeah, I was here," he sighed. "But I'm sure you looked great," he quickly amended, the sight of her growing smile causing him to do tbe same. "I meant...you did great," he chuckled, his voice softening as her gaze briefly dropped from his to her fingers.

"What can I do for you today?" Steve finally managed to ask, his voice a mixture of professionalism and genuine curiosity, his eyes lingering on Yas, eager to assist her in any way he could.

"I'm looking for a movie for date night," she explained, her eyes scanning the rows of movie titles with a thoughtful expression. "Something exciting, a bit of romance, but not too much," she added with a playful grin, "I don't want him to throw up." She paused, a hint of hesitation flickering in her eyes before she continued, "Oh, and nothing too scary because I can't handle blood and gore."

Internally, Steve's heart sank at the thought of Yas picking out the perfect movie for a date with another guy. A pang of jealousy surged through him, followed by a wave of insecurity as his mind raced through a list of potential suitors. There were a lot. Nearly every guy in Hawkins was enamored by the beauty of the eldest Sinclair. He quickly pushed aside the intrusive thoughts, forcing himself to focus on Yas's request.

Yas's request hung in the air. Steve found himself studying her intently, his mind running through the catalogue he'd spent the morning reshelving. She turned to find him lost in thought, a rush of warmth creeping across her skin as she caught his gaze.

Yas opened her mouth to add more, but Steve's eyes lit up with such fervor that she couldn't help but pause, her words momentarily forgotten at the sight of his grin.

Steve's eyes lit up as he spotted the perfect option. "Got it," he exclaimed with newfound confidence before darting around the corner to retrieve the film.

Seconds later, Steve returned, a triumphant grin lighting up his face as he held up the VHS tape. "Indiana Jones: Raiders of the Lost Ark," he announced proudly, presenting the tape to Yas with a flourish. "It's got everything you're looking for – excitement, romance, and just the right amount of danger. Plus, it's a classic!"

As she accepted the tape, her fingers brushed against Steve's, sending a jolt of warmth coursing through him. Her fingers delicately tracing the cover as she examined the bold illustrations.

"A classic, huh?" she remarked, her voice tinged with intrigue as she turned the tape over in her hands, her gaze lingering on the unfamiliar image of Indiana Jones.

"Yeah, definitely," Steve replied with a nod, his eyes lighting up with excitement. "It's one of my all-time favorites. You know, there's this one scene where Indiana Jones has to outrun a giant boulder in a booby-trapped cave –"

Yas's eyebrows raised in interest as she listened to Steve's animated explanation, her lips curving into a smile. "Wow, that sounds intense," she commented, her gaze flickering with amusement.

"Yeah, it starts off with the action from the very beginning," Steve continued, his enthusiasm bubbling over. "And there's this moment where Indy swings across a chasm with his whip – it's classic Harrison Ford at his finest!"

Yas nodded along, her eyes sparkling with curiosity as Steve rambled on about the film. Despite her initial reservations, she found herself drawn in by his infectious passion for the movie.

As Steve finally caught himself mid-ramble, he cleared his throat awkwardly, realizing he had been going on for far too long. "Sorry, I tend to get carried away when it comes to movies," he admitted sheepishly, his cheeks flushing with embarrassment.

But Yas just laughed, the sound light and melodious. "No need to apologize," she reassured him with a smile. "I appreciate the recommendation. It sounds like the perfect choice for our date night."

Steve's heart skipped a beat at her words, a rush of warmth flooding through him. "Yeah, I think you'll really enjoy it," he replied, his smile widening as he handed her the tape.

As he took in the smile on her face, he couldn't help but notice that for a moment, time seemed to stand still as they shared a fleeting connection. Heart pounding in his chest, Steve attempted to lean casually against a nearby shelf, aiming for a suave demeanor. However, in his nervousness, his hand grazed a stack of VHS tapes precariously balanced on the edge. With a clumsy fumble, he knocked over a few tapes, causing them to clatter to the ground with an embarrassing racket. Cheeks flushed with embarrassment, Steve quickly bent down to pick up the fallen tapes, hoping to salvage some semblance of composure. But the damage was done, and he could feel his cheeks burning as he attempted to recover from the awkward mishap.

"If you're looking for something else," he started.

Before Steve could finish Robin emerged from the shelves with a smirk, her eyes dancing with mischief as she teased Steve.

"How about you clean that up," she remarked with a pointed look at the mess on the floor, before pressing the tape against Steve's chest. "I'll take it from here, partner," she announced, her tone laced with humor as she draped her arm over Yas's shoulder, leading her away into the maze of shelves.

Steve watched them go, a mixture of relief and curiosity washing over him. He lingered for a moment, listening to their fading laughter and catching snippets of their conversation in the distance. With a shake of his head and a sheepish smile, he turned back to the counter, reorganizing the stack in his hands.

As Robin led Yas through the stacks, Steve discreetly passed the time, leaning casually against the counter as he pretended to rearrange some tapes. He strained to listen in on their conversation, his heart skipping a beat every time he caught Yas's melodic laughter.

"Ya'll have a great selection here," Yas commented, her voice echoing softly through the rows of shelves.

"Yeah," Robin agrees. Clearing her throat, she speaks slightly louder. "Steve knows this place like the back of his hand. He introduced me to this one film last week, and I loved it," Robin continued, her voice filled with genuine appreciation. Pulling the case of the shelf she passes it to Yas.

Yas studies the cover as she leans against the nearby shelf.

"I know he's oozes textbook pretty boy and all, but actually Steve knows his stuff," Robin added with a chuckle, her tone warm and admiring, punctuated by a playful smirk. "Yes, some of his choices are a bit... questionable, but his heart's in the right place."

Steve felt a surge of pride at Robin's comment, a pleased smile tugging at the corners of his lips. He continued to feign interest in the tapes before him, his ears tuned in to every word they spoke.

"You two seem really close. I always see you together at the games and stuff."

Robin chuckles softly, shaking her head. "Yeah, practically joined at the hip," she says, her tone light. "But, you know, just friends, if you were wondering."

Yas's eyebrows shoot up in surprise, a faint warmth creeping across her face as she follows Robin's gaze to where Steve struggles to put together a cardboard stand-up. "Oh, I see," she says, her voice carefully neutral.

Robin flashes her a reassuring smile. "Yeah, he's a great guy," she says, her tone genuine. "And definitely available, if you catch my drift."

Yas nods, a thoughtful expression crossing her features. "Got it," she replies, her eyes lingering on Steve for a moment longer before returning to Robin. "Thanks for letting me know."

Robin nods, her smile widening. "Anytime, Yas. Steve's a catch, that's for sure."

With that, the two girls return to browsing the shelves, their conversation shifting to lighter topics as they continue their search for the perfect movie.

"Thanks, Robin!"

"Anytime, Yas!" Robin called back with a grin. She waited until Yas's back faced her to shoot Steve a thumbs up.

Steve caught the gesture, his attention drawn away from the comic Dustin had given him to "culture" himself. With a quick movement, he pushed off the counter, hastily closing the comic and clearing the surface to make room for Yas.

Yas smiled as she approached the counter, a stack of films cradled in her arms. Her eyes sparkled with excitement as she surveyed her selections.

"Wow, that's quite a haul," Steve whistled as she set the films down on the counter with a soft thud. "Looks like you've got quite the movie marathon ahead."

"Yeah, Robin had a lot of suggestions," Yas giggled. She shifted the films in her arms, her fingers brushing against the colorful covers as she arranged them on the counter.

Steve began to ring up the movies, stealing glances at Yas as she studied the candy behind the counter. "So... got an idea of which one will make the cut for the date?" he asked, hoping to keep the conversation going.

Yas glanced up with a playful smile, a mischievous twinkle in her eyes. "Oh, definitely."

Steve's eyes flickered to the Indiana Jones cover on the counter, and he couldn't help but chuckle. "No way," he laughed, shaking his head in disbelief.

Yas raised an eyebrow. "What? You don't think it's a good choice?" she teased, her tone light and playful.

Steve rolled his eyes with a grin.

"Well, I suppose if all else fails, at least I get to look at Harrison Ford," Yas quipped, a playful smirk playing on her lips.

Steve chuckled, feeling the warmth of Yas's laughter fill the space between them. "I guess you've got a point there," he admitted, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

As Steve focused on bagging her movies and counting her change, Yas leaned forward resting her elbows against the counter as she leaned forward, her full attention on him.

"So, what time do you usually close FrIdays?"

"Midnight," Steve winced. His eyes scanned over the empty store. "But, we might close early tonight. I'm thinking ten."

"Any big plans since you're getting out early?" Yas asked.

Steve glanced up, his brow furrowing slightly in confusion. "Uh, not really," he replied, Robin rolling her eyes at his obliviousness.

Yas smiled softly, her fingers brushing against his as he handed her the change. "Well, I was sort of hoping you'd make a detour to my place," she said, her voice trailing off teasingly as his eyes met hers. "My parents are out of town this weekend—some work conference for my dad—so I'm stuck babysitting Lucas and Erica. But if you're not too tired, you could swing by and we could kick off that movie marathon."

Steve's eyes widened in realization as her words slowly sank in.

"Yeah, that would be cool." A grin spread across his face, the action contagious. "I'll handle the snacks."

"Sounds good," Yas gathered her bag, her gaze lingering on Steve for a moment longer. The smile on her face growing as Steve grabbed two boxes of the candy she'd been eyeing a few moments before. "See you later, Stevie."

"10:30," Steve replied, his smile widening as he watched her leave the store.

As the door clicked shut behind Yas, Robin emerged from the shelves with a mischievous grin.

"See you later, Stevie," she teased, her voice ringing out in sing songy tone.

Steve chuckled at her teasing, shaking his head in amusement.

"Yeah, yeah, laugh it up, Robin," he retorted, his grin widening. "But guess who's got a date tonight?"

Robin's eyes widened in mock surprise. "No way! Stevie's got a date?" she exclaimed, feigning shock.

Steve rolled his eyes at her dramatics, but couldn't help but grin. "Yeah, I do," he admitted, his voice tinged with excitement.

Robin's grin softened into a smile as she clapped him on the shoulder. "Well, you better not keep her waiting, then," she said, waving towards the shelves. "You better start cleaning if you plan on closing on time."

Robin leaned against the nearby shelve, her eyes flicking over Steve's attire with a playful smirk. "Let's close at 9:30," she declared, her tone filled with amusement. "You definitely need to go home and change."

#let me know what you think?#added robin into the mix #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington x black!reader #steve harrington x sinclair!oc #stranger things imagine

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sluttyhollow · 2 years ago

Note

Kindly requesting a pt. 2 to your not my n*gga fic☝️🤧😮‍💨

I was thinking like… what’s the dude version of Baby Tate’s Slut Him Out and then I remembered what it was

“Aye, and that shit’s so wet I took the rubber off can’t even use it”

Toji Fushiguro x Black!F Reader

Part 1

Warnings: smut, breeding/ovulation sex, baby mating press, rough sex, dom and sub dynamics (?) but not explicitly mentioned or described, baby trapping/pregnant reader (reader is ok with it but doesn’t explicitly say it), wormy being used as a bondage tool but you can’t see him (😭), spit as lube, no prep entry but reader is wet (no pain), pet names (baby; pretty) Toji being toxic, Toji abandons Megs with you for a few weeks (for a good reason), reader smacks Toji, fem bodied reader with no pronouns, reader gets picked up, Megumi being Megumi, fluffy ending!, let me know if I missed anything, reader implied black but no descriptors

I— idk it’s just a quickly written dirty nasty smut with no plot really �� pls I hope you enjoy

18+ no minors

To be fair, you should’ve known what the fuck he was on when he kept you holed up in his room that first night for hours. Not letting you stumble back into the four walls of your own apartment until the sun had already started peeking across the horizon line.

He’d kept his promise though, spent his “hard earned”, you still didn’t know what the fuck he did, money on taking you and keeping you satisfied. Then taking you back to his apartment and adding onto your satisfaction by stuffing you full of him. It was always him consuming you, because that’s how he was. Like a fire that instead of burning you the closer you got to it, slowly wrapped itself around you until it permeated every inch of you consuming you completely. But the tipping point was the knock on your door at 2 AM one Friday morning. Peeking through the peephole you saw his body taking up the space and opened your door to ask him what he wanted when you saw a small tuft of black hair move just outside of your peripheral vision drawing your attention to the small boy who stood in front of you.

“Who are you?” A small voice asked, bored little face looking between you and Toji, who now that you were staring at them both, was this kids father.

“Funny enough buddy, I was going to ask you the same thing” you smiled at him, before glaring at his dad and moving to let the two inside your apartment before the neighbors got nosey. Fixing the television so Megumi, who so generously introduced himself when his dad didn’t, would be distracted long enough for you to cuss his father out.

“What the fuck Toji, why are you here and why the fuck did you bring your son here at 2 AM” trying not to raise your voice in and effort to not disturb Megumi. Toji still hadn’t explained himself and was staring down at you with a small smirk on his face.

“Is that any way for you greet your man sweetheart, it’s only been a few days since you’ve seen me, did I not fuck your attitude away good enough” pissed wasn’t enough to describe the way you were feeling. Not only had he dragged his young son awake and into the streets in the wee hours of the morning, he was playing in your fucking face like you were a joke.

“Get the fuck out my house and out my fucking face on this bullshit Toji, I have work in the morning” pushing him back and beginning to walk out your kitchen you were quickly stopped by the block of a man stepping in your path.

“Quit playin with me y/n if you loose the attitude I’ll talk to you, before then “imma play in your face” cause you acting like Gumi when he doesn’t get a nap” in your defense, your hand moved faster then even your own brain could comprehend. Sending Toji’s head off to the side with its impact, the sound reverberating around the small space and into the living room causing a unhidden mix of a chuckle and scoff to fall from the young boy in the other room.

Scared. Yep, you were scared and that’s all there was to it. He didn’t speak, didn’t even look at your face. Just picked you up taking you back into your room, while telling Megumi to flip off the light cause they were spending the night over here. Then he closed your door dropping you into the middle of your bed and standing at the door of it finally looking at you, assessing his next move. The pajamas, if you could call them that, a loose crop top with some shorts, had risen during your fall to the bed exposing your unbound breast to him. Emphasized by the deep breaths and rapid beating of your heart. You were too nervous to reach up and readjust it, opting to sit beneath the depths of his gaze as your body warmed all over to his silent attentions. Having Toji’s eyes on you, like this, with that intensity with in them was overwhelming. He was making you feel like you were on top of the world while simultaneously feeling like the smallest being alive. He stood there a few minutes before making a move toward you.

Grabbing your shirt from the front and pulling at it, he ripped it off your body before doing the same to the shorts you had on leaving you bare. You felt your body warm as he roved the expanse of your body before his eyes met yours again. Licking across his lips he pulled back, thick arms crossing over each other as he started talking

“You think you gone disrespect me in front of my son because you didn’t get your way immediately y/n. You know better than that”

“Tsk I didn’t even mea-“

“Lose the attitude, final warning baby” his hands finally dropped, grabbing the base of his shirt pulling it over his head. Chiseled chest and toned stomach being exposed to you piece by piece as he went. Dropping the garment to the floor before repeating the same action with his pants.

