#it’s just really unfortunate that all the investment and eyes are happening now

[the-physicality]

think about how much time during the season, which is when her kids are off of school, she's not there

This is what I’m saying. And 44 games (22 away) is A Lot.

[wannaeatramyeon]

Meeting Student!Gun Park for the First Time: Part 1

Part 2! G/N. 3.2k. Remember when Gun wanted to get his GED? Well. Stranger to~ Masterlists

"How old are you?"

"20."

Press X for doubt, you think, and that's the exact meme you send over on chat.

"20 like 20 or 20 like you're mid 30s and planning your mid life crisis 20?"

You know you're being rude and making a terrible first impression. It's the first day of a new school year, of a new school in fact, and for some reason the class is held on video call and you're all forced to pair off with a classmate for an icebreaker introduction.

It’s already cringe worthy and awkward enough, icebreakers must have been created as a form of torture. To add insult to injury, you're sure this guy is bullshitting you.

"I'm 20." He deadpans.

Momentarily, you’re stunned into silence. It stretches almost a tad too long before you manage to choke out, “My bad. Sorry."

Wow. You're torn between thinking that's a rough 20, this guy has easily got 40 years under his belt and oh no, when is your puberty and hormones gonna kick in like that.

And that's also the exact moment this 20 year old Gun Park takes a drag on a cigarette and you decide that it's definitely a rough 20.

"So what do you do for fun?" You probe, and you have the distinct feeling he might say something like alimony, planning his third marriage, investing in the stock market - whatever someone in their 50s might say but-

To your surprise and glee, his body language turns shifty. 

He likes to game he says, like it's a dirty little secret. Amongst other things. Mentions something about training and martial arts and you fight to keep a straight face as it turns out you were also right about investing in shares and the stock market.

Gaming, however, is what you latch on to.

"Cute. I bet I could kick your ass."

"Oh yeah?"

"Oh yes."

And this is how you ended up at 4am on a school night, playing Tekken with your new classmate and getting your ass kicked.

"One more!" You screech down the mic, after the KO sign appears on screen, mumbling something about cheating and how if you can time this combo just right-

There's a huff of laughter coming through your tinny headphones and an amused "Fine."

.

.

Dark circles under your eyes grow. It's been a week of straight losses.

You blame the sleep deprivation on Gun Park, though really you have your own stubbornness to blame.

He never tends to say much during the gaming sessions apart from the odd expletive and you rant enough after each of your defeats for the both of you.

Sometimes this will earn you a chuckle and he will snidely add that you asked for this, you were the one who was supposed to kick his ass. This would piss you off enough for another game or three in the hopes of defeating him and getting to gloat.

Which unfortunately has not happened yet.

With a sigh, you hope your camera quality this morning is bad enough and pixelated enough that your poor sleep habits don't show.

You scan over your classmates, the few that have their camera turned on and find him.

Gun looks completely fine. He looks completely fine in what must be 4k and ugh, you scrunch your nose up in annoyance.

You keep an eye on him through the class. Observe how he's usually paying rapt attention, scribbling and typing up notes every now and then.

It's impressive how studious he is.

In comparison, you're daydreaming. Thinking about lunch, other combos or characters to play to counter his own when you catch on to the back end of a sentence as your teacher mentions ‘this’ is something to pay attention to as it will be on the pop quiz.

Huh? You blink a couple times. What is ‘this’? Unfortunately she swiftly moves onto another topic.

You type out a direct message to the only person you know.

You: I missed that, what did she just say?

Gun: You should have been paying attention.

You: Fuck you man!

You see his eyes dip to the bottom of the camera screen, briefly moving as he presumably reads your message.

He smirks.

That night he kicks your ass again.

Then as consolation, reveals what will be on the pop quiz.

.

.

If Gun looked like that in 4k, nothing could prepare you for how he looked in real life.

You're setting up your laptop and notepad in the classroom, the first actual in-person session, when someone takes a seat next to you.

Initially you feel a surge of irritation that they could have sat anywhere else and chose to sit next to you, then you look at the offender and-

Hold on.

You double, triple-take-

Is that?

It must be.

Shit.

It's fucking Gun Park.

You don't entirely regret your initial comments on his looks because this guy definitely does not look 20 but goddamn he looks-

He chooses that moment, when your jaw is on the floor, to turn to you and give you a nod of acknowledgement.

"Y/N."

"H-hi." You manage, and even to your ears it sounds like a simpering fool.

He must have thought so too if the quirk of his lips is anything to go by.

The cherry on top is that you expected this guy to smell like stale smoke, instead all you get is fresh laundry and something faintly dark and heady like leather and cedarwood.

Fuck.

Control yourself, a disapproving voice in your head says. Even that sounds vaguely like Gun.

It does nothing to stop your wandering gaze, peering at him in your periphery when you think he's not looking.

After you have taken your chance to not so discreetly run your eyes up and down his form, the only thing that makes you feel better is his hair. Because yeah he might be hot, but holy shit that must be a gallon of hair gel in there.

.

.

The other thing, as it turns out, that makes you feel a lot better is that he doodles.

It’s utterly charming.

Someone like Gun Park doesn't look like he doodles, but in between lines of his chicken scratch (seriously, who can even read that), there's little stick figures.

Maybe all the time you thought he was being studious he was just drawing-

Wait. You squint at the picture.

Is this guy for real?

"Are they fucking?" You whisper, using your pen to point at the page.

He doesn't answer straight away. There's a moment of surprise as he reacts like this is another secret of his he has unwittingly let you in on before his nostril flares and his eyes narrow and you grin in response.

Your grin grows when he grits out an answer. "No. Fighting."

He doesn't call you a dumbass but you can hear it loud and clear tacked on at the end.

"Whatever, pervert." You counter. You guess if you squint even harder then you suppose they could be fighting. Although the way one is lying on top of another is very suggestive. You don't hesitate to point that out to him.

Gun closes his eyes and counts to ten.

.

.

Even without a seating plan, one forms.

Places taken by chance on the first day becomes a regular arrangement.

You exchange a few words with your classmates, familiarise yourself somewhat with their names and faces. Pieces of their backstory, why they're here studying for a GED but take your spot next to Gun regardless.

No one really talks to him, you've heard them saying he's menacing and intimidating. Yet when your first encounter of him was mistaking him as someone about to hit mid life crisis, how intimidating can he really be.

Besides, he still doodles his lewd figures that he insists are not in any way shape or form comprising sexual positions. So no, you don't find him intimidating at all.

.

.

Gun, as you have come to know, is a man of few words. He is also unsurprisingly not great at literature.

What you don't yet know is he likes to say what he means and mean what he says. His patience only extends to The Art of War, so all the flowery prose and poetry only serves to irritate him.

If Gun glared at you the way he's currently glaring at the textbook, you think you may either burst into tears or burst into flames.

Luckily you do neither of those things but you do take pity on him. Leaning over, you ask him quietly if he needs help.

He doesn't respond but the pen he's clutching in his right hand snaps in half.

Alright then.

Half an hour later, when the class empties out you ask Gun to follow you to the library.

He hesitates, and you add "if you've got time" to give him an out. In the end he doesn't take it and trudges obediently after you.

You very quickly learn that he really doesn't like literature. You're explaining and working him through the analysis and also mildly offended at the bored look on his face.

"This is a waste of time," he interjects and there's a sullen undercurrent to his words.

"Just memorise the analysis then." Exasperation tinges your tone, "That's all you need to do to pass."

He arches a brow at your words.

"They're testing your memory. So just remember what our teacher says."

There's an angry air of resignation as Gun nods, and you slide your notes over for him to copy.

.

.

Not long after, you have your first minor evaluation on the literature material.

You notice during the test that while the vein in Gun’s temple is prominent and he’s clutching his (new) pen tighter, there’s barely any pause as he fills in the answers.

A few days later, the graded papers are handed back. There's a sigh of relief from Gun.

He gives you a smile, small and genuine, eyes crinkling at the corner.

"You owe me one," you tell him jokingly though he takes it to heart and gives you a stern nod.

.

.

Gun repays his debt, with a coffee.

He places the paper cup on the desk in front of you. Logo of the coffee house to the side but still visible. It's new, expensive, and there’s regular lines around the block.

Of course it would be from there.

The issue is, who repays a debt with an espresso. He didn’t even ask for your drink of choice!

"Thanks for this thimble of coffee," you remark as Gun sniffs in distaste at your comment, placing his own matching cup in front of him and saying something about how it's the best untainted way to drink it.

Of course he would also be a coffee snob.

You tell him you usually like it with a bit more cream and a lot more sugar and he mutters that you sound like Goo.

You think that's an insult.

"Well, at least Goo has good taste," you snipe back with a grin.

Gun closes his eyes and counts to ten.

.

.

You: Are you doodling or actually writing notes?

You: Cos on camera you look very studious but I’ve seen your notepad

Gun: None of your business

You: Still drawing your disgusting pornographic stick men then

Gun: They are not-

Gun: Whatever

.

.

You: Ok, maybe that espresso wasn’t terrible

Gun: I know

You: Who’s Goo anyway?

Gun: …

Gun: No-one

You: Suuuure

.

.

You: Tekken tonight?

Gun: Aren’t you tired of getting your ass kicked?

You: >:(

.

.

You: Do you wanna go over the new lit material in the library this week?

Gun: Ok

.

.

Gun: Thanks for your help

You: :) 

.

.

Gun: You’re tired. You should game less.

You: Spoken like a coward!

Gun: Dumbass

You: Hey!!

.

.

Gun: I’ll bring you an espresso tomorrow. You need it.

You: Does it have to be an espresso?

Gun: Yes

You: …Thanks

.

.

To anyone else, the figure standing in the doorway is just smoking. To you, it suspiciously looks like they’re waiting.

It's not a crime. Gun Park can wait for whatever or whoever he wants.

What really throws you off is his smoking. You've seen him casually take one single drag before throwing the whole cigarette away. Even to you, it seems like a waste.

However, this time he smokes one all the way to the filter before stubbing it out. Then does the same to a second, and third.

Strange, very strange.

You approach him. Taking gentle steps, in case he might get spooked and bolt which is really a ridiculous notion for someone like him. Nevertheless, you keep your footsteps light, yourself clearly in view and you wander over to him.

"Hey," you say, with a somewhat forced smile. He doesn't acknowledge your greeting apart from a brief nod.

"... Everything ok?"

It's a perfectly normal question to ask but a vastly bizarre one for Gun. He doesn't look like the type of person where people casually enquire about his well being.

He must have thought so too if the look he gives you is anything to go by.

In response, he stubs out his cigarette (his fourth!) then asks, stilted and stiffly, if you want to come back to his for a game of Tekken.

At least that's what you interpret as he seems to be crazy cryptic.

"Are you interested in Tekken?"

"...Yes." You wonder what on earth this question is because did you hallucinate all those games you played together?

"Then meet me. After class." 

"Where? Here?"

"No. At mine."

"Where's that?"

"..."

He gives you another look, as if you're the one trying to coax a secret out of him despite him offering.

Gun dips forward, murmurs quietly into your ear his address and some vague directions like it's highly confidential information.

You nod along, thinking what is with this guy. 

.

.

So firstly, what the fuck.

Then secondly, what the fuck.

Don't think you hadn't noticed the designer brands Gun wears. If they're fakes, they're very convincing fakes. But you're almost certain they have got to be counterfeit when he brought you over to a junkyard claiming this is where he lives.

You've seen films like this. Granted, it's less in a junkyard and more in the middle of nowhere in America where college kids meet their gruesome ends in fantastical ways.

You never thought this would happen to you. You have sorely miscalculated. 

Is this Gun Park (if that even is his real name) going to butcher you and leave your body on top of a pile of scrap metal in the corner?

Instead of a night of gaming where you’re the one KO-ing him, he’s actually the one that’s going to chase you around wearing a mask and wielding a knife or axe?

"You’re here. Come in," Gun says, opening his front door just as your inner monologue begins to truly spiral out of control and you're considering doing a runner.

"Eh?" You grunt like an idiot, not noticing when the shack appeared nor when you stepped onto his porch, or the side eyes Gun had been giving you.

He gives you another look, likely regretting inviting you at all, and leaves the door ajar for you to either enter or turn back and go home.

.

.

"This is... nice," you lie, through the skin of your teeth.

Gun sees cleanly through your white lie and exhales a huff of amusement.

It's sparse. Peeks of luxury here and there - the extensive PC gaming rig, the entertainment system and consoles, to name a few.

Apart from that, it's barely a home.