“Go to hell bro, I’m fucking tired of you fr Toji. You think fucking can fix everything, get the fuck out” before you could open your mouth to spit more aggressive words at him, your cheeks were being squeezed between two of his thick fingers “only if I can take you there with me pretty” and with that you felt a fat glob of spit fall into your hole then he was bottoming out in the tight wetness your cunt was providing him pulling the throatiest moans from the both of you. Grabbing each of your thighs with one of his hands he folded them back until yours knees touched the bed on either side of your ears, presenting your pussy in the perfect position for him to stuff it full of his cum.

Toji had enough of your attitude, he spoils you, takes care of you more than he had done for anybody, including Gumi’s mom but your smart ass mouth was always moving. Retracting his hips from their space settled against the swell of your ass he thrust back into you at full force. While the act would typically create a painful but delicious ache in the pit of your belly from the repeated assault your poor pussy was taking but, ovulation had you angling your hips just that much more perfectly to accommodate his rough thrust. As kept his momentum up, you began to drift into the land of being completely drunk on his cock. Seeing that you were distracted Toji reached out to grab your arms and pull them towards your head board. A seemingly slimy sensation moving across your body and up your arms shocked your senses but believing it was just his wet tongue you brushed it off. However, the feeling made its way around both of your wrist before seemingly locking itself in place, that had your eyes popping open to meet Tojis smiling face. Your eyes trying to look toward whatever bound your wrist together and failing.

“Just needed a little help keeping you still for me baby don’t worry” And his hips kept going, just a little rougher finally pulling your first orgasm from you. It was quick, unannounced and had you squirting across the base of his stomach. Making a quick exit from your warmth he gripped himself and rubbed his tip across your clit to prolong the messy action. Immediately ramming himself back into you after, pace as unrelenting as before. A ring forming around his base as your cum collected there. If he kept this place up your body would be giving into another orgasm faster then it did before. Not being able to take the rapidly increasing pleasure consuming your body you tried scooting your body away from him a whine falling from your throat when he kept you in place.

“Nuh uh pretty, we’re making a baby tonight, you gone take this fat dick however I decide to give it you, stay fucking quiet before you wake Gumi up, that’s what you want hmm, want your new son walking in on you being used like the little breeding bitch that you are, want him to see how his little sibling was made, cause I’m not going to stop even if the fucking brat wakes up” you hated how you clenched around his length at his words. Shame filling your body because you first and foremost forgot about the adorable little boy who was hopefully passed out on your couch by now and two his words sent you into your second orgasm. Taking every ounce of remaining willpower inside of his body he pulled out again gifting your pussy with four hard smacks, the moan you’d been holding in came out loudly, before once again spearing you on his legnth.

He was close, for all his bravado Toji was still just a pussy drunk man who wanted nothing more than to fill his pussy with cum. He couldn’t wait for his seed to take, so he could come back from his missions to you waiting on him, stomach hanging perfectly round with his baby. Yeah you couldn’t deny him then, you’d be stuck with him forever. You’d keep gumi safe, you’d keep his new baby safe and in return he’d do the same to you.

Quickening his pace he finally allowed himself to spill himself inside of you. Heavy hand finally dropping your legs back to the bed as your arms were released from whatever had kept them bound. Rolling you both onto your sides so he could stay buried within you, he wrapped you close to his chest.

“Gotta call from Gumi earlier saying he ran out of food cause his mom hadn’t been home, I tried looking for her but just went to pick him up, I need you to watch him while I go look for her, might take a few weeks”

“Okay” You didn’t have the energy to say much else and you believed what Toji was saying. You’d deal with the rest in the morning. For now you just wanted to sleep.

*1 month later*

You and Megumi were thick as thieves and if you asked him, he liked you more than he’d ever liked either one of his family. That had the boy quickly dubbing you as one of his parents. Which in his words “daddy said you’d be my new parent anyways since you’re bringing me a little sibling” to which you rolled your eyes because of course Toji said that, speaking of… a knock on your door pulled you both from the activity you’d been working on. Opening the door, there revealed Toji, noticing a few new scars gracing his body as he made his way into the room you and Megumi were in. Ruffling the boys head, earning a glare from him, he pulled you in for a quick kiss before opening his mouth to say

“Missed me baby? I missed you” signature crooked smile pulling on his lips as his hand dropped down to your stomach pressing flat against it “and how’s my baby” rolling your eyes you moved away from trying to hold back your smile and keep the nonchalant face about you. “Nobody missed you but Gumi. But, WE are doing fine” face cracking as your smile flittered across your face.

#shwrites #x black reader #drabble #toji fushiguro #jjk x reader #toji fushiguro smut #toji x reader #toji x black reader #shwritestojifushiguro #jujutsu kaisen

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uhohbestie · 9 months ago

Text

There Are Monsters Nearby [Chapter 8]

🏜 Pairing: Grian/Scar

🧟‍♂️ Tags: zombie AU, zombie apocalypse, lovers to exes, slow burn, eventual reconciliation

📖 Summary: The day after Scar breaks up with Grian, the dead come back to life. Knowing that venturing out alone is a death sentence, the sudden onset of the apocalypse forces them to stick together despite the tensions between them. In the wreckage of the world, they're forced to survive side-by-side, coming to terms with the fact that—try as they might—there's still no one they trust more than each other.

Chapter 8 - A decent night in the storage unit is disturbed by some unexpected company. Grian has a close call, Scar has a good aim, and the heat of the moment lends itself to making some assumptions.

📝 Words: 9,218

🔗 Link: Read Chapter 8 on AO3

—

The sunlight beats down, hot and unforgiving, leaving no shadow of doubt that Scar has left him here. The reality of it flares terrifying in his mind. Grian manages one unsteady step forward, not sure which direction he should run without a partner by his side, when suddenly something grotesque grabs him from behind.

It’s the backpack that saves him, the bulk of it meaning that the bite aimed for the vulnerable curved part in the crook of his shoulder falls short. Rancid spittle lands on his cheek, gnashing jaws making Grian’s gut twist. His assailant is larger than him and incredibly strong, its rotting arm grasping to seize him around his middle in an attempt to pull him back closer so it can get a proper bite.

Grian doesn’t think to yell out. Can’t form a thought at all. There’s no calm serenity or placid acceptance of his fate—all he feels is fear so strong that he chokes on it as he’s pulled back, back—

A voice cuts in, loud over the rasped groaning in his ear.

“Grian! Down!”

He doesn’t hesitate, legs buckling as he drops himself to the ground. Uncoordinated undead fingers grasp at him clumsily, but aren’t able to get a secure hold. He doesn’t have time to brace himself. Has no idea what’s coming.

A millisecond later his eardrums reverberate with the loudest sound he’s ever heard.

It takes a moment to collect himself, his body shaking, pushed to its limits as he struggles to open his eyes.

The first thing he sees is the ghoul, collapsed on bent knees next to him.

It’s been shot once. Clean between the eyes.

—

Another Friday another chapter of zombie au! We leave the storage units behind, but great news for abandoned shooting range enthusiasts everywhere.

You can read the whole story thus-far linked below!

You may not rest now, There Are Monsters Nearby (on ao3!)

#hermitshipping #scarian #life series fanfic #zombie au #TAMN #TAMN fic

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lightsofthe-living-gvf · 1 year ago

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Ghosts Aren't Real pt. 1

Danny Wagner/Reader

Summary: In which it takes getting spooked while exploring an abandoned house (haunted by ghosts or otherwise) for you and Danny to confess your feelings for one another.

Warnings: Mentions of murder, swearing, spooky stuff concerning ghosts and haunted houses but it's nothing too bad!

Word Count: 2.5k

A/N: Hello, everyone! Welcome to this Halloween mini-series. I hope you enjoy and thank you for reading :)

“I still don’t think this is a good idea,” you declared.

As you traveled further down the winding gravel driveway, getting closer and closer to the house with each step, you wondered why exactly you’d let yourself be convinced to do this. Sure, you were into the spooky stuff. But you were into the ‘cozy up on the couch and watch a cheesy horror film’ type of spooky, not the ‘ghost hunt in an abandoned house’ type of spooky.

The wind was whipping against the branches of the trees so swiftly, you could’ve sworn you heard the leaves wail. That in itself was creepy. Briefly, you thought about turning back and going to sit in the car until your friends were through with their little adventure. Chilling in a warm car and listening to your Cranberries CD seemed a lot comfier than wandering through a house that had been left to rot and trying to catch a glimpse of the paranormal. It was a lot safer, too.

“It’ll be alright,” Danny said with a sweet smile. “Ghosts aren’t real, anything.”

Your heart swelled at his attempt to soothe your nerves. Danny was why you were here—making your way to an old, abandoned house with only a flashlight to guide your steps—instead of sitting in your dorm and doing homework all night. That sideways smile of his made this whole endeavor worth participating in.

“Yes, they are!” Josh piped up. “I literally saw one the other day. Don’t you remember?”

Danny snorted, “What? The trumpet ghost?”

You raised a brow. “Trumpet ghost?” “Yes!” Josh said. “I was in the orchestra pit, and it picked up someone’s trumpet and started playing Sinatra’s ‘Old Black Magic.’ I shit you not.”

“Well, what did you do?”

“I ran like hell, that’s what I did.”

As apprehensive as you were to be doing this, you giggled at Josh’s story. All of this had been his idea. You weren’t quite sure how he’d figured out about this house, or its story, but he’d always been good at digging up stuff like that.

‘Marion’s Place’ is what he’d told you it was called. According to local legend, it had once belonged to a woman who, about a hundred years ago or so, had gone mad and murdered her husband, children, and housemaid with a kitchen knife. It was said that she still wandered its old, lonely halls.

Then, after telling everyone that lovely little story, Josh flashed a grin and asked who wanted to accompany him in exploring it that Friday night.

Jake was the first to agree. Then, Sam said he would, just because Jake did. All her brothers were going, so how could Ronnie not go? Danny was the next to agree, claiming that there had to be someone responsible there. And then, it was all down to you.

“It’s all just a story, though. There might not even be any ghosts there!” Josh had assured you, upon seeing your freaked-out face. “And I promise we’ll have lots of flashlights!”

So, in the end, you said yes.

However, as the house finally came into view, you were wishing you had said no, and for two reasons. The first being that Josh—that asshole—had only brought three flashlights for the six of you. And the second being that the place definitely looked like a murder house.

It stood two stories tall, built with what would have been gorgeous Victorian architecture, had it not been marred by boarded-up windows, crooked wooden beams, and peeling roof shingles. It was quite literally your classic haunted house. The sudden flash of Sam’s film camera briefly illuminated its decaying face, allowing you to get a real look at it. Even in the light, the house was creepy.

You subtly shifted a little closer to Danny.

Josh looked it up and down for what was probably the tenth time in the thirty seconds you’d all been able to see it and marveled, “It’s so much cooler in person.”

“Makes for a good picture,” Sam agreed. “When did you say it was built, again?”

“Uh… Right before the end of the Civil War.”

Your eyes widened a little. “It’s that old? Is it even safe to go in there?”

“I guess we’re about to find out, aren’t we?” Josh shrugged.

He took the first few steps towards the house, his bravery beckoning the rest of you to follow. However, when he started cautiously up the porch stairs, only Jake continued on with him. Sam took a moment to snap a picture of them, then took his first step as well. Then, Ronnie did, then Danny, and lastly, you, of course.

Even the front door was spooky, with its dark rotting wood and rusting brass doorknobs. You held your breath as Josh tried the first knob and could barely hide your sigh of relief when it didn’t turn. But then he tried the other knob and with a little push from his shoulder, it opened. Unfortunately.

He stepped inside, guiding the rest of you in after he was sure it was safe. You wanted the first thing you noticed to be the rather grand staircase that sat just to the right of the door. But no, the first thing you truly noticed was the smell. It wasn’t anything bad, it was just… musty. Then, you noticed the cobwebs, grossly draped across every archway, corner, and crevice.

“Wow, it’s kinda pretty,” Ronnie commented. “Creepy, but pretty.”

And she was right, it was pretty. From what you could see with the dull glow of only a few flashlights, the floors, the paneling on the walls, and even the trim of the archways were a rich brown hardwood, and the wallpaper, though ripped and peeling, was patterned with elegantly drawn flowers. Beneath the rubble strewn about, you could see a pattered rug. Though it now stood empty, you could vividly picture the life that once resided here; the dinners that were had, the laughs that were shared and ultimately, the turmoil that caused a mother to take the life of her own children.

A shiver ran down your spine.

Danny noticed and gently nudged you with his elbow to get your attention. Of course, he’d noticed your uneasiness, he was always so aware and attentive. It was one of the reasons you were crushing on him so hard.

“Are you scared? It’s not too late to go back, you know,” he said, softly enough that only you could hear him.

“I’m not that scared.”

That was lie. You were fucking terrified. But if going ghost hunting meant that you could spend a little extra time with Danny, you’d deal with it for a few hours. Ghosts weren’t real, anyway. Right?

“I’ll be alright.” You smiled at him. “You’ll fight off any ghosts for me, right?”

He laughed, and his nose crinkled so adorably that you totally forgot you were in a creepy, derelict house. At least, until the bright flash of Sam’s camera aimed directly at your faces momentarily blinded you. With a curse, you blinked the white from your vision.

“Sorry,” he said, but the smirk on his face told you he wasn’t really. He turned away from you and Danny, instead taking a few steps in the direction of the staircase. “Do you think it’s safe to go upstairs?”

You glanced at the staircase as every flashlight beam danced about its form. For how old it most likely was, it looked to be quite stable. The railing was still in place, and the steps were in good shape.

“It looks alright,” Ronnie affirmed. “I bet it’s really cool up there.”

Sam hummed. “I think I’m gonna try and get some pictures. You wanna come with?”

“Sure.”

And with that, Ronnie and Sam started towards the staircase.

“Be careful,” Josh told them as they began to carefully climb the steps.

“Don’t get lost,” Jake added with a chuckle. “Or fall through the ceiling.”

Josh then turned to you and Danny. “Do you guys wanna look around together? Or split up?”

“Split up?” You repeated, your voice coming out a little shakier than you would have wanted it to. The thought of having to be anywhere in this house by yourself gave you the willies. Regardless, you steadied your voice when you spoke again, “You mean, by ourselves?”

“No, no, that’s probably not safe. Let’s buddy-up.” Then, he gave a knowing smirk. “I can go with Jake, and you can go with Danny.”

Your heart fluttered a little at the thought of being alone with Danny and you nodded. “Alright.”

Josh continued, “We’re gonna go over here.” He gestured to a doorway on his left with a point of his thumb. “Have fun.”

And then, there you were: left alone in the dusty, desolate foyer with Danny. Oh, how you wished you could be anywhere else with him. You looked around anyway, getting your bearings as best as you could with the dim glow of your flashlight. There appeared to be a doorway straight ahead, and another to your right.

You glanced at Danny, swallowing all you fear into your stomach as you asked, “Which way should we go?”

“Which way do you think?”

“Well, I’m sure either way will be creepy. So, you choose.”

“Can I see the flashlight?”

You made a face and he chuckled. “I won’t let anything get you, alright?”

“… Okay.”