"Take a seat." He offers, and it sounds more like an order. Obediently you sit on his sofa, feeling very much a guest.

"You're not in danger," he says, bemused at how awkward you are in his domain, how tense you hold yourself.

'That's exactly what a killer would say,' you think and when you hear a low chuckle, you realise that you said it aloud.

"Don't worry," Gun reassures and it doesn’t really help before he strides off to somewhere in his house and leaves you sitting alone.

He returns back minutes later as you’re in the middle of admiring his entertainment set up and going through his vinyl collection (because obviously someone like Gun has vinyls) with a coffee for you that looks much more milky and to your taste than the usual ones he offers. 

“Thanks.” you take your drink and return back to your seat.

Taking the first sip, you finally manage to relax. Sinking into a sofa that is much more comfortable than at first glance and you take in your surroundings a bit more.

Sort of. You actually take in Gun Park more. 

He’s casual, in a way you have never seen or even considered. Dressed in a t-shirt and grey sweatpants, hair floppy and the only styling is done with his hands running through his hair now and then to keep it back.

Even during the online classes, he is usually dressed up in an open collared shirt.

If you thought he was hot before, it’s nothing compared to now. There’s an air of domesticity, the drink he made for you cradled in your hands, and the distinct feeling that not many people have had the luxury to see Gun in his natural habitat, so intimate and vulnerable.

You wonder if this is how he looks all those nights you’ve been gaming together.

You catch his eyes, having been caught checking him out and he raises his eyebrows at your blatant staring. 

Blood rushes to your cheeks as he chuckles into his own espresso and takes a sip.

.

.

"Holy shit, I won!"

You're familiar with the KO screen. What you're not familiar with is being on the side of victory. You're usually a hair trigger away from rage quitting, from throwing a tantrum down the mic.

Finally. All your hard work has paid off. Time spent thinking of combos, attacks and defences (which would have been better spent studying) is coming to fruition.

You peer over to Gun, expect the controller he is clutching to maybe have been crushed into pieces with his freakish strength. Expected nothing except for a vein throbbing on his temple.

What you do find is-

Gun looking at you, fondness in his eyes. He's taking in your grin, letting your gloating slide.

Doesn't do more than roll his eyes when you perform a victory dance of sorts around him.

And when you get in his face to tell him that you're the winner, you're the best-

(More words are on the tip of your tongue but your gaze drops to his lip, drawn to the small smile he wears.

It sinks in.

The patience he has, the attention he gives, the way he has opened his home to you.

From the very first meeting, the even-handed way he has dealt with your insults, entertained you to the early hours of the morning on Tekken.)

Gun reaches out, tugs your hand and pulls you into his lap and agrees.

"Yes. The best."

You think it's a lie, an embellishment.

But the way he holds you - tender and precious, and the way he leans forward to rest his forehead against yours - soft, like you might break - can't be anything else but the whole truth.

(Update! Part 2 here!)

[junislqve]

ᯓ seasons — ot7

syn i used to hate it, until i found out it was your favorite thing. (1504 words)

pairs ot7 + reader | cw petnames — mlist navi

note synopsis was actually more of a prompt but err i hope you guys enjoy anyway >< also im writing this half asleep so im sorry if there are any mistakes !! everybody thank peng cause without her this wouldn’t even be here rn

LEE HEESEUNG

“why don’t you warm me up?”

heeseung never liked winter. he hated the coldness and the gloom that came with it. ever since he was young, he’d stay cooped up in his room refusing to go out and play with the snow.

even as an adult, heeseung would be more silent during the season, chattering his teeth even though he wore about a dozen coats.

well that was until he knew you. you were the complete opposite. you loved the coldness and the festive feeling of winter. finding the beauty in the falling snowflakes.

ever since heeseung started dating you, your love for winter created a small fondness in him. he loves it when he gets to see your pretty smile and your nose red-tinted from the cold.

he loves it most when you both would take the train back after a day out and you would fall asleep on his shoulder, hands tucked on his to keep yourself warm.

PARK JONGSEONG

jay had never really been picky with anything. having being the cook back at home and even now cooking for you made him accustom to people’s likes.

one thing, however, that never had he enjoyed was caffeine. he hated the bitter aftertaste of it. the smell that always lingers.

but when you once bought him an americano back when you both were still friends, he downed the whole thing. making you laugh, he liked hearing your laugh, it was addicting. he saw how you were savoring the taste after every sip. thinking that if you liked it, it shouldn’t be that bad.

and now, every morning before you woke up, he’d add coffee-brewing to his routine. making both of you coffee before heading for work. but really, he just loved seeing you hum in delight after a sip, a small smile on your lips.

“you’re so good at this, babe” you say, complimenting his brewing skill.

“why don’t you give me a kiss for it then”

SIM JAEYUN

you loved musicals. from hamilton to phantom of the opera, you’ve always loved watching them if they played in theaters near you.

jake, however, would rather spend his time playing soccer or watching a movie at the comfort of his home. he didn’t find musicals interesting, refusing whenever his friends offered to go watch one together.

however, when you offered, he found himself sitting near front seats in a large theatre. completely invested in the story line. he took down internal notes in his head knowing you’d start talking about it the moment you both walked out the theatre, just so he could give his own perspective in case you asked.

he would listen to you talk all day if it meant having to watch musicals often. asking you to repeat things to see your smile grow. his eyes linger on you, observing the pretty smile you have and the excited glint in your eyes as you talked away.

“wait, can you explain again about what happened to her in the end?”

PARK SUNGHOON

possibly the biggest hater of mint chocolate chip ice cream, sunghoon would not get near it. if he had a choice, he’d rather choose something more simple like vanilla.

but all in all, sunghoon never really liked ice cream. he doesn’t understand the enjoyment people get whenever they’d crave it.

apparently all it took for him to finally try the flavor he most despised was for you to (barely) beg him to hang out with you. he was too flustered when you asked him what flavor he wanted and when you asked if he wanted the same order as you did, he just nodded. barely registering what you said.

he unfortunately did not realize this until he scooped up a spoonful of the ice cream and tasted the familiar, yet, unfavorable taste. however, after much thought and probably the sweet smile you were giving him, he concluded that it didn’t taste as bad as he thought it would.

after dating, sunghoon would often pick up ice cream for you two after a long week, eating it together while huddled up watching a movie in your living room.

the taste of it was always there, but he understood why you adored the flavor. it growing on him more than he’d expected, especially when you’re the one he’s eating it with.

KIM SUNOO

being alone creeps him out. he gets terrified if he was ever left home alone. that’s one of the reasons why he loved going out.

he finds it comforting being surrounded by people, chatting along with anyone and everyone, catching up with them.

before you were in his life, he felt like being alone further makes him feel unwanted. busying himself with anything if, in a case, he were to be left alone.

when you did come into his life, though, it was like you rearranged the meaning of being alone. you love the peace and quiet of being alone. the silence that seems to fill the room letting you breath for a moment.

technically, he still didn’t really like being alone. sometimes, he’d call you to his apartment to ‘be alone’ with you. none of you speaking any words to each other, just laying down and listening to each other’s breathing. so many words unsaid but the feelings able to be conveyed through gestures.

you’d taught him how to enjoy the quietness. he finds that when he’s alone he felt more calm and centered. still, as a person who loves talking, he would always prefer being with people.

but, you redefined the meaning of being alone and he loves you for it. he loves the way you look happy and at peace all the time, he loves it when you both be alone together.

YANG JUNGWON

“babe, can you get my socks pretty please?”

as a person who gets cold easily, you love bundling yourself up before sleeping. your necessities were your 2 blankets, a pillow for your side and socks.

jungwon always found it iffy to wear socks in bed. even if he were to buy new ones to wear only in his house, he still wouldn’t like the feeling of it.

that was until he was introduced to you by a mutual friend. when you two started talking, he found your many quirks adorable.

however, one that he only found out when you started dating, was that you loved wearing socks to sleep. his horror back then showed on his face when you asked him if he were okay.

overtime, you gradually convinced him. especially if it was winter and the coldness would go up by twice the usual weather. being used to your routine, he didn’t even realize he started wearing socks to bed until you pointed it out when he was sleeping over.

the realization he had was baffling, but as he accustomed to it he didn’t find it weird at all. he would start buying you both matching socks when he was out and was thinking of you.

NISHIMURA RIKI

“let’s get back to bed, love”

everyone knows riki is not a morning person. he hated waking up early more than anyone. it’s not weird to find him coming out of his room at 1 pm.

by 1pm, you’ve probably already went to a cafe, had breakfast, catches up with a friend, and had a 2-hour lecture.

when you got involved with riki, you tried your hardest to wake him up early. his friends had told you to give up many times saying they’ve tried over and over again.

but miraculously, on your 7th try, he woke up. although, grumbling, he started sitting up and asking what you were doing at his dorms.

the first time you tried you were just there to drop off some food to your big brother. but when you knocked and no one answered, you were about to leave. until one of his dorm mates opened the door to let you in.

they were all stood crowded in front of his room, shouting at him to wake up, but he never moved. still sound asleep after a whole debate session ensued in the dorms.

after your brother and his friends collectively decide to leave him alone instead of trying to wake him up, you put it upon yourself to try as well. little did you know, he’d heard all your wake up calls, just too afraid to face you, seeing his bedhead and all.

7th times the charm however, when he finally braved himself to wake up and reply to you, although his heart pounding abnormally when you smiled at him.

when you two started dating, he couldn’t not wake up before you. much more aware of his surroundings when he’s around you.

riki however is riki. if he were to wake up earlier, then you would also have to wake up later sometimes because of him. deciding to stay in for a bit longer when he asks to, surrounded by his warmth.

© junislqve 2024. liking, commenting, and rebloging are appreciated.

[ranunculussy]

enigma | part02.

wednesday

ꕥ part 01. | part 03. | part 04. ꕥ pair: Spencer Reid × BAU!fem!reader ꕥ warnings/tags: canon-typical violence, mentions of human trafficking, swearing, somewhat oblivious Reid and reader, age gap, moderately jealous Spencer, slow-burn, mutual pining, rivals to lovers, english isn't my first language so bear with me pls, idk about other warnings ꕥ word count: ~3.5k ꕥ summary: Spencer can't quite figure you, his rival out and this annoys him more than it should [this fanfic is also available on AO3with the same title and username]

“Eek, this is like a group vacation.” Her quick, light claps accompanied Garcia’s excited squeal. Her bright, energetic demeanour seemed to lift everyone’s mood, which was below average that early afternoon on a cloudy Wednesday. The reason was mostly that they were all tired from the mission on the previous day. Also, the fact that a one-and-a-half-day road trip was ahead of them didn’t really help either.

As soon as they clocked in to work that day, Hotchner greeted them with the rather unfortunate news that in order to avoid any suspicion, they’d have to travel on the road and not with the private jet, which meant a roughly 35-hour-long drive. The Bureau was kind enough to provide the team with a minibus and three assigned FBI agents as drivers so they wouldn’t have to take turns behind the wheel.

“Did Morgan manage to kick down fewer doors in the previous month or what?” you asked jokingly as you watched the biscuit-coloured vehicle roll up to the team. The Bureau was constantly up in your asses with the monthly budget and how expensive it was sometimes to fund the unit. They were so stingy that it became a joking material between you.

“Ha-ha, very funny,” rolled his warm, chocolate brown eyes the mentioned man as he lightly punched your shoulder.

The truth is this wasn’t out of generosity. It was more of a tactical investment, recommended by the anti-trafficking unit. If it were up to the Bureau, you’d be crammed up in those notorious black SUVs for almost two days straight. But the dark vehicles became so known for belonging to law enforcement personnel that if the host or some guests from the auction saw them, the BAU would immediately get noticed and the mission would be a failure.

“So, Hotch” spoke Reid not so far from you who was strangely silent this morning. “We are going to spend the night at some hotel, I assume.”

“Yes. This way we will arrive at Flathead Lake either tomorrow night or Friday morning, depending on the traffic.” nodded your boss. He informed you that the briefing will take place on the bus since the anti-trafficking unit - who invited the team to help with the case – gathered some new information about the owner of the lakeside mansion where the auction will take place. While you infiltrated yesterday’s gala, they also put together a somewhat solid plan. Luckily, the BAU didn’t have to do everything all by themselves, they got joined up with competent people.