You handed Danny the flashlight. He aimed the beam into the doorway on the right of the foyer. You followed closely as he took curious, yet cautious steps in that direction. As you inched closer, you saw that that the doorway opened into a large room. It was just as tumbledown and eerie as the rest of the house, with its rotting walls and dirty floors, yet there were a few sundry pieces of furniture about, all covered with old, ratty sheets of cloth.

“I wonder what this room was,” Danny said.

Slowly, he roved the flashlight all over the room, taking in every detail as it came into view. From the cobwebs connecting the corners of the walls, to the shattered glass strewn across the floor by the window. You gazed on as Danny revealed more and more of the room to your fearful, yet intrigued—

“Woah, shit!” Danny startled, nearly dropping the flashlight onto the floor.

“What?! What is it?”

“Nothing, nothing!” He gave you an apologetic look. “I didn’t mean to scare you. Just, look at this.”

He shone the flashlight at the wall and there—hanging high and proud—was a portrait. As soon as you laid eyes on it you knew: it was a portrait of the very soul that was said to haunt the old house you and your friends had dared to enter. She appeared to be darkly beautiful, gazing ahead haunting, apathetic eyes and wearing a soft smile. Perched upon the wall so highly, she looked down her nose at you and Danny, as if to say, this is my house, and you are but a guest here.

“Well, that’s creepy,” you uttered.

“Do you think that’s really her?”

“Who else could it be?”

Danny swept the beam across the portrait again, giving it one last look before turning and lighting up the rest of the space. Just ahead, there was a doorway. It was tall, arched, and trimmed with dark wood, just as all the other doorways were. You couldn’t see past it, not with the flashlight’s limited ray of light. You and Danny crept closer, just until he could post his head through the doorway and see what was on the other side. You stood at his back, shamelessly using him as a barrier between you and whatever was on the other side of the unexplored area.

You nearly jumped out of your skin when you heard loud shuffling, but Danny just laughed and called out, “Jake? Is that you?”

“Yeah!” Jake answered.

“What’s in that room?”

“Uh… We think it’s the kitchen?”

“Anything cool in there?”

Danny took a step forward, trying to get a better look into where Josh and Jake were exploring. You chose then to peek out from behind him. He was shining his flashlight into what looked to be exactly what Jake said it was, a kitchen. He stepped into the light only seconds later, with something in his hand.

“What is that?” You questioned, squinting to get a better look at what he was holding.

He held it up for you and Danny to see and shrugged. “Some old vase or pitcher or something.”

You grimaced. “Maybe you should put that back where you found it.”

“This thing is pretty sturdy,” Jake expressed., He raised an eyebrow and grinned at you mischievously. “What do you think she used it for?”

“Don’t freak her out,” Danny protested, but he couldn’t help but chuckle. “Do you know what’s down this way?” Curiously, he let the flashlight beam wander away from Jake and into the other direction, straight down a hallway. “Have you guys been down there yet?”

“Not yet.”

Danny turned to you. “Wanna check it out?”

At this point, you couldn’t say no. You had already gotten this far. Besides, you didn’t want Danny to think you were a scaredy-cat.

So, you shrugged as nonchalantly as you could and replied, “Why not?”

Danny turned down the hallway, gently brushing shoulders with you as he passed. It was such a simple touch, but it sent giddy little butterflies dancing all around your stomach. For a moment, you wondered if it had made him feel the same way.

Then, a little abruptly, he stopped walking.

“What is it?” You mentally cursed yourself for the squeak in your voice.

“Don’t worry, it’s not a ghost. Just a door.” he teased you, his honey eyes glinting, even in the dark. Oh, he could be so cute, sometimes. “I kinda wanna see what’s inside.” He raised an eyebrow, as if he were asking if he could.

“Try the knob,” you permitted, perhaps against your better judgment. Who knows what could be in there? You continued, “But if it opens, you’re going in first.”

Danny laughed quietly. “As if you’d ever go in first.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing,” he replied.

He reached for the doorknob, but you swatted his hand away and grabbed it before he could. You turned the knob and the door opened with a creak. Then, you define both your own fears and Danny’s expectations of you by taking the first step into the room. Without the flashlight in your hand, too!

However, Danny was right behind you with the flashlight, dutifully keeping the room illuminated as you ventured further inside. It appeared to be a bedroom. To whom it once belonged, you’d never know. You studied what you could see: a bedframe missing a leg and slouching pitifully, piles of decaying books and old treasures, a side table accompanied only by the oil lamp that sat atop it.

Then, the door snapped closed with a jarring slam.

You startled and let out a short shriek. Whipping around to face the door, you found that your ears hadn’t deceived you. The door was, indeed, closed. Danny was at your side in an instant. He grabbed hold of the knob, twisting and turning and jiggling.

It didn’t budge.

#greta van fleet #danny wagner #jake kiszka #josh kiszka #sam kiszka #gvf #danny gvf #greta van fleet fic #greta van fic #danny wagner x y/n #danny wagner x reader #danny wagner fic #danny wagner x you

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thomasschabot · 2 years ago

Text

tell you i miss you but i don’t know how

tyson jost x fem!reader

run-ins with an ex-boyfriend keep happening, but you still have so many feelings about him

word count: 2.8k

warnings: alcohol consumption, children, cursing

a/n: this is a repost of a fic i wrote in nov 2020 while existing in this corner of the internet at @/nugnthopkns. a few edits have been made for spelling, grammar, and general flow, but the the story itself remains untouched. enjoy x

⭑⭒⭑

Breaking up was for the best.

You repeat the phrase like a mantra. It’s the first thing you think when you wake up, in the back of your mind as you sit in your cubicle, and verbally repeated anytime you pass a mirror. Deep down you know it’s right — you and Tyson aren’t on compatible lifepaths, and that’s okay. You just wish it didn’t hurt so much to say goodbye. He’s an easy person to miss, with his infectious smile and quick wit. Tyson is the only person who’s made you laugh so hard tears roll down your cheek, the one who always picked up a bag of pretzels on his way home from the rink so you could have a snack after work. Though you didn’t expect to get over him quickly, you had no idea you’d still miss him nearly a year later. Or that it would hurt so much every time you see him in public.

⭒⭑⭒

The bar offers a reprieve from the brisk Denver wind. October has been unusually chilly so far, but the bodies packed like sardines in the open room create all the heat insulation you need. It’s a Friday night and you’re hoping to unwind after a stressful week at work. It’s audit season, meaning you’ve had to pull crazy late nights as you read over the financial records of the firm’s junior partners. Today was particularly terrible, with the computer system crashing, and you really need a drink. Your friends are supposed to meet you, but a text confirms that traffic is heavier than they anticipated and they’re running late.

Not wanting to waste precious time, you head straight for the only empty space at the bar. A bartender a few years older than you sees you approach and leans close to hear your order over the thumping bass. “Could I just grab a gin and tonic?” you ask, and she smiles before turning away to make your drink. A minute later a drink is placed in your hand and you scour the venue for a table. A small booth is available in the corner with the perfect amount of space for your eventual party. It turns out to be an ideal spot for people watching, and you casually sip your drink and occasionally scroll through Instagram while you wait. A text from your friend alerts you everyone is fifteen minutes out. Though it’s pretty crowded, everyone seems to be congregating on the dance floor so you don’t hesitate to leave your table and order a second drink.

This gin and tonic goes down easier than the first, and soon you’re on your third. There’s still no sign of your friends anywhere and the balls of your feet ache from the heels you wore to the office today. You abandon your plan to meet them at the door, firing off a text giving your location in the venue. Once sitting back down, you take off your shoes and rub at your feet. Why did you choose today to abide by the dress code? You typically wore a discreet pair of sneakers and wished you could go back in time to change your shoe choice.

“I see you’re still drinking gin and can’t wear heels for more than two hours.”

His voice sends shivers down your spine. You look up to see Tyson smiling down at you, and the room spins around you. The entire reason you picked this bar was because it was the only one the boys didn’t frequent, but it seems they’re here anyways.

“I’m consistent,” you say, trying to keep your voice even. The sight of Tyson makes your heart clench. He looks good, glowing the way that means the team came out with a win and that he played well and put up some points.

Tyson nods to the empty seat across from you, and against your better judgement you allow him to sit. A small section of your brain thinks he’s going to confess he’s been miserable the last few months, that he’s still madly in love with you. It seems to be the part controlling the rest of your body. “That’s one thing that’ll never change. How’s work?”

You hum wistfully, wishing he wouldn’t make small talk. How is this so easy for him? “Busy,” you sigh. “It’s audit season so the department is swamped. The boys still causing issues?”

“They’re as annoying as ever.” He smiles at you again. The sick feeling in your stomach doesn’t subside. Tyson gives you a quick recap of the Avs’ season so far, and you half pay attention. You’ve gone to great lengths to avoid seeing him — switched the way you drive home, where you hang out with friends, what grocery store you go to. It’s a little ironic he’d find you here of all places.

Idle chatter occurs for a while. Tyson’s talking to you like he’s reuniting with a childhood friend, not an ex-lover. As much as you find the conversation uncomfortable, you can’t turn him away. You miss sitting with him, talking about anything under the sun. Life hasn’t been as bright since the break up. No matter how hard you try, nothing fills the Tyson sized hole in your heart. In a twisted way his presence is comforting, a reminder of what once was. Eventually his teammates realize he’s gone missing and come to whisk him away.

“See you around, I hope,” Tyson says, a little bewildered because J.T is dragging him by the belt loops towards a large table full of rowdy men.

All you can croak out is a feeble “Yeah.” He doesn’t look back once he’s away from the table. You shouldn’t have expected him to, as he seems to be doing fine. Well even. Every step he takes breaks your heart a little more, and you curse yourself for missing him and down the rest of your drink.

Your friends find you crying in the bathroom and usher you home.

⭑⭒⭑

Despite being separated from Tyson, you’re still close with some members of the Avalanche extended family. Mel Landeskog continually reaches out, ensuring you’re doing the best you can given the circumstances. It isn’t easy when your ex-boyfriend is the pride of Denver, plastered over every billboard in a fifteen mile radius of the city. When she called to ask if you’d emergency babysit Linnea while she ran errands you jumped at the opportunity to help.

“Thank you so much,” Mel says, cooing to her daughter who’s comfortably placed in your arms.

“It’s not a problem,” you insist, “I’m just glad I can finally start repaying you for everything you’ve done for me.”

She shakes her head and rolls her eyes, telling you to text her if you need anything picked up at the store. You’re then left alone with the baby who is luckily one of the happiest you’ve ever seen. The first hour or so is spent entertaining Linnea with various toys and games. Her smile and laugh melt your heart, and your mind briefly flashes to conversations you had about children with Tyson. You push them from your mind, not wanting to lose your focus. The child in front of you is the one that matters, not the hypothetical one from times past. Around two she gets fussy — a bottle and quick diaper change satiate her.

“You having fun, pretty girl?” you coo. “I’m not always the most exciting to be around.” She doesn’t respond, just looks up at you with heavy lids. You pull her closer to your chest, rocking gently back and forth on your heels. Within minutes she’s soundly asleep and you head upstairs to place her in the crib.

Back on the main floor, you settle into the corner of the couch. The baby monitor is on the coffee table and you keep your laptop at a low volume to ensure you’ll hear anything. You sift through the mess in your inbox, deleting promotional emails and replying to those that need your attention. After killing half an hour, you quickly check on Linnea before scrolling through social media. According to twitter the Avalanche are on a six game winning streak and are looking to keep it alive. You honestly could care less about hockey anymore — it’s a painful reminder that Tyson is no longer yours. In truth you’re happy for the team because they work hard and deserve it. Other social media platforms yield nothing of interest and you soon feel yourself nodding off. Looking at the clock you realize there’s about an hour left in the baby’s nap, so you let yourself sleep.

A knock on the door startles you awake. Careful not to cause a commotion that could wake Linnea you head in the direction of the entryway. The knocking increases as you approach, and you open the door to a disheveled Tyson.

“What are you doing here?” You didn’t mean for the question to come off so rude, but it does.

He pays it no mind. “Is Gabe home yet?”

“No,” you sputter. “I’m watching Linnea while Mel stepped out.”

Tyson looks stumped. “He should be home by now. We had plans to unwind before the game.” You make no attempt to stop him from entering, and he takes his shoes off without another word. Aimlessly trailing behind him, you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding when he heads to the guest room. “I’m gonna take a nap, have Landy wake me up when he gets home.”

“Can do,” you sigh, but it falls on deaf ears. Tyson’s already got the door shut, and you imagine he’s climbing under the covers, blissfully unaffected by your presence. You can’t say the same. Knowing he’s less than fifty feet from you sends you spiraling. Flashbacks of pre-game cuddles grace the back of your eyelids, and you rub your temples furiously to get rid of the images. It doesn’t help. You want nothing more than to not be bothered by how much you miss seeing him. You miss the way his hands felt entangled with yours and how sweet his voice sounds in the morning. Being this hung up on a person so long after a relationship has ended can’t be healthy.

The baby monitor crackles, signaling the baby, and the only reason you haven’t fled, is once again awake. Linnea’s room is bright and cheerful; the perfect hideaway from Tyson. Sometime during your tenth reciting of Green Eggs and Ham Mel returns. She finds you upstairs and giddily sweeps up her child, missing her terribly even though she was only gone for a couple of hours.

“Did everything go okay?”

You nod. “She was a dream. The happiest baby I’ve ever seen. She might need to be changed soon though.”

Mel nods. “I saw Tyson’s car in the driveway, did he meet Gabe?”

“He’s actually asleep in the downstairs guest room,” you whisper, scared he’ll sense you’re talking about it, and by extension thinking about him, missing him.

“Oh. Shit.”

That’s the understatement of the year. “Yeah.” You quickly help put away the groceries before heading out, not wanting to disrupt the routine more so than you already had. Really though, you want to be as far away from the Landeskogs as possible before Tyson wakes up. You’ll have to do a better job of avoiding him in the future, you decide on the way home. You’re heart can’t take seeing him this frequently — or at all.

⭒⭑⭒

You would rather be anywhere than the Pepsi Center. It’s the first time you’ve been in the arena since breaking up with Tyson and you’re downright miserable. However, you promised your younger brother you’d take him to a game the next time he visited Denver with your parents and you aren’t about to break his heart. Ryan is borderline obsessed with the Avalanche, and hockey in general. At eleven he’s showing significant promise and you know he works hard.

“Ry, slow down,” you huff, desperately trying to keep up with him. The kid is swaying through the throng of people at lightning speed, desperately trying to make it to your seats to catch warmup. Wanting to make the experience special for him, you purchased seats along the glass across from the Avs bench. Your brother halts, tapping his foot impatiently as you join him and match his stride.

Contrary to what Ryan thinks, your seats have not been stolen and warmup is just starting. His winter jacket is soon placed on the seat, revealing the too big jersey underneath. The number seventeen nearly sits at his elbow and the name-bar is askew because one side keeps slipping down, but your brother is exuberant. He’s preoccupied with watching players do passing drills, hands pressed against the glass, and you allow yourself to look around. Virtually nothing has changed since the last time you were here. The banners are still the same, the energy electric. One small difference is your seating arrangement — the better halves’ box is no longer a luxury you have available to you. A quick glance in that direction confirms they’re enjoying themselves, laughing and no doubt in the midst of planning the next off-season wedding.

Ryan grips the hem of your sweater to get your attention. “Look, look,” he squeals, “Tys and J.T are coming over!” Sure enough, the two friends are making a beeline in your direction. Tyson waves and Ryan eagerly reciprocates. You’re reminded just how much he misses Tyson — they were the best of friends whenever they could get together. Another piece of your heart breaks in that moment, as you realize you aren’t the only hurting from the breakup.

“You’ve got him in the wrong jersey, short stack,” J.T smirks. “Think he’d look better with thirty-seven plastered all over.”

You roll your eyes. “I’ll remember that Compher. You got the spare change lying around to buy him one?” There’s no malice in your voice — you truly miss joking around with him.

Tyson throws a puck high enough to clear the plexiglass. “Ry-Guy, catch!”

It lands unceremoniously at Ryan’s feet, but he beams as he picks it up. The two boys share a makeshift fist bump and quickly catch up with each other. It’s been over a year since they’ve seen each other at this point, and Ryan has so much he wants to talk about. J.T tells a joke that makes the younger boy laugh, and Tyson turns his attention to you.

“It’s nice to see you again,” he says, doing his best to convey his sincerity. The energy of the area and the adrenaline have Tyson shaking slightly, and he rocks back onto his blades.

You study his facial features as you inhale. He’s still incredibly handsome, just slightly more defined, like he’s growing into himself. “Likewise,” you exhale. You know you shouldn’t lie but you can’t help it — for Ryan’s sake you need to pretend that seeing Tyson doesn’t make you want to curl into a ball and cry. He smiles sadly, like he knows you’re putting on a show. He probably does — you’ve never been good at hiding your emotions from him. Has been able to see how much you hurt every time you interact?

Ryan recaptures Tyson’s attention for a few final moments before he has to return to the locker room. With a high-five through the glass and a promise to call soon he skates away, leaving your brother to gush about his idol. The game goes better than you could have ever imagined — the Avs gain a landslide victory and Tyson gets a hatrick. After each goal he points in your direction and Ryan goes berserk. You catch yourself smiling, proud of his accomplishment, before you realize you won’t be at the celebratory afterparty. That isn’t your life anymore.

The traffic out of the arena is terrible, and Ryan’s asleep in the backseat before you hit the interstate. In some sort of daze you think about what you’d be doing with Tyson right now if you were still together. Maybe you’d be getting ready to make an appearance at a club to celebrate the big game, but it’s more likely you’d be pressed together on the couch, watching a nature documentary to unwind. It’s moments like that you miss most, where you were both too comfortable and enamored with each other to care about your social obligations. A single tear escapes and flows down your cheek. One turns into ten, and soon you’re sobbing over lost love.

⭑⭒⭑

Tyson Jost isn’t someone you could ever stop loving. He’s the human equivalent of the sun, and even now your life revolves around him. It’s centered on missing him, sure, but that’s a part of him nonetheless. You can only hope it gets easier to deal with.

⭒⭑⭒

enjoy this fic? give it a reblog :) <3

#tyson jost imagine #tyson jost x reader #tyson jost fic #buffalo sabres imagine #buffalo sabres fic #nhl imagine #nhl fic #hockey imagine #hockey fic #cwrites #no one in this starbucks knows i'm posting fic hehehe

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fwoopersongs · 2 years ago

Video

tumblr

人是_

'What is Human?' Theme song performed by Zhou Shen for Wandering Earth 2.

Go forth toward every fated storm’s blind eye. You came from the volcano’s scorching heat, and the deep sea’s bitter cold [1]. Life itself was an accident, the flip side of the coin is dust [2]. For the fluke which allowed us to fall in love, we crafted ships, move mountains [3].

To march into war is destiny old as time, humanity shall step barefoot into the night [4]. Only I can decide on how I shall await. Let death covet me [5], let fear kiss me. Come destroy all that I love deeply, still, there’s no snatching away my choice.

Snap of the fingers - I am obliterated, but fate cannot defeat will to live on. Let life be as the fervent fireworks, the splendor before they’re extinguished shall even light up a child’s eyes [6].

The unknown unveils the chess game: only by abandoning yesterday can the formation be broken [7]. So goodbye, my moonlight, my blue, my love [8].

The giant steel monster is roaring; we refuse to go into that good night [9]. Shattering is the promise of new life. My wish, then, is to be dust [10]. Let death covet me, let fear kiss me. Come destroy all that I love deeply, still, there is no snatching away my choice.

Snap of the fingers - I am obliterated, but fate cannot defeat will to live on. Let life be as the fervent fireworks, the splendor before they’re extinguished shall even light up a child’s eyes.

If enormous waves have submerged the road we took here, I am the sail, and the boat, (What is a human? What is a human?) a minuscule speck of hope [11]. (What is a human? What is a human?) We are still moving forward, without a light to guide. Go forth. Lose it all. Don’t STOP [12].

Let time and space whittle me away. You do not need to remember me [13]. Come destroy all that I love deeply, still, there is no snatching away my choice.

Snap of the fingers - I am obliterated, but fate cannot defeat will to live on. It is a race that sings loud in the face of a hazy unknown. Life is like a firework, so then light it up, the child’s eyes, the sight of the future [14].

..................................................................................................

Notes

This song came for my HEART. I’ve been looping it non-stop since stumbling across this at lunch on Friday. Made 4 hours of my workday feel three times as long.

[1] 你来自火山炙热与苦寒的深海 You came from the volcano’s scorching heat, and the deep sea’s bitter cold. This is about the origins of life of course, particularly the theory of how it could have come from volcanically active hydrothermal environments on land and sea. It sounds incredibly romantic phrased like this though.

[2] 生本就是意外硬币反选为尘埃 Life itself was an accident, the flip side of the coin is dust. LOVE the emphasis of 'life' coming to be as chance with the coin toss. Just look at the surface of our moon.

[3] 为侥幸可以相爱造了船移著山 For the fluke which allowed us to fall in love, we crafted ships, move mountains. References to stories of how humans have before and still will respond in the face of impending disaster and impossible odds. Like Noah's Ark and the foolish man that moved a mountain.

[4] ��征是古老的宿命人将赤足踏入夜晚 To march into war is destiny old as time, humanity shall step barefoot into the night. Literally 出征 is leaving on a campaign (military). Overlaying this line with the rescue workers (?), with the previous lines about facing fate and doing what seems impossible. Like saying yes, it seems hopeless, but we’ve been doing this right from the beginning and even unprepared we will fight. And I just aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa?

Also. Have you heard of 赤脚不怕穿鞋的 (the barefoot don’t fear the shod)? People who have little or are left with little have less things holding them back. Mostly all they have left is their lives. It’s actually a slightly humorous everyday sort of proverb. Gave me an achy sort of LOL here.

[5] 让死亡觊觎我 Let death covet me. ^ Is nowhere near how AMAZING AND FEARLESS this sounds. It sees you. It really wants you. It can’t have you. But it’s still LOOKING, hungrily. That’s the feeling.

[6] 让生命如剧烈的烟火璀璨熄灭前也将点亮孩童的双眸 Let life be as the fervent fireworks, the splendor before they’re extinguished shall even light up a child’s eyes. I have nothing but appreciation for this part and whoever put together that MV. My heart still pounds after seeing it so many times LOL.

[7] 未知摊开棋局舍弃昨日才可破 The unknown unveils the chess game: only by abandoning yesterday can the formation be broken. Joined this together in the translation, but in my head it also exists as like: An unknown. Cards revealed. A chess match. Only by abandoning yesterday can the (opponent's) formation be broken. And I say this for every line, but this is awesome!!!!!

[8] 再见了我的月光我的蓝我的爱 So goodbye, my moonlight, my blue, my love. Saying goodbye to the moonlight, the blue earth and loved ones. I remember that lady who says when she was young and couldn’t sleep, she’d look at the moon. And I was like oh! me too. If you think about people throughout all of time who have taken comfort in that they are looking up at the same moon as their those they care for... This is sUCh A LINE???????? It makes me feel like I need to respond sincerely. ‘We appreciate the sacrifice.’ I need to say this back. T_T

[9] 我们拒绝走入夜晚 we refuse to go into that good night. I made this a Dylan Thomas reference ‘do not go gentle into that good night’ / 不要温和地走进那良夜, because it reminded me so much of it of it. So stubborn and so human. Achy feelings again.

[10] 破碎是新生的约定我便愿为尘埃 Shattering is the promise of new life. My wish, then, is to be dust. So you will willingly step forth knowing there is no return so that life can go on. I read this line in another book last year that has stayed with me, in English, it goes: Everyone dies. Humanity will live on. And that conviction and willingness to sacrifice hits me in the same soft spot.

[11] 我是帆亦是舟是微渺的希望 (人是什么? 人是什么? ) I am the sail, and the boat, a minuscule speck of hope (What is a human? What is a human?) HI HELLO WHAT THE HELL THIS LINE IS ON FIRE. Why? Why? 巨浪 is the imagery of like, the classic (though rare) tsunami wave. And cresting on that wave, a little boat. (When you say 舟, I think of a little leaf-shaped sailboat.) So fragile and so so so brave. The chorus in the background asking ‘what is human?’ and THIS being the answer is sort of devastating and warm at the same time. Every part of this song is so well designed?

[12] 往前吧失去吧不要停留 Go forth. Lose it all. Don’t STOP. The vibe of this esp with the 吧 in there is not a ‘give up, give in’ feeling, but more of a this is our absolute VERY last chance (callback to [4]), and we’re putting all that we have into it, there’s no more safety net and nothing else matters EXCEPT THIS ONE THING SO WE CANNOT STOP.

I LOVE THE SCREAM. I LOVE LOVE LOVE IT AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

[13] 你无需记得我 You do not need to remember me. Double triple underlines ‘Everyone dies. Humanity will live on.’ And the lady in the astronaut suit kissing the person through that photo. I have so many feelings about this, but feeling a bit too intensely to word them. So just !!!!!!!!!!!

[14] 未来的瞳孔 the sight of the future. It literally reads, future’s pupil, you know? It’s the part of the eye that lets in the light. The focus of screentime on the camera of MOSS (?) feels significant.

Adore that name, MOSS btw. It feels friend shaped.

..................................................................................................

Rambling

This is one of those works where the whole body of the song and the title are one. 人是_ ‘humans are’ and then a blinking cursor… full of infinite possibilities. The use of a familiar everyday feature? hallmark? (someone find me a better word haha) of our technology and times - I think it’s so interesting and a cool detail to put in and use. Curious why it’s a horizontal and not vertical cursor though. If anyone knows, please give me a shout!

There are so many lines I love and keep thinking about. I’ve given individual shout outs upstairs, so now it’s time to jump around messily!

That we were born of extremes, that it was pure chance that we are alive and able to feel, and that a return to chaos is inevitable as fate. But you know, the coin landed on ‘life’ once, twice, who knows how many times? Man was lucky once, and since then has fought to keep that coin on ‘life’. We don’t remember every hero. But we are alive. One side is life and the other is dust. Heads or tails? But if in the most hopeless and desperate of times, there is a path to life. And there are those willing to be the path even if it means they have to stay behind. This song is their POV, our POV. Our struggle. Our fear. Our hope. Our triumph.

You don’t have to remember me. This was my choice.

I am small. But we go on.

#人是_#周深 #zhou shen #I LOVE THIS SONG #it just goes so hard on the lyrics #how the hell did zhou shen manage so WELL #it's not only sounds difficult to sing (though i wouldn't know xD i just tried and failed terribly)#but the emotions are challenging as well #how do you do justice to a theme like this?#even translating casually.... i'm a bit nervous HAHAHAH #it might be for a story #but the feelings are real #and i think he rose to the challenge #also i haven't watched wandering earth 2 but i fully intend to now

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the-hinky-panda · 1 year ago

Text

Something Witchy: Blackbird, Delaware

Title: Something Witchy

Rating: Explicit

Summary: You're a physical medium and chaos magician that is called in from time to time to help consult on some X-Files. You've lived your life seeing into another world and believing in things you can't see. What happens when you fall for the die hard skeptic Special Agent John Doggett?

Blackbird, Delaware

The house is in the middle of nowhere. John never thought the state of Delaware was big enough to have a “middle of nowhere” location and yet, here he is. At least, he’s not alone. Monica was convinced there was something paranormal out in the woods of Blackbird. A few teenagers were coming back from visiting an abandoned farmhouse with scratches, quills stuck in their skin, and then they would have the most insane run of bad luck until the next group would go out there into the woods.

But Monica wasn’t feeling well, having succumbed to the flu that was making its way around the office. When he had called her, she had suggested having you accompany him on the two hour drive up to Blackbird to investigate the house. After looking at the case file, she thought it could be another Elemental or possible demon, both of which you would be able to assist with handling. She had been impressed with your reading at the McLeary farm and had apparently visited your shop a few times since then so her faith in your abilities had grown.

Not to mention, John hasn’t been able to get you out of his mind since that case. The waves of your dark hair as it falls over your shoulders, your dark eyes that somehow radiate warmth. That unique scent of lavender and thyme that follows you. In the last week, he’s started dreaming about you. He can’t remember any specific details from the dream, just that you were there. He could hear your laugh, feel your warmth next to him. When he woke up, the smell of lavender and thyme was on his sheets.

And he didn’t mind it.

“You said the teens are coming home with cuts and bruises,” you ask him from the passenger seat of the car, “and quills?”

“Yeah. Like porcupine quills but…”

“But they’re not. Delaware doesn’t have porcupines. The state doesn’t have the appropriate ecosystem for them.”

“You got any ideas then?”

You smile at him, bright and confident, in the late afternoon light. God, you’re beautiful. “Delaware may not have porcupines but they do have pukwudgies.”

“Puk what?”

“Pukwudgies.”

“The hell is that? It sounds like something teenage boys do to each other in the locker room.”

“A pukwudgie is like a gnome, it’s a fairy type spirit that shows itself as a small old man with porcupine quills on its back. They can be beneficial to the areas they inhabit but they can also be little tricksters.”

“So they have short tempers.”

“And they don’t suffer fools lightly. They can follow you home and give you a string of bad luck if you insult them.”

“Sounds like our suspect then.”

You give him a surprised look. “Why, Agent Doggett, did you agree with a paranormal explanation of a case?”

“For now.” He gives you a brief smile. “Until we get up there and find it’s some old, short guy with a pet porcupine that’s teaching some obnoxious teens a lesson.”

You laugh quietly. “I knew it was too good to be true.”

He glances over at you, a smile still on your lips and he’s in complete agreement about the situation, of you agreeing to make this drive with him. It is too good to be true. Someone as bright and beautiful as you willing to spend your Friday night driving out into the woods to investigate with him. And the thought passes through his mind, watching the fading afternoon light shine off the soft waves of your hair and that now familiar scent of lavender and thyme fills the car, that he may very well be falling in love with you.

***

It all happens so fast.

You and John reach the abandoned house just as the sun is setting. You take pictures of the house, the woods, the front door that is standing open. You think you see odd footprints in the dust that could belong to the suspected pukwudgie and take a few shots of those as well. John moves through the house, opening every door and ensuring that there is no one lurking about on the property. When he’s done, he finds you in one of the upstairs bedrooms investigating what looks to be a pile of pine needles, a kind of bedding for a small creature in one of the closets.

“Find anything pukwudgie-ish?”

You can hear the sarcasm in his voice but smile anyway. “Actually, I think I did find something.”