You quickly ran your gaze through the whole team. There was Hotchner, Rossi, JJ, Prentiss, Morgan, Garcia, Reid and of course, you. An even number of people. Meaning everyone had to share rooms with someone. You were more than sure that the “dads” – as in Aaron and David – would share one, just like Emily and Jennifer. There wasn’t any question about it. Now came the bigger problem, which was the Morgan-Garcia duo. If they were to share a room, it would only leave you with the doctor. Oh God no. You definitely can’t let that happen.

The minibus was the smallest possible one out there with 12 seats maximum, plus the seat of the chauffeur. This looked worse and worse for you by the minute. Of the three drivers, one was obviously behind the wheel, and the other two were occupying 2-2 front-row seats so they could rest properly. Leaving exactly eight seats for the team, so nobody had the opportunity to sit alone.

“So, Pen…” you hugged the woman next to you with one of your arms and had a Cheshire cat kind of smile on your face.

“Absolutely not” objected Derek, shaking his head before the flamboyant blonde diva could even take a breath. “There is no chance in hell that I’d sit next to Reid for around 40 hours. Babygirl is with me, so don’t even try. And I’m also sharing a room with her.”

“But…”

“Get your asses moving, guys” called for you already from the bus Emily. The rest of the team was waiting for only the three of you. As you placed your foot on the thin steps of the light-coloured vehicle, you silently prayed that someone, out of pure coincidence, decided to sit next to Dr Pain-in-the-ass Reid. The cleanly designed door of the modern bus silently shut behind you while you quickly scanned the insides. Since you were the last to get on board, there was only one unoccupied seat in the third window row… Next to your unpleasant co-worker. Of course, where else? At this point, you felt like God was testing you.

It’s not that you didn’t like him, but there was always some underlying tension between you, and you felt like you were constantly on edge around him. The subtle rivalry was exciting, of course. You were a very competitive person by nature. But still, you felt like you were under a microscope, getting dissected by his curious, watchful eyes each and every time you were in the same place. You weren’t friends, not even close to that, in your opinion. Simply co-workers who were a bit too similar in some ways and exhaustingly different in others.

Reid was sitting in the aisle seat. His thumbs played with the edge of the case folder, which was on his lap while he leaned back in his seat with closed eyes. He tried to shut out the lively group for a moment and get 8 hours of sleep done in 2 minutes.

“Hey…” you were the one who pulled him out of his somewhat meditative state as you awkwardly stood next to him. “Could you let me in?” you pointed at the empty seat.

For a moment, he didn’t really react, just looked at you with his eyebrows furrowed. He was slightly taken aback. Of course, there was a high possibility of you two having to sit next to each other. However, he thought that due to the complicated relationship that you had – which oftentimes was the cause of heated arguments -, someone would do the whole team a favour and take the place next to him. But no. Everyone seemed to stick with whom they were the closest with. This was reasonable, given that suffering through 1 and a half days of travelling would be even worse if you’re by the side of someone you aren’t that close with.

In a sense, the BAU was like a family, yes. During their years of work, they crossed the river Styx and came back countless times. They’ve seen Hell unleashed. They’ve experienced how cruel and disgusting human nature can be. But they did it together. And this created an unbreakable bond between them. There was nothing they wouldn’t do for each other.

Now, sitting in one place for around 40 hours crammed up in a small space is an entirely different question. Everyone gets bored, grumpy and annoyed easily. It’s safer to stick with the person you’re especially comfortable with, even amongst them.

Reid quickly collected his thoughts. He wasn’t feeling like he was in his element, and it bothered him. He couldn’t lose against you. Not even in a non-existent competition about which one of you is handling this cooler.

“Be my guest,” he smirked but didn’t move an inch.

“Are you serious right now?” you crossed your arms in front of your chest as you looked him in the eyes with a challenging spark in your irises. The bus slowly moved under you, making you stumble a bit. His smirk turned into a grin as he slid down in his seat, making himself more comfortable.

“Everyone, I’d like to start the briefing,” you hear Hotch’s voice through the bus’s speaker since he used the microphone at the front. They were waiting for you to sit down finally.

“I won’t hesitate to step and walk all over you,” you tried to sound as serious as possible, hoping that by asserting your dominance, he’d stand up and let you in.

“Kinky” came the unserious comment from JJ who was in one of the backseats, causing the more unserious half of the team to chuckle.

“Guys, please,” your boss tried to take control of the situation while the little asshole next to you was just smiling smugly. This was your last straw. You took a deep breath and lifted your left leg over his lap, so your back was facing him. This situation was so embarrassing that you couldn’t possibly face him and remain collected.

Since the trunk was placed there, the ceiling above the seats was low, you had to kind of sit down to be able to squeeze yourself in. So, for a few excruciating moments, you were in his lap.

“I swear to fucking God one of us won’t get off of here alive, and it won’t be me” you murmured, your voice was filled with anger as you finally wiggled your way through the obstacle, being a literal grown-ass man. You didn’t even notice that the sound of his irritating chuckle was absent. He severely miscalculated things with this stunt that he pulled. You were so close to him. So damn close. He could smell the pleasant mix of your soft, sweet perfume and your shampoo lingering in the air. It wasn’t too strong, nothing over the top. You mostly used things that had natural scents, either from flowers or fruits. Things that smelled like candy, or anything overly artificial usually gave you a headache so you tended to avoid those. He probably wouldn't have noticed it if you weren’t that close. But now, as the gentle aroma filled his nose, it became impossible not to think about it. Also, the fact that he could’ve just reached his hands out and grabbed your hips when you sat down for a flickering moment on his thighs was an image he was hardly able to ignore.

But alas, you finally got to your seat and Hotch was able to start going through the developments of the case with the assistance of the one and only Penelope Garcia. “I’m sorry to say this, my lovelies, but the mansion is equipped with the best security system anyone could ever dream of. On top of that, the private guards hired are employees of the most elite and most efficient security agency worldwide. I don’t think it’d be possible for you to sneak in,” she said while she sent files and pictures to your tablets. “Being wired is also risky. Plus, there is the problem of no weapons, no vests, no nothing.”

“So, we're just going to raw dog this mission the way God intended?” you clicked your tongue as you said the rhetorical question mostly to yourself, causing Derek, who was sitting behind you, to snort.

“Well, one of us is definitely going in ra…” Emily’s sly smile matched her unserious tone perfectly. You could envision a crystal-clear picture of her face with a playful glimmer in her eyes. Not even a day went by since the undercover mission with your boss, so it was obvious none of them were going to let the topic go.

“Prentiss.” Hotchner’s deep, warning grunt came from the front seats as firm advice for your best friend to think carefully about whether she’d like to continue her sentence or not. You let out an awkward laugh as you pressed your forehead to the back of the seat in front of you. When the others quieted down, your boss continued. “Luckily, the anti-trafficking unit was able to get information about the staff working on the event. Morgan, Reid. You and a few agents from the other unit are matching their descriptions. They were all pursuable to give their shifts over to us. Garcia will send you detailed information about them, so you’ll be able to blend in as much as possible.”

This seemed logical so far. It was clear as day that you couldn’t send in Emily, JJ or Rossi since they were more or less public figures. Rossi was a well-respected author, JJ was the liaison of the team who later became a full-fledged agent, and Emily was known for her international contacts.

“We know that there are even politicians and CEOs joining the event. This will be an awfully low-risk crowd in one place at the same time. Wouldn’t they be more throughout with the workers too?” shook his head Spencer making his light brown wavy locks bounce slightly. He let his hair grow longer, giving his characteristic face a perfect frame. It took some time to collect himself, to tame the rushing thoughts that were so out of character for him. He honestly didn’t understand his reaction. Why did he freeze at the smell of you? Why did those sharp images appear in his mind out of the blue? What the hell was wrong with him?

Countless thoughts occupied his outstanding brain, making him somewhat irritated. Ever since they started working on the case, he felt like every single factor was against them. With politics involved, it was almost impossible to gain the upper hand, moreover, the team was at a bigger risk than usual. And now this too?

“Well, I’m sure the host will be. But the other rich assholes don’t give a fuck about anyone lower than them, let’s be honest. Moreover, I could also imagine that the staff is the responsibility of an employee of the host, not even the host himself.” you didn’t even realize that you went against his judgement, it came so naturally, almost as an instinct. But you opposed him, again. He turned his head towards you, a stern, stoic expression on his face, one of his eyebrows slightly raised.

By this time, your head was also in the game. You quickly collected yourself after the embarrassing moment with Reid and your teammates' comments. The latter one wouldn’t have bothered you, but since you were already awkward and your face was all hot and red, the girls’ remarks were like gasoline to the fire. But you couldn’t let this bother you for a long time. You worked too hard to get to where you are right now. You loved your job and were great at it. You loved the team too, more than anything. That bastard next to you couldn’t possibly gain the upper hand so easily over you.

“Are all the victims kept in the mansion?” took over the word Rossi. His eyes were slightly narrowed as he stared at the documents on the flat electronic device in his hands.

“According to the anti-trafficking unit’s information, over the years, Jonathan Grace, our host this weekend, brought most of the land around the northern area of Flathead Lake through different, hardly traceable accounts and he has properties all around the area. There is a big chance that the victims are held captive in all locations, making it harder for them to unite and attempt escaping.”

This was making things even harder. Now, there was a huge possibility of the victims not even being at the same place at the same time, making rescuing them in one organised attempt almost impossible.

“There are an awful lot of things that could go sideways,” Derek’s sigh was filled with worry and annoyance. He hated nothing more than when politics got in their way. In humanity’s way. This whole thing was bullshit. Proceeding with caution when hundreds of people were forcefully stripped of their freedom, their free will, and their lives, just because politics made this case a delicate one?! It almost seemed as if the actual victims hardly mattered, the only important thing was not to get damaged by an influential asshole. Of course, he knew that it wasn’t the situation with the team, but the outside looked very much like it. If it was up to him, he would’ve raided all of Grace’s properties with a bunch of SWAT members and got everyone out immediately. But he also knew that the moment the traffickers smelled something fishy, they’d disappear without a trace and reorganise somewhere else, continuing their activities, destroying people’s lives while not even being on the radar anymore. He would’ve ruined months, even years of hard work for the AT unit. Not to talk about any future victims he wouldn’t be able to save. So, logically speaking, he understood perfectly why they were handling everything so carefully and second-guessing each of their ideas, but it still infuriated him.

“Will there be units at every building Grace owns?” you asked. You habitually turned over and over the single ring on your ring finger as a subtle method of stimming. You were anxious because of the case. It was impossible not to be.

“Obviously,” came the kind of condescending reaction from, you guessed it right, Reid. “That was kind of a dumb question, Y/N, don’t you think?” he was facing you, his head slightly tilted downwards to look you in the eyes, since he was significantly taller even while sitting. A small smile was plastered on his face, making your blood boil even more. You weren’t even on the road for half an hour and already wanted to choke him to death.

“Yeah, I decided to take one for the team and ask the stupid question early on so you could correct me and get your daily bitching done,” you nodded your tone full of fake sympathy.

“Is it really daily bitching or you’re just constantly making mistakes?” he clapped back immediately while wearing a passive-aggressive smile on his patronising, punchable face.

“Ah, here we go again,” came Morgan’s grunt from behind you.

“Last time I checked I had more solved cases than you, thanks to my so-called mistakes.”

Ah, yes. Solved cases. Obviously, none of the successful ones were thanks to a singular person, everything you do is a team effort. However, since both of you were competitive as hell, you had this unsaid game going on between the two of you. Whoever’s leads or ideas proved the most useful during an investigation could take that case as their own.

“Kids.” This time the eldest was the one whose warning voice caused you to stop.

×××

The next four or five hours went by quietly. After Rossi put an end to your bickering, both of you stayed in line. We could even say, you acted as normal, reasonable adults. The briefing went on for an hour more but after that, everyone became silent and absolved in the files.

The time for the first toilet break came when the bus parked at a resting stop. You pulled the earphones out of your ears and stretched in your seat. As you arched your back, the salmon-coloured button-up shirt that you were wearing tightened a bit around your upper body, perfectly outlining your otherwise hidden curves. Your movements weren’t provocative, not even in the slightest. It’s just Spencer who’s been finding himself in these weird scenarios where he suddenly noticed everything about you.

Of course, you were pretty, he was very well aware of this fact from day one. But now it seemed like this piece of information was actively in his mind for some unknown reason.

“Will you let me out or do I have to crawl over you again?” you turned with your upper body towards him and leaned a bit closer. The others were in the middle of leaving the bus, so nobody gave much attention to you, luckily.

He also leaned towards you, and swallowed his saliva before answering, making his Adam’s apple quickly rise and fall. “Whichever one you’d prefer more.”

“Move your ass then,” you urged him as you looked directly into his pretty, light brown eyes that had hints of green in them, seemingly unaffected by what he said. He kept eye contact while his pupils slightly dilated but didn’t say a thing. For a quick, unnoticeable moment his brows got furrowed and his jaw tightened but this expression disappeared as soon as it came. Without a word, Spencer stood up and left the vehicle with quick-paced steps. He felt like even the air got tighter around them in the small space. Must be the fault of the tiny bus.

thank you so much for reading my work, hope you're having an awesome day! divider from @cafekitsune

[milessunflowers]

Franco Colapinto x Male Reader

The reader, who's nearsighted and always wears glasses, has lost them and is frantically searching everywhere

(It's the first order I've made, I hope I did it right 😅)

i love this omg! this is gonna be a good one bc im nearsighted and always lose my glasses when i set them down when i have a headache!

franco colapinto x male reader

synopsis: he can't even leave you alone for a second before you lose your glasses. now, the two of you are frantically searching everywhere for them.

author's note: thank you so much for the request! this one is going to be so fun to write since i seem to lose my glasses when they are on my face! it did get self indulgent just a bit but 😅. feel free to request more!

one minute. one stupid, short, devastating minute. that's how long he was gone to grab something from the room. franco looks at you, watching as you scramble across the floor, eyes squinted so much they almost looked closed. he sighs heavily, knowing exactly what happened just from the scene he walked back in to.

"mi amor, did you lose your glasses, again?" he asks you exasperatedly. he pinches the bridge of his nose and sets the blanket down on the couch. you squint in his general direction, trying to make out the colorful blob that seemed to be franco. you give him a sheepish smile.

"uh, no? i just, uh, really like the carpet. yep! the carpet is why i am on the floor!" you lie through your teeth, even though it was obvious you were desperately trying to find where you had dropped your glasses earlier.

you couldn't see the exact face your boyfriend was giving you but you could picture it. you give up and sit on your knees, looking and picking at the carpet. "okay, fine. i might have lost them again," you whisper, an embarrassed blush creeping up your neck, covering your cheeks, and painting the tips of your ears a bright red. to franco, the sight was adorable.

franco let's out a quiet, teasing laugh. "do you need help?" he asks, titling his head as he moves closer to you so you could see him clearer.

you nod and murmur a small, "yes, please." this wasn't the first time this has happened, nor would this be the last. you had a tendency to take your glasses off whenever it felt convenient, leaving them in places you never seem to remember. like one time, you were in the bedroom and remembered you needed your glasses. unfortunately, like always, you didn't remember where you put them so it ended up being an hour long search just for them to be in the bathroom.

franco was used to this. he knew you were forgetful, knew you often left things in places where they aren't needed. it doesn't take him as long as it used to as this happened almost daily. the two of you searched the living with little luck, thought you did find your pencil you lost when filling out some papers!

you moved on to the kitchen, squinting once more as you felt and looked around for a black blob that might have remotely resembled your glasses. franco followed quickly behind, opening the refrigerator and immediately finding your thick framed glasses.

he smiles softly and moves over to where you were searching through cabinets of plates and bowls, muttering about something. franco wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you closer. "my wonderful, handsome, forgetful boyfriend," he begins, kissing your cheek softly. "i found them." he holds out the pair of glasses, you immediately grabbing them and putting them back on.

"thank you!" you exclaim, turning to hug him tightly, thanking him over and over again. "where were they?!"

"in the fruit drawer," franco responds neutrally, shrugging his shoulders and grinning. "you know, you should invest in contacts." you scowl at him.

"no way! i'd forget they were in, fall asleep with them in, and i really don't think that would end all too well," you remind him, watching as he holds in laughter. it was a conversation you both had before. "plus, i'm too lazy to take them in and out anyways," you add, though much quieter.

franco laughs and hugs you again, kissing the top of your head. "yeah, i know," he replies, his words muffled against your hair.

TAGS! (if you want to be added, lmk!)

@op-81-lvr-reblogs, @koalapastries, @justaf1girl, @ghostking4m

[lucky-clover-gazette]

my favorite moments from theamandafiles’s confrontation with volo. this is an adult woman talking to a screen for 7+ minutes and im obsessed with it. the dynamic she’s made up in her head for this game is so far from what’s actually happening, but also absolutely fantastic. the sneasler rant has nothing on this.

transcript under the cut:

He is so passionate about his thing, about his special interest. He really is. I am constantly losing my grip on reality. I have no room to judge Volo for a little bit of unhinged laughter and some mildly insane musings.

Hmm? Sorry, I just. I think I just realized what's going to happen. Sorry. Am I an idiot?

That was your—that was you who did the hole in the sky. Okay, mhm, all right. I got blamed for that, Volo, I don't know if you knew that. It's fine. Honestly, it's fine. Just let's keep, let's keep learning more about Volo.

Right, yeah, we did that! We did that, Volo, right? Didn't we fuckin' do that? Why don't we donate them to a museum or something? Wouldn't that be sick? Would that be fuckin' awesome if we put them in a museum for all to see?

What's—what's this? Hey, what the fuck? Who's this? Is this a prank? Surely, with the hair. Because I did not just see that you have a fuckin' Arceus hairdo.

Oh, okay! Volo's crazy! Right, right. Look at the fucking hair. Yeah! No, Volo's fucking crazy—yeah, no, he's a deranged lunatic.

Actually, yeah. Look at his eyes, oh my god. Volo's going to kill me and then cook and eat my remains. It's. It's fine. I'm fine.

Pokemon Wielder Volo? You mean (voice cracks) Gingko Guild Merchant?

You know what, Volo? I'm crazy, too. Look, I can match this. Like you said, when you said you were going to wipe out Jubilife City, I'm all for that. I am all for that. Absolutely! Yes! Let's do it. We can make this work. I am not invested in helping these people. Yeah, we live in a society? Not for long, am I right?

Just, I looked at the costume again. And his hair. He—he did his hair, you guys. And it's... bad.

First and foremost, what the fuck are you wearing? Literally, I keep looking at it. And the more you look, it's like, the more you look, the more you see.

I'm just really unpacking this... as I kick his ass. Anyway, where was I, Volo? Let me just continue to fuck you up. Volo is really doing this. Volo is really doing this. He's doing it in green pants.

He method acted an entire love story between us. Yeah, he is that crazy. He's that crazy, that he's going to let me slip through his fingers. Are you sure, Volo? You really sure? Maybe, like, that was your plan at first. Because if I may be so bold, uh, it's actually not even fucking possible for anyone to spend as much time with me as you have without falling in love with me.

Like I said, I said it before, and I will stand by that—and I'm about to beat you, by the way—

Call me. Call me, Volo! Oh wait, you can't, because we live in the fucking past, and you don't have a phone. And I do. Mhm, yeah. You know, you can't call me on your arc phone because Arceus didn't give you an arc phone, did he? Oh, poor Volo. He did his hair like Arceus and everything. And for what? Right. It was probably the green pants, Volo, honestly. And the gladiator sandals, what the fuck are you doing?

What the fuck was I thinking? God, why do I always go for these crazy ass fucking men?

I don't want to be picked by Arceus! If anything, I wanted to be picked by you! But unfortunately, I'm amazing. And Arceus loves me. I'm sorry that your little fucking hairdo didn't work to impress Arceus, and that all I had to do was literally exist and Arceus stanned the hell out of it.

What, are you going to kill me? He's going to kill me with a knife now just to get me out of the way. Like, what the hell, why does everybody want to fucking kill me?! I get it. I'm the best. I'm amazing. I'm the best that ever was. But murder is illegal, okay?

What is this? Are you fucking kidding me? What is this act? Oh, my god. Volo... this is very camp.

Volo is fucking crazy. Did I even get to heal these motherfuckers? Am I supposed to catch this motherfucker? This Satan ass Pokemon. This is Satan, I guess. And he came to, like, pull up for fucking Volo. Why? The hair? Was it the hair?

Finally, I got, like, a word in edgewise. Finally. Acorn, take this motherfucker out. Yeah. This is embarrassing for you. You're a God Pokémon? Where? You could have fucking fooled me, Giratina.

I do find it very inspiring that my little tugboat-ass Jay Jay the Jet Plane Togekiss, like, ended your entire bloodline. Mhm, yeah.

Volo! Oh, honey, sweetie, are you okay? Are you going to be okay?

He's fucking crazy. He's so crazy, Volo, I fucking love your crazy ass... but this is toxic of me to say, so, I hate it. I hate you. What was I talking about? Yeah. No, you're such a bad guy. You're the bad guy, Volo. I didn't even read that, fuck.

I know, Volo. Believe me, I would have agreed with you when those motherfuckers kicked me out in Jubilife City. I would have agreed if you had come to me then and you would've said, "Let's take down the whole fucking world. Let's end the entire planet." I would have said, "Okay. Yeah. Oh, yeah. Hell, yeah. That's exactly what I want to do right now." But you didn't. And now I'm here, and I'm... being noble, and I'm going to say, "You better stop, because this is not okay. Cut it out."

I'm crazy too, Volo, I'm so fucking crazy. I'm so unhinged, I'm crazy, nobody understands the inner workings of my mind, Volo, you don't get it.

This is your last chance to scoop me up as your partner. Honestly, Volo. That's what it is. I would fix your hair, I would. We would go back to the salon—to the salon!—I would fix it up. It's not that bad. It just needs a little shaping.

(Deep sigh) Volo, you could have had it all. I would have been your crazy bitch. We could have been Bonnie and Clyde, Volo. And we still can, honestly, if you say the word. And let me fix your hair. And also your outfit.

So I also just want to say really quickly, I noticed that you had a Togekiss, and that means that your Togepi that you had in the beginning evolved to a Togekiss. But in order to do that, I think you need to love your Togapi. So it's like, you do—you did have the capacity to love someone.

He's fucking unhinged. He's deranged, he's crazy. Like, why did his eyes go crazy like that? What the fuck?

He actually looks so good right now, like, minus the hair. The hair is so bad. Volo, that is the one and only reason Arceus did not choose you. Honestly, that's all it comes down to. Easy as that!

But I'm putting my thumb actually, on the—I'm putting it on the screen, over the weird part of your hair? I'm begging you. Let's destroy society together. Come on.

That's so sad, he's, like, hanging up his hat. Actually, please put the hat back on. He's giving me something—he's giving me the plate. Spooky plate. Yeah, that's for sure. That's for damn sure, Volo.

Why do you suddenly look so good? You know, you look deranged and crazy like a fucking lunatic. And I could have swore you off forever, but now you look so cute and good. And I'm like, what the fuck were you thinking, Volo? You threw it all away for what, the arc phone? Bitch. It's really not even that good of a phone. Honestly, there's, like, no games on it.

I don't know. I figured like, a true Arceus fanboy would be impressed and enamored by the girl who Arceus is simping for this hard. Like, if you were to date me, I'd literally bring you with me to meet Arceus, and you'd be able to live your stupid little dream.

Although I will say, for someone who so deeply wants me to fail, you giving me that last plate, that spooky plate... I dunno. It's just kind of interesting, and I am reading into it. Yes.

Volo you are fucking out of your mind. You're crazy. I tell you, you're fucking insane. Somebody wheel him off. Seriously, what the fuck? He's going out in public looking like that.

[numberonesnarkfan]

so... my thoughts on chapter 4.

SPOILERS UNDER THE CUT!!

sigh.

if I and the majority of the fandom are disappointed with the result, I can't imagine how heartbroken the writers must be.

I was immediately impressed with the significantly increased production value! During the beginning of the game, I was hyped! Mechanics were improved, the buildup was immersive. Everything that happened seemed like it had thought and care put into it.

I even thought the bit of Pianosaurus getting INSTANTLY ganked was cool. Like a fun wink-and-nudge from the devs. If Doey had been a more compelling character, it would've made for a memorable moment. Unfortunately...

Yeah. Doey is heavily DID coded.

And... He follows the same ableist stereotype as every other depiction of it: "a violent and abrasive alter takes over and ruins everything".

Thaaanks, Mob... I really appreciate this public announcement of how you perceive people like me.

(by the way, Doey's chase/battle REFUSED to run at ANYTHING above 13 FPS until I turned the game down to the LOWEST settings. I have a mid-range gaming PC. It can run AAA titles at max settings. Seriously? The entire rest of the game ran smoothly at max settings.)

Yarnaby's death scene was so underwhelming that I almost missed it by not turning around, assuming I was supposed to keep running.

By the end, I felt that the devs must have run out of time and budget pretty fast.