He comes over to where you’re standing and when you look over at him, you see the door to the bedroom slam shut. Before either one of you can move, you hear the slide of a chair moving across the wooden floor and settle under the doorknob of the bedroom. It happens in a matter of seconds and ends with the sound of small claws tottering off into the house. John runs over to the door and tries to open the door only to find it locked. He slams his shoulder into it a few times but the old wood stays surprisingly unphased.

“Dammit!”

You fiddle with the lens of your camera. “Looks like we’ve been pukwudgied.”

“Okay,” he says, a little breathless. “How do we un-pukwudgie it?”

“Under normal circumstances, we would provide a peace offering to the creature, nuts and berries mostly. But,” you motion to the door, “we’re stuck until someone can let us out.”

He sighs in frustration as he pulls out his cell phone and tries to call the Blackbird PD, but that results in another frustrated sigh. “No service. Great.”

You go to the window and push it up. “I could try to climb out on the roof-”

“No, no no,” he grabs your arm and tugs you away from the window. “That’s the last thing we need, you falling through the dilapidated roof and breaking your leg or worse.”

“Alright, no climbing on the roof.” You wander around the perimeter of the room while John goes back to studying the door. There really is no other way out other than waiting for either the police department to come looking for you or some curious teenager to show up to the house. Not having much else to do, you sit down on the floor and pull up the pictures you took on the digital camera. John gets tired of fighting with the jammed door and comes to sit down next to you.

“You had something to show me up here?”

You’re close enough to the closet door to pull it open from your seated position on the floor. “I found a pile of pine needles in the closet. Like it was being used as bedding or a nest.”

He hums in acknowledgement but doesn’t say anything else.

“You sound skeptical.”

“That’s because I am.”

“Agent Doggett, we are locked in a room in an abandoned house that you personally cleared.” You hold up the camera. “I have pictures of unexplained footprints and found a nest in a small, dark enclosed space. What other explanation is there?”

“Another explanation? Okay. It’s a big house so I could have missed them when I did the sweep. The footprints could be an animal’s and the pine needles in the closet could be from a raccoon or opossum.”

“So no pukwudgie? Not even a little bit of possibility?”

He gives you a mildly apologetic look. “Sorry, but no. Unless you got a picture on that camera of the creature, I’m siding with a flesh and blood explanation of who locked us in here.”

You nod. “Alright. Photographic evidence. Got it.”

He actually laughs. “You get a picture of this thing, a good picture of it, and I’ll spring for dinner.”

“Deal!”

You sit in companionable silence for a few minutes. The sun has been down for almost two hours and the chill of night is creeping through the dilapidated house. You’re wishing you had grabbed your down coat instead of the thin jacket you’re trying to tug closer around your upper body. John shifts next to you.

“Here.”

That’s the only warning you get before John drapes his coat over your shoulders. It’s warm and holds notes of his cologne, cedarwood and pepper. Your hand smooths over the thick wool and images start to flood your mind. Mist is still clinging to the trees, dew is collecting on your shoes. There’s a group of people huddled together in a grassy clearing. You don’t want to see what they’re staring at but you move towards them anyway. As you approach them you can see the outline of a boy lying prone on the ground. Your heart stops and your stomach roils and…

“Hey!”

You snap back to the darkness of the bedroom and try to blink back the tears that have gathered in your eyes. John has a hand on your shoulder, firm and grounding. You bury your nose against the collar of the coat and take a deep, steadying breath, inhaling his sharp scent. “Sorry.”

“It’s alright.” He doesn’t sound convinced but relinquishes his grip.

The pieces start to slide into place and tears come to your eyes again. This man has lost his son. He had been wearing this coat when they found the body. He had been in that field, had seen his son in that condition. And your heart breaks for him. But you can’t just tell him what you saw as skeptical as he is. So you do the only thing you can in the moment and open the coat as an invitation to share it. He gives you a small smile before moving closer to you, your sides pressed together and the coat wrapped around both of you. It’s so comforting, his warmth and solid frame next to you. You find yourself closing your eyes and starting to fall asleep.

“I’m sorry,” he says after a few minutes of quiet.

That rouses you. “For what?”

“I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings about the…” he motions to the door.

“You didn’t hurt my feelings.” You lay your head against his shoulder. “In fact, as far as skeptics go, you’re the most polite one I’ve ever met.”

“Then why’d you start to cry?”

You take a deep breath, trying to figure out how to answer that question when flashes of light and whispered voices can be seen from the window. Both of you jump to your feet and run over to the window. There are about four teenagers sneaking up on the house, trying to keep their voices down as their bright flashlights bob in the darkness. You grab John’s arm.

“Don’t tell them you’re FBI.”

“Why not?”

“You want them to help us?”

He nods.

You lean your head out the window. “Hey! We need help! The pukwudgie locked us in this room!”

The teens stop dead in their tracks and lift their lights up to the window almost blinding you. “You said the pukwudgie locked you up?”

“Yeah! Can you help us?”

You hear the excited twitter of their voices debating on whether or not the creature is still in the house or ran off or they were being tricked. Curiosity got the better of them and they did venture into the house and soon the door was opening with four curious high school students standing on the other side. You thank them for helping while John flashes his FBI badge and tells them they’re trespassing and shouldn’t be there. But since they helped you, he’ll forget about them breaking the law if they leave.

Once the teens are well on their way back home, you and John climb back into the car and start the drive back to DC. He seems to have forgotten about his unanswered question concerning the sudden rise of your tears and you don’t remind him of it. You’re not sure how long ago the event occurred and if he would even be willing to speak of it. When you reach the suburbs of DC, he asks you where he should drop you off.

“At the store,” you tell him. “I live in the apartment above it.”

“That’s convenient.” He gives you a small smile. “For all those late night séances when they run out of black candles and incense.”

You tut. “You don’t use black candles for a séance. Amature.”

He chuckles at that and navigates the mostly empty streets of DC to your shop. He gives you a warm “Good night,” and waits until you enter the shop safely. You debate taking a shower, wanting to carry the residual scent of his cologne on your skin. As you lay in bed that night, you make plans on heading back to Blackbird to get that picture of the pukwudgie.

It’s Sunday afternoon when you download the pictures you took that morning of the three foot tall figure with the rows of short quills on its back onto your computer. You open your email and type in John’s email address, attaching the image. In the body of the email, all you say is: I like Fiorentino’s on 8th Street.

#john doggett x you #john doggett x reader #agent john doggett #john doggett #agent john doggett fic #john doggett fic #xfiles fic #something witchy series

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lady-assnali · 1 year ago

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SOME sentences Sunday…SEVERAL sentences Sunday…you get the idea.

Have this baby model Crygi that wrote itself yesterday for my dear @thecollectionsof bc I’ve been really holding out on the Crygi lately and I can only say soon or one day so many times before I feel guilty for abandoning my children

———

Crystal shifts her weight between her feet as she stands in line, an exuberant smile on her face. She clutches a magazine close to her chest, occasionally glancing down at it. But she can’t look long, or she’ll lose it right here in the line at this local bookshop between the woman with five beach reads and the young mother and her child balancing stacks of Pete the Cat books in their hands. Instead, she concentrates her energy on living in the moment; the shop smells like robust coffee beans and the undeniable fragrance of books. The playlist is folksy and she recognizes the Noah Kahan song playing because Gigi had been singing it all summer after they’d taken a coastal weekend away just a month before. The trip had been a surprise, and they’d spent an entire day driving up and down the gorgeous, ritzy coastline of Massachusetts listening to lyrics about how everything’s alright when she calls me back. It couldn’t be more true.

Right now, Gigi’s in a timezone five hours ahead of her filming content for a brand Crystal has never heard of but Gigi absolutely idolizes. She’s been working like crazy, but the constant flow of it all has really helped her boost her name. She offhandedly mentions more than once that Crystal can even quit her just in case job now that Gigi has a steady following, but she hasn’t been able to do that yet. She doesn’t want Gigi to think she’s using her for her newfound money (even though they still bulk shop at Costco and get the cheap takeaway they like on Friday nights Gigi is home).

She gets to the front of the line and reluctantly lets go of the magazine, only long enough to let the cashier scan it.

“I don’t need a bag.” She waves her reusable tote in the air, but the magazine just goes right back into her hands. She holds the cover up for the cashier to see and in a loud, giddy voice she announces “This is my girlfriend.”

Gigi’s the front cover of Vogue, an idea she’d held on to since the start of her accidental modeling career and hadn’t stopped thinking about since. She’d told Crystal the moment she’d found out, sobbing on the phone in the middle of LAX. Crystal had met her at JFK with a bouquet of flowers and a sign that read Vogue cover model Gigi Goode.

Now, she gets to hold the magazine in her hand. Everything her girlfriend has worked so hard for in one binding of glossy papers. Well, two-Crystal’s bought one to keep and the other to cut apart so she can carefully frame the actual cover.

She’s absolutely mooning over the photo; Gigi, clad in a beautiful champagne colored dress that she’d made herself from something she’d gotten off the rack. She’d shortened it, added boning, and restructured the entire thing to turn it from Little House on the Prairie to Real Housewives (or something like that; Crystal’s still workshopping the joke). In the cover photograph the old dress hangs in the background like a ghost. The headline? Farewell, Fast Fashion.

“She made this dress.” Crystal points to the photo, turns around so the woman with the romance novels can see the cover too. “She’s so talented, and just the most beautiful soul you’ll ever meet. And this is just…it’s a lifetime of hard work.”

Crystal’s so close to crying now that she has to peel one hand away from her magazines to wipe at the corner of her eye, but she’s not embarrassed. She can’t feel anything but proud.

On her way out (after stopping to show a few other patrons of the book shop, pointing them to where they keep their magazines) she calls Gigi, who picks up on the first ring.

“My brilliant, talented, beautiful girlfriend, I have a copy of Vogue in my hands as we speak.”

On the other side of the phone, Gigi squeals.

“I haven’t seen it in person yet!” Crystal imagines her jumping up and down, her loose curls bouncing and her smile absolutely illuminating the room.

“I’ll send you a picture. It’s incredible, Geege. You look gorgeous. And I might’ve told everyone in the store that you were my girlfriend because I still can’t believe it.”

“Believe it, Crys. You’re stuck with me for life.”

They speak a little bit longer, Gigi reeling as the photos Crystal scoots over on the sidewalk to take of the magazine come through. It’s even better than she imagined, and she’s dying to see it in person.

“Two days!” She cheers. “One sleep! And then I’ll be home for weeks and we can cuddle and lay around and I can use my fancy Vogue money to take my girlfriend somewhere with the best dessert in the city.”

“Where’s that?”

Gigi laughs.

“I don’t know! But we’ll have two whole weeks to find it!”

#crygi #baby model au #six sentence sunday #where i truly never write six sentences and that’s okay

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saralayne · 1 year ago

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This Love ~ Part 1 🩵💜

Change Of Heart

Lucy had been on a UC operation for a couple of weeks. No one at Wilshire saw this coming, especially Tim.

Lucy had gotten the tap to go on a long term UC operation. She was able to give Tim a quick goodbye before she left. Tim sensed Lucy was very apprehensive about leaving. He chalked it up to her being nervous about her first operation away. Lucy assured Tim that if for any reason he sounded the alarm she would take it seriously as she promised. Tim fully supported his girlfriend and knows she is not Isabel. This was not the past repeating itself. He trusted Lucy with his whole heart. Tim promised Lucy to go about his daily life and try not to worry every second of the day. She knew that wouldn’t happen but Tim was going to try his best with the notion of knowing he would not fully breath until Lucy was back in his arms. Tim stayed most nights at Lucy’s. Even without her there. He promised that he would be there for Tamara. Tamara was really worried about Lucy leaving in this operation. Tamara had spent her whole life feeling abandoned. When Lucy took her in it was the first time Tamara had a sense of home and family. Tim being at the apartment after work was comforting to Tamara. Not only feeling safe and protected but also not feeling lonely. As much as Tim joked about Lucy’s puppy over the years. Tamara had seeped into his heart and his life. Tamara was not only Lucy’s puppy but also Tim’s.

Tim had adjusted into a routine. It was extremely hard on him not having his ray of sunshine orbiting him everyday. He held onto the notion of knowing she would be with him soon enough. Tim also realized in her absence just how in love with her he was. He had known for a long time. In her absence it had become so apparent to him just how much he loved her. They hadn’t been officially dating that long but he had loved her for so long. Secretly, Tim had spent some of his free time venturing to different jewelry stores, looking for that perfect ring that he knew he would hopefully place on Lucy’s left hand. Sooner than later.

As Tim made his way into work on this Friday morning. He hoped it would be just a normal day. He had been working 12-16 hour days for 7 days and was looking to get some much needed rest. He knew Tamara would probably be hanging with friends but he as promised would be around the apartment in case she needed him for anything. As he walked into Wilshire up to his office, was barely able to place his bag down when his phone started vibrating in his pocket. Grey’s name flashing across his screen. “Good morning, sir” answered Tim. “Bradford, I need to see you in my office”

Tim was confused. Now that he is a Metro sergeant. He rarely reported to Grey anymore. Only under special circumstances. As he stepped near Grey’s office. His stomach plummeted. As he sees Captain Pine, Nyla and Angela. Knowing full well this had to do with Lucy. He felt as if his legs were going to give out.

“Bradford, please sit down” ordering Grey

“I’ll stand. Just give it to me straight. I-Is she ok? Tears involuntarily formed in his eyes

Angela grasped his shoulder with a comforting hand. “She’s ok. Tim. I promise”

Tim had a sense of relief at that moment.

“OK. So what’s going on?”

Nyla stepped in front of Tim. Nyla had direct contact with Lucy’s handler. She would give Tim updates when she could. Tim was happy that there was someone in contact but also a good friend to both him and Lucy.

“Tim. Lucy is walking away from the operation. I don’t know the full details at this point but she’s done”

Tim wouldn’t deny this was music to his ears on one hand. On the other hand, this was very surprising. This has been a dream of Lucy’s for a long time now. Going as far back as when she was his rookie. What the hell is going on?

“WHAT? This makes no sense. Are you sure she isn’t hurt? Something is definitely wrong. She would never just leave in the middle of an operation. Especially her first big opportunity”

“Yeah. Her handler tried to turn this around. Lucy is adamant. She wants to come home. Her cover is still intact. Our biggest priority is to keep it that way. Get her home safely. She is safe in a secluded hotel outside of LA”

Captain Pine quickly interjected.

“That is why I am here, Bradford. I am sending Po and Harris to go and safely retrieve her. Before you start, I’m gonna stop you. This is an order. You are not going. These are unforeseen circumstances and we need to be extremely careful bringing Chen back safely. I know you are aware of this, I do. But you are too personally involved. Which is completely understandable. I need you to stay here, understand?”

“Yes. Ma’am”

Po and Harris entered Grey’s office. Pine gave them final orders before they left the station. Tim had formed a close bond with his men since coming to Metro. Even becoming social with them. All Lucy’s influence at first but he really bonded with his team. In and out of work. Harris placed his hand on Tim’s shoulder. “Hey, Sarg. We got her. We will move heaven and earth making sure she comes back safely. Promise” Tim nodding his head accompanied with a small smile. He trusted his men. He knew they always had his back.