And, of course...

The Doctor.

Baldwin is such a talented voice actor. He deserved a better character than this.

The boss fight itself was so incredibly janky. I was able to cheese it without trying at all, because the robots just kept getting stuck on each other.

Sawyer's introduction and buildup were so good. The game made the player invested in the character, really really hoping that the final confrontation would be everything the trailers hyped us up for.

Every time we destroy different organ systems and he goes quiet for a while, making the player hold their breath, knowing that that can't be it, was SO well done.

Only for... That. A completely unoptimised final encounter followed by a disappointing death scene.

I figured we were going to kill him. But I figured at least that it would be like CatNap's death - compelling and thought-provoking, making you wonder about the setting and the characters.

I thought, at LEAST, there was going to be a compelling scene with The Prototype taking Sawyer like he did CatNap, perhaps more violently, with less warning. The Prototype taking advantage of him and then taking all that remains of him.

Or maybe a scene where his misdeeds catch up to him on his final breath in a moment of devastating terminal lucidity. Nope.

Just the "I was the scientist, the glory was supposed to be mine!" trope. I so badly wanted him to be more than a cartoon villain, man.

The fact that MOB set up this intrigue about his childhood and his origins so well in the ARG and then just... Didn't use it.. Is so disappointing.

Harley Sawyer as a character is a meditation on hubris. I've always said this. That still rings true now, but... There was no trace of that in his death scene. Which is the most disappointing thing. I genuinely think the chapter would've been a lot better in a lot of people's eyes if he had just died better. With some indignity, with some fervor, with anything to make the player feel something.

But hey.

Look. Huggy's back. The big money-making mascot is here.

It really does feel like Zach just said "hi, we here at MOB don't feel like giving our writers and designers and employees enough time or budget to make a good product. Sorry! Oh, and don't forget to buy the merch!"

[rarastmblr]

“Minamoto Teru”

The Perfect Boy — Minamoto Teru

He's smart. Always perfect and answering correctly in academics.

Tests? Perfect. Quizzes? Perfect. Recitation? Perfect.

You can't help but be so grateful when he helps you out and tutors you in subjects that you're having a hard time with.

He's handsome, attractive. No wonder he has so many fans. I mean, who could resist such a handsome face?

His hair; Every strand was so soft to the touch that it felt like a gentle caress. You couldn't take your eyes off it and feel nothing but adoration for the golden hue that filled your vision.

The blonde tresses captivated your soul and forever imprinted itself inside your heart.

His eyes; The blue eyes sparkled like pools of sapphire, reflecting the sun in all of its brilliance. Every time you looked at them, there was a feeling of admiration and profound joy that you couldn't quite explain.

He is invested in his interests and engaging in conversation with him allows one to appreciate his positive outlook on life.

He takes action to bring his goals and dreams to fruition, and is resilient and self-sufficient in the face of adversity and challenge.

He has the poise and class to graciously accept every experience. He is encouraging and motivating of the people he loves and engages with.

He's kind. Some think that he's cruel when he rejects the confessions of the girls who have a crush on him.

But he isn't, not at all. He's not cruel, just straightforward but in a way you'll understand and not hate him for it. He'll apologize and then reject you.

He is caring, tender. He is honest about his feelings and empathizes with the struggles of his friends.

There's a reason to why you love Minamoto Teru but you can't seem to answer such a question when you are actually asked why.

It's because you can't pick which of the many things that Minamoto Teru has that makes you love him so much.

You watch him as he reads the contents of your love letter about your love for him.

As he finishes reading, he gives you a smile. You can't tell whether it's a smile of pity or if it's a sign that he accepts your love.

“I'm sorry—”

The first two words were enough for you to know what his response was.

That had happened years ago, if your memory was correct, maybe when you guys were still first years.

Ever since the confession, you guys have grown distant. From the occasional greetings in the halls to only pass by each other without making any eye contact.

You admit the sudden distance between your relationship was your fault. A day after the confession you were the one who would hide away from him out of embarrassment because you got rejected.

You avoided him like a plague.

Even when your classmates had told you that Teru was looking for you because he wanted to catch up with you and other things, you wouldn't go.

Even if it was Minamoto Teru himself who would walk towards you and try his best to start a conversation, you'd somehow be able to slip away from him.

Now, in second year, Minamoto Teru is still the perfect boy that you always admired ever since you guys first met.

I think back to when we were so close and I would wonder. What would have happened to us if the confession never happened. Would we have been more closer than we already were?

As the both of you pass by each other, a pair of blue eyes look back at the back of your figure. Once? No. Twice.

Unfortunately, you took no notice of the longing gaze.

A/n: This isn't really a long fic, I'm so sorry 🥹. I'm just adding plot to the reader and Teru's relationship. Man I'm a sucker for when the relationship has something like a distance and the guy is the one who is desperate to mend the relationship together again. Also I think I didn't really mention supernaturals/apparitions here 🫣 woopsy.

[cinnamontoastcrunch-15]

Today's @wolfstarmicrofic prompt is unrequited!

(936 words.)

"Oh, just fuck right off!" Sirius snaps, grip tightening on his butterbeer.

"God, what's gotten into you?" Marlene asks, arching an eyebrow. To be perfectly honest, Sirius doesn't want to talk about it.

James is more than happy to, though.

"Don't worry about him. He's all pissy because of his unrequited love." Sirius' head immediately snaps up, alarmed.

"Prongs," He says, warning. His eyes almost involuntarily dart to Remus for half a second, panic seeping through him. James, however, is teetering on the line between tipsy and drunk, completely missing the hint.

"Mm, completely hung up on some girl, right?" Peter chimes in, and Sirius almost wants to laugh. The urge to drop dead is much stronger, though. To crawl into a hole and say there until this conversation ends.

"Something like that," Sirius says quickly, before turning away from them both. Fingers crossed, he can just shut this down. "Hey, Lily, that potions essay..."

Unfortunately for him, Lily seems just as invested.

"How do you know it's unrequited?" She asks curiously. Remus lifts his head, then, nose out of his book. For some reason, that's what tips him over the edge. He needs everyone to stop. This is difficult enough.

"Because I asked, okay?" He says hurriedly. It causes his friends to lapse into silence, but it's like he's just burst a dam. The explanation starts before he can hold it back. "I asked, and they said no. They said it was a bad idea, we were too close for that."

"Huh," Mary hums.

"What?" Sirius asks with a frown.

"They didn't say they don't like you?" Mary asks, and it really throws Sirius. He hasn't considered that.

"No, not exactly," He muses, frowning. "But why would anyone reject someone they like?"

"Maybe they were scared of ruining the friendship you two have," Remus speaks up gently, almost inaudibly from across the common room; capturing Sirius' attention in less than a second.

"That makes no sense," Sirius says without missing a beat, eyes locking with Remus. "They should know me well enough to know that I wouldn't let that happen. I know they wouldn't. We've survived worse."

From the corner of his eye, he can see confusion flit across James' face at that comment. Yeah, it was a bit of a risky thing to say. He's practically handing James the truth. It doesn't matter, though. Not right now. His eyes are fixed on Remus.

"Depends on what you think is worse. They might be worried about a messy breakup getting in the way."

"No, that can't be it," He says, imploring. The longing to see into Remus' mind, figure out what he means is too strong. He'll have to unravel it this way instead. "If they're already thinking about a breakup, then clearly they don't like me that much. Unrequited." He wants nothing more than to drop the matter now that he's proven his point to himself. Maybe he doesn't need to see inside Remus' mind. He goes to down the rest of his drink, but Remus is shaking his head, and Sirius is losing sight of everyone else in favour of Remus.

"Or they just care too much about you." There's something in Remus' eyes, an ache that Sirius wants to heal.

"Really? Why would they reject me when I told them how I feel, then?!" Sirius asks desperately. It seems to snap Remus' resolve, burst his ambigious speech.

"Because I'm in love with you, Sirius! Okay?! Christ, this isn't just some- some joke, or some experiment to me! You looked me in the eye and told me you liked me, and that- that made me hope, okay? I don't want to hope. To think that you liking me means you'll fall in love with me. I mean," He releases a breathy laugh, seemingly unaware to the way Sirius' world is turning on it's axis, "I'm me, and you're- you're perfect."

He seems to have reached the end of his tangent, pattering out as everyone looks between the two of them, stunned. Sirius searches his brain, which may or may not be short circuiting, for some way to voice his thoughts. There are so many things he could say, so many ways to tell Remus everything, but none of them seem to be enough. Enough to encompass everything. A better solution comes to him as his yearning overwhelms him.

With that, he sets his butterbeer down and crosses the common room. Remus' eyes widen, suddenly unsure, until Sirius pulls himself into Remus' armchair, facing him. He reaches out, pressing a hand against Remus' cheek and finally, finally connecting their lips. It's everything he could have imagined and more.

Remus' lips are soft, warm against his, overwhelmingly perfect, and making Sirius desperate to stay there forever, mapping out every inch of Remus' mouth, the way it fits against his like they should have been doing this forever. It's a feeling Sirius knows he's never going to forget, causing the words he has been desperately repressing for years bubbling up inside him.

"I love you," Sirius murmurs against Remus' lips after a moment. "I love you so much, Moony."

Their eyes meet again, Sirius watching as Remus' eyes go from searching to joyful, a grin splitting across his face. It took a whooping cheer from James to break the spell that Remus' eyes got him in. They both turn to their friends, a laugh escaping Sirius as he drops his head into Remus' shoulder.

"Thank fuck that's sorted, then!" Lily says brightly, a wry smile on her face.

Okay, Sirius is really grateful for his oversharing friends.

[mschievousx]

now and then | b.b.

pairing: benedict bridgerton x ofc, anthony bridgerton x ofc (platonic)

summary: loraine silva always knew she was not normal. she loves unusual things. she loves her father's guns, horses, boxing, climbing a tree, falling from a tree, engineering, astronomy... oh, and a man eleven years older.

series masterlist

viii. eight: it was over

"save me!"

the young silva exclaimed with worry in her voice. funny, actually, how their game of house turned into an action-themed drama—much like this story.

nevertheless, gregory came running towards her as hyacinth and benedict start to seemingly attack the young girl.

"here i am, princess!" the boy exclaimed, raising his wooden sword and pointing it to the enemies.

hyacinth turned to him and raised her hands, the cloak falling from her shoulders, "i am the witch!"

raine tried her best not to laugh at the expressions of the children, utterly invested in their roles. benedict neared her, gaining gregory's attention and bolting to them to save her.

their play, however, was interrupted when major thorpe walked to them and called for the silva, "my lady."

she raised her head and turned to him. gilbert was not an emotional one, but his voice currently carried urgency. she excused herself from the children as she walked to him. the major did not say anything else and simply turned. benedict did not understand, really, why his feet felt the need to follow them.

they arrived at the back of the bridgerton's house, a man waiting who seemed to have jumped over the wall. he was covered, cloaked as if in disguise. the man turned to her with noticeable deep scratches and wounds.

"raphael?" she called with disbelief, clasping her hands together as she immediately went to hug him—lightly so as to avoid the wounds.

at the sight of her, the colonel let out a sound that could be mistake as a sob as he took the young girl's face on his palms, "raine, i am so so sorry."

she looked up at him from the hug, as if to read his eyes, and she did not need to hear whatever he was going to say to know what has happened. she shut her eyes closed and pulled away, placing her own palms to cover her face.

raphael put his hand inside his coat, getting the letter that was written by her father. he brushed her hair as he passed the paper.

with palms already a bit wet, she took the letter begrudgingly, already knowing its contents. raine opened it just as benedict neared her, placing a hand on her shoulder. his eyes were at her to maintain the privacy of the letter.

my dear daughter,

well, it is fucking unfortunate, isn't it? i apologise if the only thing that will return to you after all this time is this letter. i am sorry this is what our family has become. perhaps, i should have taken notes from edmund and had eight children as well. this way, you would not be alone right now.

tragic, really. my chest hurts like hell and my shoulder numb. your mother and brother has been calling for me. i am afraid i must answer to them. raphael will tell you everything. hopefully, i have trained him best, enough at the very least, to not die in the process. oh, i really hope he is not as stupid to die without ensuring you receive this letter. what else can i say? you already know i love you more than anything. make a concerto for me too. i do not want that calmness you did for your mother, or that hopefulness for your brother. i want mine to sound cruel and pure of malice. i want mine to sound like a declaration of war—a symbol of spite even in my grave.

know that you can do this. this is not the end but its beginning.

káne ton thánato perífano na mas párei.

your handsome father,

armand silva

raine shut her eyes closed once again, hugging the letter on her chest as her lips whimpered, "please, no..."

her legs gave out in hopelessness as benedict's touch tightened to her at once, holding her close to him as he keep her up. maybe home is nothing but two arms holding you tight when you are at your worst.