Po and Harris had to go an hour and a half outside of the city. So, they wouldn’t be back for a few hours. Tim tried to distract himself and dig into his mountain of paperwork. As he looked up from his desk. Seeing his best friend and Nyla standing before him.

“Hey, buddy” Angela says

Angela and Nyla making themselves comfortable on the vacant couch in his office.

“This is mind boggling. What the hell happened?”

“Tim, come on. Are you really surprised? murmured Angela

“For real, Tim. I saw this coming. I mean, I didn’t think it would happen in the middle of her first operation but I saw this coming in the near future” added Nyla

“Honestly, she has always wanted this. Getting the tap. It’s been a dream for her” Tim quickly replied

“Tim, my best friend. I love you but you truly are an idiot. Lucy’s dreams have changed. The future she once saw, is not her future anymore. You are”

“You think, that is really the reason for aborting this mission”

“I would put money on it”

“She is my world. I’m so in love with her. I have never felt this way. Not even with Isabel. I have even been looking at rings. I know it’s soon. But I have never been more sure of anything in my life “

Angela and Nyla are both smiling.

“Tim, both Nyla and I along with everyone here at Wilshire have seen this for years. We have been waiting for you and Lucy to see the light for so long now. It’s not too soon. The writing has been on the wall”

All of a sudden, Harris was heard on the radio.

“We have safely retrieved Officer Chen. No injuries. Estimated time of arrival back to Wilshire is one hour”

Tim tearfully pressed down the button on his radio. “Copy. See you soon, Chen” knowing Lucy would have heard his response.

Angela throwing herself in her best friends arms. “Come on. Let’s go into the debriefing room and wait for your girl”

“Sounds good”

Everyone gathered into the briefing room. About an hour later, Harris and Po enter the room with Lucy following behind. Lucy looking tired but happy. Everyone was smiling at the sight of her. As soon as she spotted Tim. All rules were thrown out the window and Lucy was running into Tim’s arms as tears were streaming down her cheeks. Tim tightly grasped the back of her head with one hand and the other cradling her back.

“Hi baby. It’s so good to see you. I have missed your beautiful face” whispered Tim

“Tim, I never want to let you go”

“Luce. You will never have to. Let’s get the debriefing done and then I can take you home”

As everyone sat down with Lucy. Grey began.

“Alright. Lucy. We are all so happy to see you safe and sound. With that being said. Can you give us some details on what is going on? I thought this was something you wanted?”

As much as Tim wanted to hold her while she explained. Always wanting to be her safe place. He knew giving her space and letting her debrief properly was the right thing to do. Still, he stayed close. Leaning on a nearby table.

Lucy glanced over towards her boyfriend before she began.

“Sir. I know this is out of the blue. First, I want to thank all of you for guiding and supporting me. You, Angela and Nyla. Always having faith in me to be a great UC. At first I thought this is what I wanted. I mean it’s always been a dream. A few days ago I was sitting alone in a beated hotel room. It hit me. I don’t want this anymore. For a few days I had found myself losing focus. I had to really dig deep and keep myself along with others safe. I felt a sense of guilt with that alone. So, as I was reflecting on why this was happening as I have never had any trouble focusing before. I knew. I don’t want this life, now or in the future. In the past few months my dreams have changed” looking over to Tim. He couldn’t help but smile. Her dream was him and a life together.

Angela was smiling knowing that she was dead on with her previous assessment.

Grey was also smiling. “Understood” He knew the hidden message in this decision. True love is about sacrifices and this is exactly what Lucy was realizing. Grey couldn’t help but be truly proud of her.

After she debriefed what had transpired in the last couple of weeks. Grey standing up from his chair.

“Alright Bradford and Chen. Go home. I’m sure you have a lot to discuss. Chen take a few days and come back to patrol. We love having you helping keeping the streets of LA safe”

“Thank you sir”

As Tim and Lucy left Wilshire. Hand in hand walking to his truck.

Later at home. Tim was so thankful to have Lucy in his arms again but he needed to make sure this is what she wanted. He never her wanted to feel any regret.

“Baby. I just need to know you’re sure you want to give this up? Your dream?”

“Yes. That’s the thing Tim. It’s not my dream anymore. You are. Our life together. Your my last everything. I want to come to you every night. Even when our schedules are different. Knowing you’re just a phone call away. This is not only the dream but what makes me truly happy”

“I love you Bradford”

“I love you too, Chen. Just so we are crystal clear. You are and will always be my dream. You are the best thing that has EVER happened to me”

“Copy that. You are it for me too. Always will be”

As they settled in for the night. Having a couple sessions of passionate love making. Which of course was mind blowing. As Lucy fell asleep in Tim’s arms. He just stared, knowing that very soon he would be getting down on one knee with a beautiful ring. Officially asking Lucy to be his wife.

#fanfic #chenford #the rookie #tim bradford #lucy chen #angela lopez #nyla harper #wade grey #tamara collins #established relationship #in love #sacrifice #support #marriage #fluff

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mrxcreepypastamadness · 8 months ago

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Friday Night Funkin': Sugar Rush Madness V2!

Hellish Cakeway Heights

Character: JB-BX

JB-BX (False Racer)

#2:

JB-BX (True Form)

About: JB-BX is the main antagonist of Sugar Hallow '85, a new take on the concept of Smile from Sugar Rush 64, heavily inspired by Sonic (PC Port). Sitting within the abandoned copy of Sugar Hallow Speedway., JB-BX takes the souls of those who play the game who dare to challenge her will so that she can "race" with them, If they win, she'll let them go and give the racers their karts back, But if they lose, she'll "play" with them for all eternity.

Powerdown Pre-Lore: Upon reaching the end of Royal Raceway level, you find... Jubileena Bing-Bing?

Powerdown Lore: If her hallow demeanor and stiff movements aren't enough evidence enough, it is now clear this is not Jubileena Bing-Bing. Her huge frame and heavy feminine voice are enough to rattle you to the core, and it's clear she has no intentions of letting you leave alive.

Demise Lore: JB-BX brutally murdered your Girlfriend. But you don't have time to think about that. You have a choice, run or suffer the same fate as her. "RUN"

Fact:

• JB-BX is literally not an EXE at all (It's official), she's a dark spirit that resides in the cartridge.

• JB-BX never intended to kill everyone, but instead make the other racers surrender their racing karts as her collection, in this case she is kind of a bully and a tyrant.

• If she does kill someone, she would either kill those who broke her rules, or mostly Lucia.

• When JB-BX isn't trying to kill someone, she adopts Jubileena's mannerisms around others. So while she wouldn't be invested in a relationship, she would definitely be a gentle lady.

• JB-BX can use power-ups despite them being little to no use.

• JB-BX and MX are quite different from each other despite both of their backstories, she's basically not mindless or stupid for that matter, rough and tough yes, chasing Lucia around with her kart, no, that wouldn't be fair at all at this point, she'll rather just challenge her players into a race that dared to stand up against her, and just win to get her soul prize to play with forever or lose and give the racers their karts back and always keep her word never to bully them again, she's more independent than MX. So don't even try to compare JB-BX to MX.

• JB-BX is aware to Lord X's canon lore to his series JoeDoughBoi mentioned on Twitter (or X) and she feels uncomfortable about it. Despite this, Lord XX is completely different than the canon X. Canonically she, Lord XX and Hypna are Trio Besties, a group of three best friends altogether.

• Cannonically, JB-BX & Lady Rose X are not friends at all, nor do they get along with each other for multiple reasons, referencing to the EXE community itself, JoeDoughBoi's Twitter post of canon things to clarify for the canon X, & the Lord X Vs. MX webseries episodes posted by "dooblajicoo" on YouTube.

• JB-BX has her trusty pet named Cherryamon, she was found as cute, little puppy as she was clearly lost and was abandoned by a heartless previous owner, Cherrymon's origin's are clearly unknown, but a dog such as herself can talk, and it's very rare.

• Despite being the only entity, JB-BX follows palette rules, hence why CFX is blue and exists as her twin sister.

• Sugar Rush Madness is the official JB-BX lore.

• In Sugar Rush Madness; JB-BX is a slave to Ultra G, despite that, if she had it her way, she would not hesitate to break free to separate the amalgamation and make a redemption arc to end it all, and return back to her world and to live a normal life.

• Her favorite Lemonades at Starbucks are Strawberry Lemonade, Raspberry Lemonade, Sunset Drink, & Mango Dragonfruit Lemonade Refresher.

• Her favorite Frappuccinos at Starbucks are Cherry Blossom Frappuccino & American Cherry Pie Frappuccino.

#friday night funkin #mario's madness #creepypasta #overworld #wreck it ralph #mario 85 #jublieena bing bing #sugar rush speedway #sugar rush racers #pasta night #creepypasta oc

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weepingfromacedartree · 2 years ago

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Dancing Around the Truth: Chapter 5

Chapter 5 is now available! Hope you all enjoy 😉

Chapter 5: Friday

“Colin.”

He wakes with a startle.

The first thing his eyes settle on after adjusting to the light is, unsurprisingly, Penelope. She’s laying in bed with her body turned towards him. Her red hair is splayed out wildly on the white pillows behind her. Sleepy confusion is evident on her face.

The second thing he takes notice of is the light itself, shining brightly through the window behind him. It’s properly morning. No vomit-induced, crack of dawn wake up call today.

The last thing of note his own two feet. Having moved his chair right up against Penelope’s bed frame, he had slept with his feet inclined on her bed. His yellow socks lay on the white of her sheets. The second he realizes this fact, he throws both feet to the ground.

“Colin,” she says again, this time yawning out the two syllables.

“Hmm?”

“Did you fall asleep in my chair?” The fury and annoyance from the previous night are gone from her voice. She simply sounds confused. Which she has every right to be. Under any circumstances, it’s a rather strange sight to wake up to.

“Yes,” he answers. Although, he suspects it was a rhetorical question.

“Why did you sleep in my chair?” Maybe it’s the exhaustion, maybe it’s the fallout from the opium-induced haze she had experienced only a few hours before, but there isn’t an ounce of accusation in her question. She is simply asking.

“I was, uh, worried about you and did not want to leave you unattended. But truthfully, I believe the falling asleep bit was an accident.”

Colin speaks plainly. After secrets spilled the night before, not of Penelope’s own volition, but as a side effect of the drug he had fed her, he feels an obligation to speak truthfully to her now.

“Hmm.” She continues staring at him. Her eyes squint, as if trying to read something at a distance. Then they look away from him completely. “Last night, did I say anything… strange?”

Colin glances over his shoulder. In the second that it takes for his eyes to land on the doorframe behind him, he silently prays that Anne will be standing there. The maid does, after all, appear to possess a magical ability to appear when Colin needs her most. But when his eyes catch the sage green hue… No such luck.

“Nothing of note,” he says, his compulsion to speak nothing but the truth quickly abandoned.

For the first time since she woke him, Penelope coughs.

“How are you feeling?” he asks after her breath settles. He welcomes the change in subject.

“Better.” Something in her eye tells Colin that her answer is truthful, not simply meant to stave off his worries.

“Wonderful. I’m glad the medicine was not a waste.”

Penelope glances at the two bags still sitting on the table beside her. “Yes, well…” Her eyes linger on the black pouch. “I think I will hold off on taking any more of the opium. For the time being, at least.”

Colin’s heart sinks. He knew he should have better prepared her for what to expect when she first consumed the elixir.

“Pen, I’m so sorry. It’s my fault for not —”

“Don’t.”

“No, really —”

“No.” She throws him a “this is the end of the conversation” look. He doesn’t take the hint.

“I should have warned you of the drug’s intensity. I cannot —”

“Stop.” Her voice is more pinched than the look persisting on her face. “Do not berate yourself so unfairly. For failing to do something that you did, in actuality, do. I knew what to expect when I —”

“I could have done more.”

He should have done more. He should have told her the specifics of Benedict’s reaction. He should have pinched less powder into her tea. He should have asked the doctor for a milder prescription. There are a million things he should have done differently.

That’s Colin, always falling short.

Penelope’s look of annoyance makes way for something infinitely worse. Guilt. It’s a look he knows well.

“Colin, you know I appreciate your presence here.” His heart quickens. He had not known that. He was under the impression that his relentlessness and her copy of Pride & Prejudice were the only reasons he has been allowed to remain by her side these past few days.

“But I need you to know that your care and attention can only do so much for my condition. You cannot expect to cure my illness through determination of will alone. Or through anything, really — that is the doctor’s job.” She sighs. “You’re not here because I need you to handle everything for me.”

He’s about to ask her why he is here, then. The words form on his lips, but before he can speak them aloud, he notices that Penelope’s eyes dart to the other side of the room. Naturally, he follows her gaze. Anne is standing in the doorway.

Colin sighs. It seems that the maid’s magical ability has a time delay this morning.

“Good morning Anne. Will you give us a moment, please?”

Anne nods before shutting the door behind her. Colin opens his mouth, those same words forming on his lips, but Penelope beats him to it.

“I think you should go home.”

Colin’s heartbeat gains speed. This is not where he had wanted this conversation to go.

“Pen —”

“Just for a few hours. I need some time alone. And I suspect you do, too.”

Ridiculous, he thinks. What he needs more than anything else is laying in bed across from him.

The disappointment and concern must be written on his face. With a small, forced smile suddenly appearing on her lips, Penelope continues.

“Nothing will happen to me within a few short hours. I am feeling better, honestly. I have barely coughed since I awoke.”

She has a point. Although evidently still ill, this is the most healthful she’s appeared since he walked into her bed chambers Tuesday morning.

Colin glances at the vanity on the other side of the room. His hair is sticking up straight, there’s a thin layer of brown fuzz on his jaw, and he realizes now that he had completely forgotten to adorn a cravat when dressing in haste yesterday morning. From Penelope’s vantage point, it likely does appear that he needs time to himself.

But he does not want to go. An image of —

No. He can’t think of that right now.

“Very well then.” Resisting his urge to stay planted, he stands from the mint green armchair. His back is stiff when he stands upright. “I will return at noon.”

Penelope bids him adieu with a familiar smile.

⚘ ⚘ ⚘

As Colin walks the short distance between Featherington House and Bridgerton House, he thinks of Penelope. He thinks of her face. Her voice. Her words.

You shouldn’t be here.

You know I appreciate your presence here.

Words spoken minutes, hours, days, even months apart come at him out of order and increasingly loud. His footsteps slow the further he walks away from the Featheringtons’ door. He’s not in a hurry to arrive anywhere else.

You’re astonishing, Colin.

Goodbye, Mr. Bridgerton.

There was a time when he took everything she said at face value. But when Penelope’s words to him became few and far between, he found himself going back to them more and more. How could he take her words for granted when they so often contradicted each other?

I heard you, Colin. On the night of my family’s ball.

I don’t hate you. I never did.

What version of Penelope is he supposed to listen to? The one who speaks with a sweetness in her voice? The one who whispers with tears in her eyes? Or the one too out of her mind to consider her words before they leave her lips?

It would be like me saying that I would never dream of courting your brother Benedict.

“Good morning, Mr. Bridgerton.”

Colin’s footsteps stop short, along with his train of thought. He looks around. He’s standing in the Bridgerton foyer and a footman is looking at him expectantly.

“Ah — morning, John.”

Colin nods and proceeds towards the grand staircase, but the footman calls for him again.

“A letter came for you this morning, sir.”

Colin looks down at the light blue envelope in the footman’s hand. The first thing he notes is a stamp of urgency on the top right corner. The second thing of note is the return address written in the other corner.

Aubrey Hall. Gregory George Bridgerton.

“Thank you, John.”

As he walks upstairs, Colin shoves the envelope into his pocket and promptly forgets its existence. No letter of true urgency has ever been sent by one Gregory Bridgerton.

After dismissing his valet, Colin shuts the bathing room door behind him. He feels truly alone for the first time in days. And he thinks of Lady Whistledown.

He had known the truth before she spoke it aloud. Well, maybe “known” isn’t the right word — he didn’t have a confession or any piece of undeniable evidence to prove his theory. But still, he knew it in his heart… Or suspected it, at the very least.

He places one foot after the other into the tepid bath water. He sinks his entire body beneath the surface. Eventually, he comes up for air.

His suspicions had started during his embarkment to Greece. The extensive journey had given him much time to ponder the calamity that occurred at the culmination of the 1813 season.

When he had first left the English shores, he had thought of his failure of an engagement. His emotions had alternated with every rock of the boat.

Anger for Marina. For the deception she had wielded against him from the moment they met. Embarrassment. That he had thought her to be the love of his life, while she had thought him an easy mark. Guilt. For the cruel words he had thrown at her when their union came to an end.

Indignation for his siblings. For the words of warning they had spoken during his short-lived engagement. Shame. That he had been too stubborn and self-righteous to have listened.

Hatred for Lady Whistledown. For publishing something that could so easily ruin a young lady’s life. Relief. That someone had revealed the truth before he had the chance to ruin his own.

The revelation had brought new meaning to words and actions that he had originally witnessed without so much as a second thought. Not just Marina’s, but also Penelope’s. Her part in the whole ordeal wasn’t obvious at first, but the more he thought of it… It had been difficult to think of anything else.

Even before he learned the details of Marina’s deceit, Colin could tell that Penelope had been against the courtship. He saw the disapproval in her eye from the first moment he had expressed an interest in Marina. Penelope, ever pleasant and polite, may not have vocalized her disapproval at first, but that didn’t mean Colin could not sense it throughout his doomed courtship.

Every time the three of them were in a room together, it was like there was a cloud hanging over Penelope’s head. Colin had been surprised. Marina was her cousin and he, her friend. He had expected Penelope to be thrilled.

Then, after the news of Colin and Marina’s engagement had broken, Penelope had pulled him aside. To warn him. At the time, he had thought she was over-reacting, putting far too much stake in an affection that Marina had previously possessed. Only in hindsight did he realize that she was trying to warn him of a far greater threat to his future.

Her words haunted him. How different everything would have ended up, if only he had paid an ounce more credence to her warnings. Not two mornings after that conversation, Lady Whistledown’s column had been published.

The first suspicion had come as he laid in bed in his tiny boat cabin. Not that Penelope was Lady Whistledown herself, but that they were connected in some way. Had Penelope tipped her off? The anonymous author had to get her intel somewhere… Maybe there was some secret tip box that all the young ladies secretly knew of.

His suspicions were trifling at the time. The idea of Penelope, good and kind, being involved in Marina’s scheme or its consequences still confounded him, let alone her being connected to Whistledown. The hypothetical connection had washed away before he could reach the Grecian shore. For a while, at least.

Colin releases a bar of honey-scented soap from his hand. He watches as it plops into the murky bath water around him. He feels as though time is being wasted in that porcelain tub.

His body sinks even deeper into the water.

On the night following his arrival in Preveza, the first destination of many that year, Colin had written several letters. First to his siblings. Then to his mama. Then to Penelope.

He had received five envelopes in response to that first round of letters in September. By January, that number dwindled down to just one. With each message, he would provide a new address for her to send her return. Sometimes her response would reach his destination before he did.

Around January was when his suspicions had picked up again.

Penelope rarely wrote of her own goings-on in their correspondence. Her pages were usually filled with follow up questions to his most recent letter. But in the last week of December, feeling even farther from home than he usually did, Colin asked her about her own family — if they had done anything of note for the holiday.

Penelope replied with a story of a family dispute on Christmas Eve. Philipa and their mother had gotten into a screaming match over the dinner table. Later that night, Penelope had found her sister trying (and failing) to fetch a horse from their stable. She had planned to flee to the Finch’s estate.

Lady Featherington, Penelope reported, had not punished Philipa for it. After months of silence and much trepidation, Albion Finch had sent flowers on Christmas morning.

Philipa receives flowers from a suitor and suddenly mums the word. Mama was too overjoyed at the evidence of their budding romance to think of anything else.

The joke had instantly brought a smile to his lips. But only a moment later, Colin felt a strange sense that he had read it once before. After some recollection, he recalled a strikingly similar passage from a Whistledown column earlier that year. He had smiled when he had read it the first time.

Lady Hallwell was overheard making quite a fuss in Vauxhall Gardens over her daughter’s inability to catch a suitor’s eye. However, it seems that Miss Mary Anne did not go completely unnoticed at said ball, as flowers were delivered to her doorstep the very next morning. As for Lady Hallwell… Her lips remained joyfully shut while promenading across Grosvenor Square that morning. After all, mums the word when a budding romance is afoot.

Although noted, Colin had brushed off the similarity. Lots of people make plant puns. It did not mean anything. Necessarily.

During the rest of his travels, he got that sense of déjà vu a few more times while reading Penelope’s letters. Little words and phrases that seemed so particular, but so familiar were not easy to ignore. But they were easy to explain.

On countless occasions, Colin would get that same sense of déjà vu when reading back his own letters. Like his own writing was nothing more than a collection of words and phrases he had stolen from far greater writers than himself. Like his passages were nothing more than a pale reflection of something great. Perhaps Penelope did the same imitation act with Whistledown, whether she knew it or not.

Colin raises his hand from the water. He brings it close to his face. His fingers are already pruned. With a sigh, he climbs out of the tub, one foot after the other.

The final nail in the coffin came at the beginning of the 1815 season, shortly following a different revelation he had the night of the Queen’s ball. It was because of Eloise. Ironic, considering he had thought his sister to be a far more likely suspect in the past.

In those first few weeks of March, Eloise had made her sudden dislike of Lady Whistledown very vocal. She was a madwoman. A traitor to women everywhere. A hack who wasted her “talents” writing gossip and using her power to bully the undeserving.

Eloise’s dislike of Penelope was not so loud. Whatever happened between the two girls, his sister had the grace not to reveal the intimate details to their family. But still, Colin could not help but take notice of the similarities and timing between the two grudges.

Towel in hand, Colin flicks away the loose water from his hair. Once his mane is sufficiently damp, he ties the towel around his waist.

He had saved all of his letters. Every passage he received from his siblings or friend, he had saved in a box at the bottom of his trunk. He wanted to keep them as written reminders of his travels. In hindsight, it would have been more useful to keep his own letters that detailed his exploits abroad. But alas, that is the pitfall of letter-writing. Your words are not yours to keep.

Colin opens the door and peaks his head into the hall. It’s empty, not a servant in sight. Not wanting to adorn the fetid clothing currently sitting in a pile on the floor, he chances luck and bolts into the hallway with the towel still wrapped around his waist. As he rushes towards the door of his bed chamber, Colin silently notes that he should endeavor to find a travel journal. If he manages to leave England again.

His back against the safe side of his door, Colin looks around his bed chambers.

This room has been his since infancy; a crib once sat against the wall where his bed now lays. It’s strange, he thinks, how unfamiliar it feels to him in this very moment. It had felt like the most familiar, comforting place on the night he returned from Italy that spring. Then, he had been gone six months. How could sleeping by Penelope’s side two nights have such an effect on him?

Colin passes his desk as he makes his way towards the dresser. The box of letters once hidden in the depths of his trunk now presides in the top left drawer.

At the beginning of the season, when Penelope had refused to speak a single word to him, Colin had found himself going back to her letters constantly. He wasn’t sure of his own intentions when he read her words over and over again. But when he did so, a pattern emerged. At the time, he had half a mind to ask Eloise if she still possessed her collection of Whistledown papers. He hadn’t asked. But if he had, he suspects that the answer would have been an emphatic no.

By the end of this season, all of those fragmented suspicions fused into a single, resounding answer. His belief that Penelope was Lady Whistledown was all but confirmed, as was his belief that that was the missing piece to her and Eloise’s falling out. But even then, Colin could not bring himself to ask his sister for confirmation.

What if he was wrong? What if his pursuit for the truth only brought harm to Penelope? He would rather stay in the dark.

Colin pulls a pair of navy blue trousers from the dresser. He steps into them. Left foot, then right.

Like it so often does these days, his mind turns back to their conversation on the night of the Queen’s inaugural ball. Penelope had told him that their friendship was improper. And she had a point.

For so long, Penelope was the exception to the rules that Colin knew all too well. He knew, by the standards of the Ton, that an unmarried man and woman are not allowed be alone in a room together. To write letters to one another. To speak each other’s Christian names. Colin knew all these wrongs and rights, followed the rules like any gentleman would. But with her, the rules never seemed to apply.

She was not just some woman. She was Pen. She did not count.

Colin pulls a shirt from one of the hangers before him. It’s off-white. Maybe yellow, in another light.

He can’t think of the Queen’s inaugural ball without also thinking of the Featheringtons’ ball the previous season.

To Colin, calling Penelope his “friend” had always felt a bit imprecise. Especially in the last few years. That’s not to say that the term was incorrect — they had been friends since childhood, after all. His friendship with Penelope was just different than the ones he forged with his Eton peers, fellow London bachelors, or even his own siblings.

But even if “friend” was not the best word, it was an accurate one. So it was the one he adopted. At the time.

Due to his own failure to properly define his relationship with Penelope, he grew to loathe the idea of others trying to define it for him. That night, when Fife had approached him with a group of fellow bachelors in tow, Colin had wanted to end the conversation as soon as possible. He wanted her name off their lips. So he said the first thing that came to mind. The thing that would end that conversation the fastest. That was his only intention. He had not known…

Colin grabs the first waistcoat he sees. Blue. Not remotely the same shade as his trousers, but he hardly thinks that matters now. Fastening each button, he thinks of the question she had asked him, that night in March.

It would be like me saying that I would never dream of courting your brother Benedict. Do you think he would take offense to me making such an obvious declaration?

The way she phrased the question, the answer had seemed so bloody obvious.

No. Benedict would not take offense. Because Benedict was not in love with Penelope.

The realization had hit him like a ton of bricks. Penelope loved him. Well, she had loved him the night of Featheringtons Ball. God knows the look she shot him in the moment was not that of love.

Hatred. That was the look she threw to him on the Queen’s steps.

Colin regards his collection of cravats, before swiftly shutting the drawer closed. Such fashion seems superfluous in the confines of Penelope’s bed chambers.

There are some realizations that hit you all at once. An occurrence that brings forth a distinct before and after. That’s what Colin always imagined love would be. He blames his family for instilling the notion in him (the notion that once made him mistake infatuation for love).

Violet and Edmund fell in love at first sight. Daphne and Simon had a whirlwind romance. Anthony literally compared falling in love with Kate to being struck by lightning. On multiple occasions. Usually after a few glasses of whiskey.

The other, more critical realization that finally hit him that night…

It was like when you’re writing a letter and have a word on the tip of your tongue. You spend hours over a dictionary trying to unearth the damn thing. You cross-reference similar words. You feel like all hope is lost. And then — after what feels like a lifetime — you discover it. You slot the word into your sentence and everything falls into place. Once it’s all over, the answer seems so simple that you can’t believe it took you so long to figure out.

Colin was in love with Penelope. He had been in love with her for a long time. Nothing had changed that night on the Queen’s steps, except a single word.

Penelope is not lightning. She is ivy. Colin’s love for her had grown from almost nothing, until one day he was covered with her vines.

After slipping white wool socks and clean loafers onto each foot, Colin stands in front of his mirror fully dressed. He regards himself for a moment.

Who is he to Penelope now? A protector? A villain? A friend? Something more? He does not know. He had spent the season trying to prove he could be that something more, but even now he does not know what to think. There are certainly hints he could draw from. The words she says and those she does not dare speak aloud. The smile on her face when their eyes meet and the gritting of her teeth when she fakes it. The…

It doesn’t matter. Colin fears what he will find if he starts drawing conclusions.

The lines between suspicion, belief, and fact are blurred when it comes to Penelope. Sometimes those blurs are for the best, he thinks.

Turning his head to the side, Colin glances over to the clock across the room.

9:23. He left Penelope’s door 34 minutes ago. 157 minutes until he’s due back.

⚘ ⚘ ⚘

Knock. Knock. Knock.

“Come in.”

Colin had left Penelope looking tired earlier that morning — understandable, given the fact that she ordered him out of her room only moments after awakening them both. So when he arrives back at her door, two minutes to noon, he expects to walk in and find her with the alertness that midday typically delivers to a person. But even now, she appears tired.

He would say that she looks exhausted, if it were not for the nervousness in her eye. Or in her twitching fingers, almost concealed beneath her white sheets.

Her appearance has changed in other ways, Colin notes as he walks closer. Her wild hair has been twisted into a braid down her side. And instead of donning nothing but a thin nightgown, Penelope now wears a light pink dressing gown on top. It’s untied, creating a white line down her middle where the nightgown’s fabric peaks through.

The last thing Colin takes note of before clearing his throat is the armchair. At some point since that morning, it had been pushed away from her bed by a few feet.

“Pen?” It’s not the most eloquent question, but it’s the only word he can manage to get out.

“It’s not too bad. And I just drank another cup of the antipyretic, so I’m…”

When her voice trails off, Colin raises his hand. He’s about to place it against Penelope’s forehead, but she gives her head the tiniest of shakes. He takes a step back and tentatively sinks his body into his seat.

There’s an uneasy silence between them. Colin is usually the one desperate to fill such an air with his voice, but Penelope is the first to open her mouth now. Her eyes are cast downwards.

“When I awoke this morning, last night felt like a haze. Like it was difficult to separate dream from reality. But all morning, I’ve been feeling as though…” She looks up. “As though I said something last night. Something I shouldn’t have.”

The look in her eye sends a shiver down his spine.

They both know. Her logic may have gotten away from her during yesterday’s opium-induced haze, but it’s clear to Colin that her memory is strong today. Too strong to ignore the truth between them.

There’s no point in dancing around it any longer.

“You didn’t say anything I didn’t already know.”

One by one, he watches as a range of emotions pass by Penelope’s pretty, blushing face.

Wide eyes. Downturned lips. The scrunch of her nose.

Shock. Heartbreak. Anger.

“Eloise told you.” It’s not phrased as a question. As if this, too, is a universal truth to which they are both aware.

“No. Eloise did not have to tell me — we have never even discussed it. I figured it out on my own.”

Raised eyebrows.

Surprise.

“Oh.” The word escapes her lips breathlessly. Then, with an ounce more forethought: “How?”

“How —”

“How did you figure it out?”

“How I…” His body sinks a few inches deeper into the armchair. It’s not a simple question to answer. Or maybe it is.

“I believe it started with a plant pun.”

Now, the expression on Penelope’s face is utterly blank. Once she realizes that Colin is not about to expand on his statement, she sinks a bit deeper into her bed.