"let us go inside. the children must not see this." the bridgerton said, guiding her towards the home as the two men followed.

━━━ ✦ ❘ ☽ 【❖】 ☾ ❘ ✦ ━━━

they stepped in through the back door, passing the drawing room in the process. anthony and kate stopped their conversation just as violet raised her head from her tea, standing up at once at the state of the four.

"loraine? what is happening?" she questioned in concern, not sure to walk to her or not as she was being assisted by her son.

anthony and kate stood as well in alarm. the viscount caught sight of raphael and understood what this could be about. he dodged the furnitures in the way as he led them, "to my study."

everyone in the room followed suit with heavy steps as they crossed the hall. now crowding anthony's study, benedict let her sit on the couch, providing her his handkerchief as well.

raphael sat on another chair at the side while the rest remained standing in anticipation and worry. anthony sat on the edge of his table, arms crossed while lightly biting his lips.

raine let out a heavy sigh, trying her best not to let her voice break, "father has passed."

anthong uncrossed his arms, placing his right palm on his forehead, his head casted down in defeat.

"god..." violet muttered in sorrow, closing her eyes as well as kate neared the woman, both supporting each other. they were aching for the girl in front of them.

as she opened her eyes again, her gaze landed on the wounded man this time. she spoke in a solemn manner, "does the guest need to rest for the moment?"

"no, lady bridgerton. thank you," he replied, sitting up from his leaning as he interlaced his fingers in seriousness, "but i must relay the current circumstances to the lady as soon as possible."

he did not continue as if waiting for loraine's permission that it was alright to divulge such information in the presence of other people. the young silva nodded absentmindedly, staring into nothing.

raphael understood what she meant and inhaled deeply, revealing the causes of it all, "general has discovered an anomaly in the communications and reports across brigades and regiments six months ago.someone has been tampering and altering the papers, giving false reports and causing miscommunication. just before we returned here for your debut, two battalions fought each other, unaware of their british ancestry."

he turned to address the silva solely, "that is what your father has been working on, believing that we may get hints here in central london."

she thought back on the moments her father was almost not present, missing events and time with her. she even ranted about it without even knowing the gravity of her father's duties. she wanted to slap her past self.

"and we did." the colonel continued, "on the day our carriage was attacked when we were going to the ball," he paused, clicking his tongue with hate in his following words.

"i would never miss the shine of the british insignia."

raine, for the nth time of the day, shut her eyes closed at the information. realising the gravity of the situation, she could not help but mutter in pessimism just what the people in the room were thinking as well.

"fuck."

anthony, as the viscount of the house, interjected, "if that is the case, you both have to stay here."

raphael stood up, turning to the man with respect, "lord bridgerton, i appreciate the thought but we cannot. our presence here right now endangers your family already."

he was not wrong about that at all, but the other was adamant on ensuring their safety, "the family is acquainted to the queen and close to her confidant. we do not know if the queen is involved or not, but at the very least, that will offer even the slightest protection than being out at all."

"anthony..." raine called, unsure what to say next. she would like that, in all honesty, as this was the only other home she ever knew. but, she also would not like to put them all at risk.

he turned to her reassuringly, "there is nothing to worry about. people will not bat an eye in you staying here longer as you have always did, and raphael will simply not let people catch a glimpse of him." he looked at the wounded man with no offense, "which i assume must be easy for a colonel."

raine nodded at anthony's plan, accepting it as raphael conceded as well, following whatever sound decision the daughter of his superior would make.

the girl raised her eyes to the dowager in pure shame of their temporary solution, "i apologise, violet."

the matriarch neared her on the couch as she placed a hand on her back and her chin on top of the girl's head, hugging her for what little comfort she could offer.

━━━ ✦ ❘ ☽ 【❖】 ☾ ❘ ✦ ━━━

loraine was no stranger to staying up late and deep into the night. she has always loved it, and the joy that the silence would bring her was comforting.

now, although void of joy, she still looks for the same comfort under the same sky.

"do you need anything?" benedict entered the drawing room, sitting across the lady so as to not disturb her peace—if she had any left.

raine sneered weakly, "aside from my family? nothing."

"anthony told me." he began, his guilt starting to show, "i am really sorry i was not there with you at the ball."

she did not reply immediately. in fact, she did not reply at all. she was not petty. she understood that it was not an obligation for him to be there at that moment. and so, she settled with a nod for acknowledgement.

"do you want to talk about it right now?" he continued to ask, wanting whatever it is between them to disappear so that the young lady would have less on her plate.

"you do not have anything to be sorry for." she replied in a very exhausted voice, wanting everything to be just done with.

benedict chose to explain his side nonetheless, "i was with lady arnold. we—"

"i know." she interjected pointedly without intending to sound bitter.

"no. not like that." he defended with a sigh, "we met at the hawkins balloon, and she was a follower of the sciences you were enjoying."

it was lost between them—whatever they are now. they were not each other's, but they could not deny the feeling of possession.

"i met her at the ball again and mr. cooper joined us after a while. they were teaching me about their stuff... just like you have always done in the past."

she did not want to care. she should not have cared at all, yet she replied, "what about?"

he smiled at her inquiry, taking it as a sign of even her slightest regard for him, "i could not bother to listen to them."

raine did not know what to say. even in this time, he could make her feel something other than pain. however, the exhaustion is too much, pounding whatever warmness she might have felt. he was exhausting—the push and pull he was doing.

"i would like to be by myself, please."

benedict opened his mouth, likely to insist he stay, but he closed it as he casted his eyes downwards. he exhaled and nodded resignedly, pushing himself up from the chair, looking at her last before turning to leave.

"good night."

she just wants to go home, but nothing feels like home anymore. so, no later, she stood as well and made her way to the piano. in the dead of night, she was thankful for the moonlight as she sat in front of the instrument.

there is something big coming—bigger than love, bigger than loneliness.

in the midst of despair, she decided to write the piece her father wanted and she's staying up all night for it. she has thought for it to sound like mozart's lacrimosa but went against it in an instant. lacrimosa was weeping, mournful even. but her father? she was certain armand did not shed a single tear against his fate. he would have gritted his teeth and spat the blood on the fate's face.

and so, she slammed her fingers on the keys, note per note, octave per octave. while the tune was full of hurt, it was not the type that would make you curl in bed. it was the kind that would make you stand and run... faster, faster than you ever can.

for what is hurt but the prelude to rage. and once the pain goes away, the real battle starts.

taglist: @aadu2173 @imgondeletedis @pumkiinpasties @rebleforkicks @perseny @everavenclaw @datingbtr @peetahpahkah @omy0

[l1vchuu]

resentment. part four

!! warnings: mentions of sh and suicide, strong language, may contain triggering themes and blood, angst, and slow burn, P.S. This chapter might have a lot of time skips, so be wary.

A few days went as you were gone, and you weren't the only one who felt the changes.

It was a Monday afternoon as you sat at your kitchen table, reading a book you randomly had picked off your old shelf- "Norwegian Wood" by Haruki Murakami. You bought this book after watching the film that just got released in the theaters, hoping that you would read it someday and feel the same emotions you did when you sat in front of the big screen. After some unfortunate events that occurred in your life at that time- you never really got to read it.

The soft yellow tint of the light from the cheap lightbulbs filled your small kitchen, going through your hair, and making a slight shadow on your face. The tea you had made for yourself earlier was getting colder as the minutes passed by, and you couldn't feel more peaceful.

So far, you tried taking things slow- since you had a whole month to figure things out. You've put out the thought of seeing a therapist later, your mind was still blurry. Currently, you were trying to calm your mind by reading and watching movies.

A few hours later, you put down the book and decided to take a shower. As you entered the cabin and turned on the shower, the sudden warmth of the water took all your thoughts with it.

You recently bought some new showering essentials- new shampoo, conditioner, shower gel, and a few other things. Maybe if you tried to take better care of your hygiene you could feel prettier, or at least have some type of order in your life that you follow.

The sweet honey scent filled the atmosphere as you washed your hair, slight steam flowing in the air, getting captured in your lungs with every breath you took. Your mind was roaming through your memories, mostly the good ones. You remembered the first time you discovered Wes Anderson.

A few years ago...

You sighed as you scrolled through your Letterboxd watchlist, the titles moving faster than the thoughts in your head.

"'Detachment', 'Lost in Translation', 'Vertigo'..."

You mumbled to yourself as you kept scrolling, looking for something to watch. Then your eyes stopped at a yellowish poster, excluding itself from the others.

"Fantastic Mr. Fox"

You had heard of that movie before, all positive things. You stared at the trailer for a while

"Who even watches trailers for movies that have been out for years?"

You thought to yourself as you kept looking, but you were mesmerized. You hadn't seen anything else like this. It was so quirky and sweet and bitter that you wanted to watch it badly. You found the movie, and just as you were about to put it on, Simon opened the door.

He entered the room, looking at you with his brown, empty eyes.

"How was the shift?"

You tried to spark up a conversation, but it ended nowhere.

"Fine."

He sat on his bed, still with his mask on. You know he took it off when he slept, but you had never seen his face. It's like he knew the moment you woke up and fall asleep just so he can put his mask back on and act like nothing had happened.

"You gonna' sleep?"

You asked him, your eyes looking up from the monitor of your laptop.

"Not now, why you ask?"

"I was going to watch a movie, that's why."

You could somehow see his eyebrows rise underneath his mask. It was the first time he heard those words from a Sergeant. People usually never had time to do anything really, being tired from long work shifts and all.

"Why are you looking at me like that?"

"It just... It's the first time I've heard that sentence here."

"What? You don't watch movies?"

"No- It's not that. People don't find the time for things like these."

"Well, I do. Does it bother you?"

"As long as it's not too loud, no."

"Good."

You sat back on the couch as you hit space and the movie began.

Half an hour later, you were so invested in the movie that you didn't notice the presence of your roommate next to you... until he coughed, causing you to flinch, and because of your reflexes, your hand went into a defensive position. He looked at you, his eyes slightly wider.

"Oh, sorry."

"I think... I think I saw Jesus."

He chuckled, showing the slightest bit of emotion he ever has.

"It's just me."

"You really live up to your name, huh? Sneaking in like that."

"I didn't do anything, it's the movie's fault for having you so fuckin invested."

"Yeah, sure."

-

It might not seem like the brightest memory ever, but that was the first time you had such a close interaction with Ghost ever since you got moved into a room with him. That moment felt like a slight push into a whole other universe. A universe where you felt less scared to talk to him, a universe where he got to be the closest person to you.

The whole story began when you joined the British Army at 17 years old after a really bad banter between your dad and your brother, resulting in your brother's suicide. At his funeral, you could barely hold yourself up and alive- it had shattered you completely. You couldn't help yourself to eat, your mother had to force-feed you just like she did when you were a baby. Your body was aching with every step you took, every time your jeans brushed against your thighs, making your fresh scars bleed again from the friction. A month later, you were at your lowest point in life- you didn't go to school, and your mother ignored every call from the principal because she didn't know what to say. Everyone at your house was so lost, your father refused to go out of his room, leaving the house in the process, your mother barely slept at night, and you had ruined yourself. At this point, everything was a lost cause.

One morning, as you barely walked towards the front door, placing the rubbish bag in its' place, you saw the leaflets from the military scouts that live in your area. Usually, you would throw them in the rubbish bin and continue on with the day, but this time something was off. Your brother wanted to enlist in the military so much, he even started going to the shooting ranges outside the city to train his aim. You could feel your cheeks getting wet as you stared at the papers in your hands- he would've served his country and fulfilled his dreams in a year.

With slow and steady steps you went to his door, opening it slowly. His room was always cluttered, as he never got the time to clean it- always so busy with his voluntary work and training. There was a big flag hung on his wall, frames with pictures of him in his boy scouts uniform, pictures with him and his friends at a red cross event, and posters of his favorite movies and superheroes, he was such a bright and generous kid. There were stacks of military scouting leaflets piled on his desk, catching more and more dust as the days go by.

You sat on his bed, holding a picture of him with a German Shepherd 'Scouty' - a military dog that was pretty famous in your city and had saved multiple lives. You remembered taking that picture, him getting so excited when they allowed him to pet the dog, his eyes lighting up when they said that we could take a picture with him, his big smile, showing his braces as the dog stood still. Everything seemed so wonderful, life was so full and bright.

The tears began rolling down your cheek as your fingers traced his face, the room still smelled like him, somehow. You felt a pair of fragile hands holding your body close to them. You looked up with your red and teary eyes at the figure- it was your mother. You two sat in silence, crying quietly as you held each other. She noticed the leaflet in your hand.

"When does the recruiting start?"

Your mother asked you, her voice quiet and shaky as she looked at the paper.

You wiped your cheeks as you checked the dates on the leaflet- it was slightly damp and crumpled.

"The applications can be sent in a month from now."

You said, your voice cracking as your hands shook slightly.

"Mhm."

Your mum responded as she gently pat your head, her fingers brushing through your hair.

You stared at the paper in your hands.

"Will you leave Dad?"

You asked.

"I can't, you are still here."

She replies.

"What if I leave for university? Will you leave him?"

"Yeah, I suppose so."

But you still had two years left, and with your absence, you were sure no university or college will accept you. You thought about it- if you were to return to school, people would ask you questions back and forth, and you couldn't deal with that. You knew your mother was suffering more than you, I mean, losing a child can be amusingly painful for a mother. And the last thing you wanted to do is to make your mother suffer even more, but continuing to live with your father after all that had happened was doing that same exact thing.

You thought about this the whole day. Holding that same leaflet, making all the research, asking people about it- and then you made your decision. You were going to join the Army.

Sure, you may have absolutely no experience, unlike your brother, but that's what he would've wanted. You were doing this for him and your mother.

You walked back and forth in your room, wandering in your documents and checking in your strengths. You knew a little about artillery from your brother's trainer and all of his lessons. You had a month in order to prepare for it. You went to consult your mother on the decision.

"Are you sure you want this?"

"I'm sure, I just need to train a bit, but I need to know that if I go, you leave him."

She thought for a minute.

"I'll stay at your aunt's place until I save up enough money for rent and divorce."

You looked at her, your eyes full of uncertainty.

"Do you promise- No- Will you promise me to do that?"

You took a breath before continuing.

"When I leave, you leave him. You go as far away as you can. I'll lend you money if I can- Go to another country and live there if you need- Just promise me you'll leave that man, please..."

She put her arms on your shoulders, making you look at her.

"I promise you, but how do you know if you are going to get recruited?"

"I will get recruited, don't worry."

She looked at you, not being sure if you were just talking nonsense or actually meaning your words. By the look in your eyes and the sound of your tone, she knew you weren't joking.

After your mother made that promise- you got to work. You went out and trained every single day, but before that, you visited the shooting range. You knew that the trainer was a British Air Service veteran, so you asked for his help.

'You want to enlist? As in, you want to apply?"

He looked at you, a worried look on his face. It was the first time he saw you since your brother's funeral, and he saw the change in your appearance.

"Yes, and I need your help."

You said, looking up at him. You had explained everything to him, in detail, too.

"For a month..."

He silently thought to himself as he looked at you, his eyes narrowing.

"I can manage a training schedule, but I'm not sure if you could-"

"I'll do it.'

You interrupted him.

"- handle it."

He stared at you, his eyes slowly wider than before. He sighs.

"It won't be easy. Not at all. Your brother had months and years of practice, but now you have to make it up to him in a month."

You nodded your head, your eyes burning with ambition once again.\

"I'll do it. I won't give up."

"We'll change up your diet too,"

He paused, taking in the situation with your family. Your mother could barely stand up from her bed, and your father was nowhere to be found.

"I'll bring you food, you'll eat here."

You tilted your head to the side.

"Will that be okay with you?"

You asked him, a worried look on your face.

"It'll be absolutely no problem. I'll pack in food for your mother as well."

You nodded, feeling grateful for his offer.

"Thank you."

He nodded, holding his hand out for a handshake. You took his hand, giving a firm squeeze.

"I'll come pick you up tomorrow at 5:30 AM."

He searched your face for any reaction.

"As I told you, it'll be hard."

He gave you a slight smile.

"But now I believe you'll make it."

During that month, he took care of you and your mother- you trained with him all day, and he checked in with your mother in the meantime. He was a single father taking after his father's business. His son enlisted two years ago, leaving him alone in his house all year round. You became attached to him quickly, he was almost like a father to you. He helped you become the person your brother wished to be. For a month, you became a weapon, which got you in the Army, which got you in the Special Forces (SAS). That's the place where you first met Simon.

It was three years after you joined the Army- you were now 20 years old. You finally had the opportunity to apply to the SAS- which you did. After a long process of training and selection- you finally made it into the force.

When you got in, they introduced you to a couple of people, Captain Price and some other Lieutenants. As you entered the base where you would be working and living, they introduced you to one final person- your roommate- Simon Riley, or his callsign 'Ghost'.

As you finally got to call your mother, announcing the news to her, you were surprised more than usual when your trainer picked up the phone.

"Hello?"

The male voice echoed through the phone. You furrowed your eyebrows, barely recognizing it.

"Hello?"

You replied.

"It's you! How's it going, kid?"

And that's when you recognized him. You two had a long conversation- apparently, your mother had moved in with him, which got you flabbergasted. Your mother was at work when you two were talking. You announced the news to him.

"Really? You got in?!"

He said, his voice full of pride and joy.

"I knew you would make it. I'm so proud of you!"

I'm so proud of you.

I'm so proud of you

That sentence kept you up at night. It replayed in your mind non-stop, echoing through your veins with each word.

Someone was proud of you.

-

Simon looked at Soap as he ate his lunch, holding his bowl in one hand as always. It's been a week since you were gone, and by that time everyone was aware of your absence. Soap looked back at Ghost, unsure about how to approach a conversation with him after all that had happened. Your seat at the table was empty, and nobody dared to sit on it, leaving a gap between Gaz and Ghost. It was rather quiet, everyone was lost in their own mind. Some of them were surprised that you never said anything, that you didn't notify anyone. Johnny was probably the first person who decided to write to you.

"Come on, I can't do this by myself. We have to let her know that we are with her and that we miss her, right?"

Johnny states, looking at the empty piece of paper in front of him.

"So, what do we write?"

Kyle grabs the pen and begins the letter, slowly filling it up with words until the page is full. Signing at the bottom were Johnny, Kyle, and Alex. After a few hours, the letter was sent to you, arriving in your mailbox.

The morning after, your neighbor notified you that you got mail. You looked in the box, a confused look on your face as two letters appeared in your hands. One of the letters had three signatures, while the other had only one- a skull face.

.⋆｡⋆☂˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆.☆.｡.:

Heyy!! I'm back as promised with the fourth part. This part had a lot of time skips for which I apologize if you were confused with! Sending lots of love and see you with part five <3

[yukkisagi]

"i didn't know going blind was something to find cute"

in which you're going blind but you wish you could just straight up not see alhaitham at all anymore -no warnings, just fluff and mutual pining, not proofread, in honor of my vision just getting worse and worse and i snapped my glasses in half ha ha

reading papers had become increasingly difficult, menus suddenly don't list out your favorite foods, and the boundaries between friendship and romance were starting to blur.

obviously the last statement wasn't the reason for your new glasses but after your fellow classmates tell you it isn't normal to mistake a cat for a rabbit, even if you were almost a mile away, you figured it was time to invest in some spectacles aids.

it was unfortunate that were no such things as alhaitham aids. alhaitham was always complicated to read, from his expressions, opinions to his literal hand writing and especially his actions.

he often walked you back to your office after lunch, claiming that it was on the way anyways. last week in the early morning, he brought you a cup of coffee, saying that the barista made him an extra because he looked tired and refused to drink it just to prove her wrong. one time he even walked over to your office, on his own accord, just to hand you back a measily pen you accidentally left behind.

but of course, these events could easily be read in the other direction. you just happened to be on his path. he didn't want to waste a perfectly drinkable coffee despite his stubbornness. maybe he was in a cleaning mood and needed fresh air and time away from his extremely suffocating office anyways so he just dropped the pen on the way.

alhaitham and you were not dating by any means and that was definite. so you don't understand why you're so hesitant to enter his office. you were just here to pass off some of your students research for the grand sage's approval and nothing else.

it's the repeated scene you see weekly as you enter his office, eyes still stuck on his desk, not wavering at all from your presence, chin rested on his folded fingers supported by his elbow on the table and his nose bridge slightly scrunched in annoyance because of the massive workload constantly covering his table.

"i have more reports that need your approval." you start, trying to shift his attention.

"sure, how many? if there isn't a lot i can sign them off right now for you." he only nods at words.

you mind can't help but hang on the last two words. was he implying only for you? just you? you needed to snap out of it, alhaitham doesn't see people as individuals or even cared enough to try, you know that.

but deep down you can't help it. even this simple favor felt special, only because it was coming from alhaitham. this could easily just be him trying to get you out of his hair as fast as possible, or it could be a special favor he'd only do for you. you really couldn't tell from him.

"four." you count through the stacks as you try to avoid glancing at him in fear of staring too long. he was almost too easy on the eyes, especially when he's focused.

"i'll just do them right now then," he then looks up at you, just briefly as he stretches out hand ready to take the papers from you. "i just brewed some tea, help yourself to a cup while you wait."

did he often offer his tea to others? did he instantly prioritize anyone's work as long at they just enter his office? are these actions normal? for him? you pour yourself a cup of tea as you rest on his couch and ponder these thoughts.

"you got new glasses." he interrupts flatly, as if he's just noting an observation in the reports he's reviewing.

you can't help even noting the way he says you. it's very rare for the sentences that alhaitham says "you" in to be not followed by a critique or insult.

"well they're on my face and have never been before right?" you say back, reflecting his tone. "but i guess i'm surprised you even noticed."

"they're cute."

you almost spit out your drink. you didn't expect "cute" to be within his vocabulary bank or if he even had the neurotransmitter to help him translate what things were actually cute to him in his brain.

"what?" you scoff, almost stuttering as you try to hide your aghast. "i didn't know going blind was something to find cute, only you would think that."

"your interpretations of my statements are incorrect," he still does not face you, shifting through the papers much too casually. "i find that the frame of your new glasses gives you a new enhancement to your overall attractiveness."

leave it to him to make sure his point is always made, completely bulldozing over your efforts at avoiding his blatant compliment.

"thanks?" you offer, unable to form a more educated response you normally give him.

"is that a question?" he asks, seemingly puzzled by your reaction. "you don't have to thank me if you prefer not to though i do appreciate your opinions as much as you do mine."

"no i just," you attempt to start as he clears his throat.

he finally looks at you, eyebrow raised. he puffs his bangs out of his face so that both his eyes are directly looking at you, analyzing your flushed face, eyes widened only by a smidge and mouth agape. for some odd reasons, he feels a sort of satisfaction eliciting a reaction like this from you, but has yet been able to pinpoint why.

"i just wasn't expecting the word cute to be within your dictionary," you clear your throat and push your glasses back up on your nose bridge in order to compose yourself again. "you surprised me, that is all."

"is this a case of when women refuse compliments from the man they like?" he chuckles, still repeating your moment of daze in his mind, as if he was trying to ingrain it in his brain instead of reading the reports like he promised you.

"woah woah," you start, completely blindsided from this almost exposure of your feelings you were not ready to admit. "slow your horses, who said i liked you?"

"y/n, i am no idiot but i didn't think you were though."

"what is that suppose to mean?"

"it's simple really," he noted as he finally sets the papers down. "i like you, you like me."

"i did not take you for a man to assume conclusions like this," you say with as much poise you have left in you, completely ignoring his candid confession. "what makes you think i like you?"

"actions, reactions, your words," he simply states, not going into any detail at all. "are you going to keep denying it?

"you know what, i'll just come back for the reports later." you start getting up, refusing to look him the eyes. you knew your dignity was starting to fall and you were not ready for alhaitham to pick it up and hand it back to you along with the small pieces of your heart you've scattered in this room.

with a huff you turn to the door. dusting yourself off, you reach for the doorknob, trying to get out of this suddenly stuffy and warm room.

"no need," you can hear him shifting in his chair as signaled by the screech it made. "i'll swing by after your evening lecture. speaking of, you should really change the time of that lectu-"

"you will not, i do not want to see you."

"but i do." he continued. "you can't really refuse the acting grand sage's attendance for a lecture check in, can you now?"

completely frazzled now, you just dash out the door before he can say anything else, leaving him completely proud and satisfied with your interaction.

he couldn't wait to see your reaction when he enters the lecture, excited by the idea of seeing you flustered for him again.

as your racing back to your office, you take off your glasses, hoping that somehow the vision of alhaitham just shamelessly flirting with you would just completely disappear.