“Are you angry with me?” Yet another complicated question.

In truth, Colin’s feelings about Penelope’s double life as Lady Whistledown became increasingly complicated and harder to ignore with time. The more he accepted it as truth, the more difficult it became to grapple with.

Yes, he is angry. Not just at the content of her columns — although there was certainly no short supply of material from which he could draw outrage from. No, the anger had more to do with the risk she puts herself in every time she publishes one of those damn papers. Whistledown is practically an enemy of the Queen, for God’s sake.

Of all his mixed emotions, the fear of her being discovered remains the most salient.

“Once you’re feeling better, I think we should discuss the dangers brought about by your pursuit.”

“You did not answer my question.”

“To be honest with you, it’s rather difficult for me to be angry with you about anything in your current condition.”

Her nose scrunches. Again.

“Oh, spare me.”

“Pardon?” he shoots back, genuinely perplexed by the quickness with which anger appears on her face once again. How could she be angry with him in the current situation?

“The fact that I have a few sniffles does not —”

“A few sniffles?”

“— negate what I have done or take back the things I have written. If you are angry with me, then just be angry with me. I can take it.”

Of course he’s angry with her, but that’s just one brush stroke in a very complicated painting.

Yes he is angry. But that anger is inextricably linked to the fear he feels every time he thinks of her being uncovered. His fear is at war with the pride he holds, knowing all that Penelope has accomplished in secret. His pride takes a hit from his ego — a jealousy that he would rather bury deep down inside himself than properly examine. He would much rather focus on the humor and unbelievable irony of the situation. That Penelope — usually so saccharine in speech — could be the lady behind London’s most scathing column. But he can’t focus on that point too long; that ever-sweet version of her had slipped away months ago. The girl sitting in front of him now…

If they had had this conversation at an earlier point that season, his anger surely would have overpowered anything else within him. His words would have been delivered in shouts — not this anxious, stumbling cadence.

Concern, that is what overpowers him now. That is the force that has driven him since she left him standing in Danbury’s garden all alone. Seven days ago.

“I can only speak for myself.” He reaches for the white and yellow kettle sitting on the table beside them, “But I don’t feel as though I am in the right mindset to have this conversation.” He hands her a full cup of tea. “I do not wish to say anything that I might regret later.”

Penelope lets out a huff. It’s a miniscule amount of air from her lungs, but it’s enough to bring forth another coughing fit. A mix of acceptance and annoyance now resides on her face. Her lungs have betrayed her.

“Fine. We shall discuss the matter later.” Instinctively, Colin begins to lean down towards the floor. “Don’t you dare pick up that book,” she says as his fingers brush the spine.

He doesn’t want to discuss Whistledown. She doesn’t want him to recite someone else’s words. What are they left to speak of?

“Do you wish for me to leave?” he asks, speaking more plainly than his gut would advise.

After a moment that feels like a lifetime, she answers: “No.”

“Very well.” He lets out a sigh of relief and feels the tightness in his chest start to loosen. “I shall stay.”

Penelope nods her head ever so slightly, then turns her gaze towards the nearest window. The sky is mostly painted white today, the blue sky barely perceptible between the cracks in the clouds. Colin gazes upon her lips, shut so tight, and wonders what she is thinking.

The two of them fall into a comfortable silence. For once, Colin does not feel the need to fill the quiet air around them. It is not so much a lull in a conversation, as it is a reprieve from the noise. The only sounds come from the wind outside and the gentle wheeze of Penelope’s breathing.

Colin could happily spend hours listening to her breaths fall in and out of time as she watches the clouds drift in and out of her view. Even if the sound does little to distract from the increasingly loud thoughts banging around in his mind.

⚘ ⚘ ⚘

Colin stirs peppermint tea with a silver spoon, swirling the water around until the powder has dissolved completely. He places the empty gray bag down on the table, then hands the teacup to Penelope.

There’s still light in the sky outside, but it’s fleeting, too dim to illuminate the room around them. Once the teacup is placed securely in Penelope’s hands, he takes a step towards her desk and reaches for the matchbox sitting atop a rather tall and precarious stack of novels.

“Is the tea, uh, warm enough?” He barely grazed her fingers when he handed her the cup, but he could not help but notice the warmth radiating from her skin as he did so.

“Hmm?” Penelope looks up at him like he just brought her out of a trance. “Oh, yes. Plenty warm.”

After lighting enough wicks to sufficiently brighten the room, Colin moves back to his seat beside Penelope. When he goes to sit down, he places his right palm against the bottom of the chair and pulls it an inch forward.

Over the course of the day, he had found every excuse imaginable to stand from that chair, just so he could push it forward ever so slightly when he sat back down. Penelope had eyed him suspiciously the first few times he did it. The ever-decreasing distance between them clearly did not escape her notice then. But now, she continues staring dazedly at the teacup in her hands as the wooden legs scrape the floor.

The silent company of the preceding hours also gave Colin ample time to think things over.

When Penelope had an especially rough coughing fit, he had stood to pour her a cup of tea. When he had grabbed the kettle, he could not help but notice how barren the rest of the tabletop was. Right palm flat against the bottom of the chair, Colin pictured the envelope he had placed there the night before. He had not given it a second thought at the time, as he was otherwise occupied worrying over Penelope’s fever. But it’s absence today suggested that someone else had. Silently, he wondered if the letter had come from Prudence or Philipa.

When Penelope’s skin glowed red with fever, Colin had stood to fetch her a damp cloth. During the short trip down the hallway and back, Colin could not help but think of the physical symptoms he had experienced himself over the course of the last few days. Blushing cheeks. Shortness of breath. Vomiting on the Featheringtons’ shrubs. It was not lost on him that love can oftentimes produce the same symptoms as a medical crisis.

When Penelope’s eyes had fluttered shut and Colin felt suddenly, alarming alone, he had not even bothered to stand before inching the chair forward a few inches. After he slumped even deeper into his seat, Colin had looked down to make his final, critical realization of the day. His shirt was, in fact, yellow.

Penelope’s unwitting nap was restless, brief, and ended with a sharp gasp pulled from her throat. Ever since she awoke, Colin’s thoughts have been plagued with nothing but worry.

He reaches for the gray bag still sitting on the table. Still empty.

He glances over to Penelope, still laying in bed. Still glowing red.

A delivery boy was sent to retrieve more of the antipyretic hours ago. The darker the world grows outside, the less faith he has that the medicine will come today. And with Penelope’s symptoms only growing more severe as the light fades from the sky…

“Perhaps you should take a small dose of opium.”

He knows her response before she has the chance to voice it aloud. Or to roll her eyes. He can’t blame her, he wouldn’t want to take it either. But he also can’t pretend as though her symptoms had not noticeably lessened after she took the opium the night prior.

“It could help you sleep.”

“No.” Her voice is quiet, but decisive.

“Are you —”

“Yes.”

Sitting beside Penelope these past few days… Colin does not know how he managed to control his words around her that whole season. He thought that, through practice, he had mastered the balance between push and pull when it came to speaking with her. Now he bites his tongue so often that he worries there will be permanent damage to his taste buds.

Even still, Colin feels as though he has said too much. Or not enough. Frankly, it’s hard to tell when in such peculiar circumstances. At least during the season, he had a set of rules that he could sometimes follow and sometimes bend.

The rules are not followed or bent now. They are not even broken. They are non-existent.

He should probably just keep his mouth shut. Stay close until Penelope is ready to speak with him again, but the silence is starting to drive him mad.

If they’re not talking, he’s just thinking. Worrying. Picturing things he shouldn’t. Like the newspaper sitting somewhere downstairs — the paper Colin specifically asked Anne not to bring upstairs this morning. Like the image of Penelope dancing with that decrepit old man. Or the image of Portia and Michaelson —

“Pen,” he mutters as he leans in closer. He rests his elbows against his knees. Palm against palm. “Did you ever get the chance to write to your mama? Or your sisters?”

Now, the only image plaguing his mind is that of a light blue envelope.

“No.” Her eyes look away from him. “I told you, my mama is unreachable at present.”

He runs a hand through his hair. “What about your sisters? Don’t you —”

“Colin!” She cuts him off as loudly as her lungs will allow. The look she throws him makes him wish she was still averting his gaze. “I do not wish to discuss this matter again. Why would I waste the ink? Or wax for an unbroken seal?”

His arms twist from his knees to across his chest. “I believe you should write to them.”

“They would not care —”

“You don’t know that.”

He sounds desperate. She looks desperate to get him out of her sight.

“And what do you know of my family, Colin? What could possibly give you the idea that you retain more insight on the topic than I?”

He knows, logically, that Penelope is correct. That his view of family is inextricably linked to his own upbringing, where any one of his siblings or parents would shutter at the thought of him sequestering himself in such a way while ill. But there is one piece of information that Colin possess and Penelope is not yet privy to. That knowledge, as well as the imbalance it has created, is eating him up inside. But instead of confessing it…

“I’m sorry. Anne handed me a letter yesterday to deliver to you. I hadn’t considered it at the time, but I thought it might have been from one of your sisters.”

And just like that, her eyes are on the floor again. He knows he shouldn’t ask but…

“Who wrote to you?”

Penelope coughs and, for the first time in four days, Colin wonders if she’s faking it. To buy herself some time.

Finally, she looks up. “Eloise.”

That was not the answer he was expecting. Or hoping for.

In an instant, Colin is reminded of how monumentally stupid his actions have been these past few days. He doesn’t regret staying by Penelope’s side one bit, but there were certainly precautions he could have taken to conceal his whereabouts from the rest of his family.

He could have written a letter to his mama telling her not to worry. He could have spent two extra minutes thinking of a reasonable excuse for him to remain in Mayfair that week. But no. He had just gone along with whatever plan Benedict had thought of in the moment. Colin can barely recall the details now, but one thing is clear. Eloise knows.

After a season of complete silence between the former best friends, there is no chance in hell that Eloise cracked and wrote to Penelope for no reason. But what was the exact reason?

Best case scenario: she’s writing well wishes because Benedict informed her of Penelope’s sudden illness.

Worst case scenario: she’s writing to warn (or celebrate) that Anthony is on his way back to Mayfair to kill Colin for risking a young lady’s honor.

He shouldn’t ask. He knows he should drop it. But the image of Anthony riding towards him with a gun raised pulls the words from his throat.

“What did she say?”

“I don’t know.” Penelope’s attention turns to the drawer of her nightstand, where he presumes the letter currently resides. Likely sitting next to his own unanswered letter. “I couldn’t read past ‘Dear Penelope.’”

His shoulders lower slightly. If Eloise was writing something disparaging, she would have found a more creative and hurtful salutation. Plus, he finally remembers that Anthony is a determined man; if he had set out to kill Colin, he surely would have arrived in Mayfair faster than his sister’s letter.

“Are you —”

“I do not wish to discuss this matter with you, either.”

Irritation suddenly prickling the back of his throat, Colin simply mutters: “Of course not.”

The quiet utterance seems to focus Penelope’s dazed expression. Her eyes narrow.

“Is something the matter?” There’s an edge to her voice and an absence of any genuine curiosity.

Yes, Colin thinks.

“I think it would be wise for you to write to your family. They deserve to know you are ill.” His voice breaks on the last word.

While he speaks, Penelope’s face indicates that she is about to interject — to remind him, once again, the differences between her family and his. But when his voice breaks, her face drops.

They sit across from each other for a few seconds, each red-faced and struggling to breathe for two very different reasons. Then Penelope simply asks: “Why?”

Colin does not look away when he finally unleashes the words he’s been desperately trying to forget for two days.

“Jeremy Michaelson died yesterday morning.”

They had not discussed Lord Michaelson since the night of Danbury’s ball when she had declared she would not marry him. Although they never discussed it aloud, it’s obvious that they both independently came to the same conclusion, that Penelope caught her illness from Michaelson. The look on her face mirrors how Colin felt when he learned the news from Dr. Scott. That Penelope caught her illness from a dead man.

Her next words come out much calmer than the look in her eyes.

“And when did you learn of this news?”

Colin gulps. “Yesterday morning.”

Penelope can do nothing but stare at him for a short while. When she eventually speaks, she sounds scared.

“Get out,” she says. Her words are direct, but they lack the conviction one would expect from such a demand.

“Pen,” he pleads. “Don’t cast me out.”

“I wish to be alone.”

“Pen —”

“No, Colin, will you simply listen to me? You say you are here ensure I am well, and then you disregard my wishes like you inherently know better than I.” With every word she gets out, the fear in her voice is overpowered by anger. “You act as if you are here because you care for me, but I do not believe that to be the case. You are here because you feel guilty.”

“That’s not true!” he sputters out. He’s flailing. He’s absolutely gutted.

“Oh, it is. And you know it.” She scoffs. “Everything you do, you do out of guilt.”

“I don’t —”

“For me, at least.”

Colin tries to interject again, but Penelope’s deliverance is steadfast. “Guilt has always controlled your actions, long before this season. Dancing with me when my dance card was always empty. Sticking up for me against the likes of Cressida Cowper. Conversing with me when I was always, always standing alone in the corner of a room.”

“Pen —”

“Do you think it escapes my notice how you and your family pity me?”

“We like you —”

“You feel sorry for me. You always have. My current illness has just given you an excuse to finally act upon it.”

“That’s not —”

“You feel sorry for my perennial wallflower status. For being born into the most unfashionable and unfavorable of families. For the innate shame of being Penelope Featherington.”

“Don’t say that!”

In a single move, Colin lurches forward to the edge of his seat and grabs for Penelope’s hands, currently gesticulating wildly inches from her chest. The movement stops when he takes hold.

“Did you ever consider the possibility that I did all of those things because you are my friend? That I sought you out in every ballroom, park, museum — wherever — simply because I craved the pleasure of your company? I have never once been ashamed of you, Penelope.”

With that, she slips her hands out of his grasp and lets them fall to her lap.

“I admit that I am in no position to judge another’s veracity. But honestly, Colin, I find it difficult to determine which of your declarations to believe and which to overlook.”

Her words silence him. He has no idea what to do with them.

Penelope appears to take said silence as an answer to the question she had not dared ask.

“Get out,” she says, with slightly more conviction this time around.

“Penelope,” he manages to say. “If I leave and anything happens to you, then I would feel guilty. I would not be able to live with myself.”

“Go,” she nods her head in the direction of the sage green door. “You may sleep in Prudence’s old bed chambers. It is only one door over. I shall call out if I require your attention.”

One door over is too far away. The settee was too far away. Hell, the chair he sits in now — hands on her sheets, knees against her bed frame — is too far away.

But like it always manages to do, a little voice in his head breaks through. It reminds him that if he pushes Penelope too far, he may never get this close again.

He nods so slightly that one could mistake the movement as a meaningless twitch. But not Penelope.

“Goodnight, Colin.”

“Goodnight, Pen.”

Slow in step, he retreats across the room, closes the door shut behind him, then walks five paces to the next door over. It’s a putrid green. It reminds him of the Featheringtons’ shrub and the substance he left there yesterday morning. With a twist of the doorknob, he pushes it open.

Back into exile.

#fanfic #bridgerton #fanfiction #polin #dancing around the truth #weepingfromacedartree #colin x penelope #penelope featherington #colin bridgerton

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