[opreaadriann]

Last Update of 2024

Hello, everyone! The year where I’ve come back is coming to an end and High School Revenge, unfortunately, is nowhere near the end haha.

I’m going to start this update by thanking everyone for the continued support, it’s amazing to see so many people from back in 2018 still coming back here to check on the story and to see so many new readers invested in my characters. Hopefully in 2025 I’ll push a bit harder than I did this last month and we’ll maybe finish more than one chapter haha. I would also like for our MC to get revenge at least on one of the characters, a semi-big one at least, in the near future…

In theory things should get simpler for future chapters, since I’ll still use many of the events from this chapter and many things that I wrote now will come up later, so that’s gonna be really nice. I’ve also noticed I haven’t played the game myself in a long time, so first thing I’ll do after finishing this chapter is actually reading my own story haha.

To celebrate a bit, here’s a list of all the stuff I’ve written and done this year since coming back, just so I can feel better about it all and not feel like the lazy writer that I know I am:

Chapter 1 – Rewritten a bunch of stuff (18 year old me didn’t do English that well…) – Made Olivia try to stop you from jumping right into the Tragedy – MC’s head now bleeds after being hit with a metallic crown (yikes) – Connor now manipulates MC into feeling accepted by the group

Chapter 2 – Choice to change pronouns and/or transition to a different gender (making dad 1 hate you, yikes…) – Created hobby skill stats (I forgot these didn’t exist) – Become financially independent (kinda…) – Recruit both Angela and Marcus (you could only recruit one. Yikes…) – Extra week for preparation – Colored contacts for eyes – Sexuality and romantic experience choice – Nice little comments if you choose the same family name as one of your other fathers – Choose if you’re a smoker (most important choice here)

Chapter 3 – Chapter 3! This was not a thing before my unfortunate disappearance! Funny thing, the conversation with Michael was already written before my death, but I got very annoyed with the choices I wrote. I allowed you to punch Michael in the face, which resulted in a really weird start for the game. When I saw how weird everything went, I gave up. When I came back, I killed the idea completely. Maybe we can punch him at the start in a DLC… – Rewrites over rewrites. – The first hobby events! – The first meetings with all of the ROs!

Chapter 4 – Too much to write down… Short of it would be: – Relationship events with all ROs – Second hobby event, first chance to ruin your targets’ private life! – Random events! – Burt can stalk people now! (yikes…) – You go to a party and stuff happens! – You can learn one of Connor’s and Michael’s secrets! – You can campaign to become homecoming royalty! – You can ask most of the ROs to homecoming! (I’ll finish this, I promise) – Marcus is much more useful as an ally than Angela! (she’ll get her chance to shine, don’t worry Angela-mancers)

Anyway, more words might have been written, but I forgot. I came back at the end of March, so it’s been 9 months. Pretty crazy stuff. Thanks again for all the support, let’s make 2025 the year we finally get revenge and live out our sick fantasies (and likely feel bad about it afterwards…).

[romancingdaffodils]

Love Kills.

part 1

bassist!rockstar!remus lupin x roadie!reader

In which one of your closest friends happens to be Sirius Black, who is also the drummer in the infamous punk band: The Marauders. You’ve met Remus Lupin twice before the tour begins and you found yourself quite enthralled with him. The more time you spend, the greater the need is.

warnings : mention of drinking, and that’s about it. gender neutral reader with a small understanding of drums and stuff :333

title stolen from Love Kills - Joe Strummer

hiii i know you missed me

i’d like to give a special thanks to @alegsy for all his help on this one. and if you like Alex turner go check out @joepublicspeakings :33. Seriously Al thank you much for helping me out with all the roadie tech stuff and ideas and punk music too it really means a lot and i love you sooooo much. thank u smsm

ps pls ignore that matt plays electric and not bass it’s not my fault i love him so much

Sirius Black was by far the most interesting man you've ever met. He was also the reason you were stood with your hands clasped tightly around the handles of two stuffed bags.

"C'mooon, you know me, it'll be fun! You like the music, know the tech, got the skills nailed. You're the perfect roadie, join us." Sirius begged, following you around the bar. You frowned at him. Unfortunately for the raven haired man, you liked your job, which meant it took a lot more convincing to get you onside.

"Sleeping in a glorified caravan for god knows how many days doesn't exactly seem like my idea of fun! Plus, Sirius, I only really know James. Met the other lanky one, what, twice? Don't know the last guys name! It's not fair." you argued, crossing your arms and glaring at him. You had included a small white lie in the fact Remus Lupin was not known as the lanky one in your mind - you were familiar with the version of him that haunted your daydreams. He pouted at you. Yes, the fully grown man pouted at you.

"It pays well-ish! It'll get you in with the industry and it's months with your favourite person, ever. Me! On top of that, it's not a glorified caravan, we invested this year so shut your trap." he whined, giving his best puppy dog eyes.

"Right, fine, maybe. I'll, consider it. And, never ever say 'shut your trap' again. You're a daft twat, you know that?" you caved. He grinned.

"So that's a yes! And I'll do you the favour of assuming you're just trying to keep me humble." he grinned once again. Mentally, you smashed your head through a glass pane. What had you gotten yourself into?

“Nice shirt.” a voice spoke from beside you, giving you a small smile. You smiled back. The lanky one - Remus Lupin, you reminded yourself. Not that you needed much reminding; the honey eyed man stuck firmly in your brain.

“Thanks, didn’t know you liked Bowie. Thought all the punk stuff would be more for you.” you joked, peering up at him. He scoffed, as though your statement was the most insane thing he’d heard.

“Can still like the ‘punk stuff’ and Bowie. Plus, he’s a genius. Done every style and more, like.” he replied, some sort of northern accent coming in thick and fast. He was different to Sirius in many ways and you took comfort in it. Even though, at times, Remus was a tad bit mean. But, not really to you. The three times (including now) you’d met him he’d been quite lovely. Sirius had chewed your ear off about that.

“It took me years to get a grin out of him! And you do it straight away? It’s so not fair!” he whined, leaning against the counter of the pub’s bar.

“You’ll recover, posho, promise.” you said, giggling to yourself at his heartbreak.

“Yeah, suppose you’re right. Nice to see you again, by the way. It’s been a while. ‘m excited for the tour and stuff.” you said, deciding that changing the subject might suit you better.

“Me too, can’t believe Sirius actually got you on as a roadie. Did he physically fight you for it? Last time we asked you were dead set against it.” he gestured for you to walk beside him as he spoke. He was holding his bags in one hand and his bass case in the other. He made short work of putting everything bar his bag of necessities into the storage bin. Then, quickly took your own off of you, shoving them into the storage of the bus. He didn’t seem to mind doing the heavy lifting for you.

“He harassed me, a lot. At work. A lot. It’s fine though, I think I’ll enjoy it if I’m honest. If all else fails at least I’ll get contacts and friends out of it, yeah?” Remus snickered. He smiled down at you as he closed up the storage compartment.

“I’ve been telling myself that for the past, what? Decade? Trust me, he entices you in, you’re trapped now. Failed plenty of times and don’t think I’ve gained much - apart from wanting to bash all three of their heads in. On multiple occasions.” you giggle; he smiles.

“Ah well, just promise me you won’t let me kill anyone then. I’ll do the same for you.” you said, holding out your pinky for him to close the promise. It was childlike and somewhat immature, sure, but it locked the deal closed. Wrapping his pinky around yours, Remus silently agreed to your proposition.

“It’s nice to meet you— Jesus Christ! You’re lanky. Sorry. That was mean. Remus, right?! I’m the one Sirius told you about.” you shouted over the blaring music. Submission by the Sex Pistols was causing the entire room to shake and was rocking you to your core.

“Yeah. I know you. Been trying to keep up with Pads, by chance?” Remus chuckled down at you, assuming you weren’t always this dishevelled.

“Always. Thought I could out drink him, you know, for a posh boy, the lad can drink.” he smiled.

“Perks of going to a boarding school. Mix with all sorts of people, it was good for him.” you smiled.

The night seemed to fly by and you couldn’t keep yourself away from Remus. Flocking to him like a moth to a flame, your cheeks were beginning to hurt from smiling so much. Thankfully, the incomprehensible amount of vodka you had consumed helped dull the pain.

“Can’t believe we haven’t met before.” you purred, peering up at him.

“Neither. Pads is cruel, keeps all his best friends to himself. Didn’t know there was anyone else on the planet who actively enjoyed The Clash and Dostoyevsky.” he responded, bringing a green tinted glass bottle to his lips.

“Let me try it.” you demanded, holding out your hand.

“You don’t like beer.” he said, giving you a small grin.

“Wanna try, it might be different.”

“Oh, yeah? All the beers you’ve had in your life and this one just might be different.” despite his teasing, he offered you the bottle. It did in fact not taste any different. It still tasted like piss.

“Nah, still rank.”

“Shame, that, really.”

You grinned. He smirked.

The tour bus was now filled. The four key members of the band: James, Sirius, Remus and Pete, who you’d finally remembered the name of and the rest of the members of your new team. Oh! And the support band, who you kept forgetting about, The Valkyries. Lovely girls, all of them. It tickled you somewhat that James and Lily were in rival bands. And, that some how they’d persuaded the rivals to support them. The roadies with you had mostly known the Marauders since school, which inevitably led to you feeling like an outcast. It really struck home as they were all discussing stories from their youth. The road was a relentless treadmill of travel and you were provided no solace. Until a small voice called your name.

“You busy?” Remus asked, poking his head into your bunk.

“Trying to be.” you joked, smiling over at him. He looked ridiculously oversized compared to the glorified caravan.

“Don’t think you aren’t welcome. They’re lovely. Sit up a bit, will you? My knees are killing I need to sit down.” you sat up, as he instructed. He sat on the bunk opposite yours, you faced him directly. It was a little scary- his ability to practically read your mind.

“I’m sure they are, just having second thoughts, as always. Dunno, you lot all went to school together. So, just a bit of an outcast, yanno?” you whispered, emphasising this was for Remus’s ears only. He nodded his head, and then began to shake it.

“Y’not an outcast. Promise. They’ll all love you once they get to know you. Like Pads does, poor fucker can’t leave you alone.” you laughed; he smiled. It wasn’t a sympathetic smile; it was genuine.

“I love Sirius too. Best friend you could ask for, really. It’s just such a shame he’s such a slag.” you joked. Remus laughed.

“Really is. How’ve you been since the incident?”

Remus’s hand was acting as a makeshift bobble as you threw up into the bar toilet. His other hand was rubbing small circles into your back.

“I hate him! I hate how much he can drink and- I hate this stupid bar.” you whined, in between sobs. Throwing up always made you cry.

“Shhh, yeah, I know. Come on, let it all out. Y’don’t need to cry, sweetheart, you’re fine. Just have to let it all out.” he cooed, still rubbing your back. God knows how you’d ended up exclusively talking to Remus the whole night and somehow still trying to out drink Sirius. You’d been fucked when the taller of the two showed up and now you were completely gone.

“This is so embarrassing. Sorry, I feel awful.” you threw up again after that.

“Got nothing to feel sorry about. Listen, been there done that with Sirius. Learnt my lesson the hard way too, plus I’m taller than you. Takes a lot more to get me drunk, yeah? He’s just insane. Don’t worry about it.” he comforted, not at all bothered by your sickness. Giving him a dopey smile, you were eternally grateful - even in your drunken state - that it was Remus you had befriended that night.

“Thank you, tell you what, I’ll do you a deal.” Remus nodded “Pinky promise if you ever get plastered I’ll do the same for you”. Holding out his pinky, Remus tilted his head at you. You locked pinkies with him for the first time (and most definitely not the last time).

“Good deal. Do you think we should get you home? Are you close? I’ll walk you if you are.” he offered, wrapping an arm around you to pull you up.

“Yeh, like ten minutes. Thank you, Remus, really. Bet you’re glad it’s me and not you, huh?” you joked, trying to add light to the situation. Leaning into him, you were relying solely on him to stay upright.

“Nah, know you’d do the same for me. Pinky promised it, didn’t you? And, it’s no problem. Think we’re going to be good friends.”

“Don’t bring that up around me. I’m still so embarrassed.” you complained, burying your head into your hands. Chuckling, Remus shook his head.

“Could’ve been worse, you could’ve declared your undying, unrelenting and pure love for Lily, whilst stood on top of the bar and using an empty vodka bottle as a microphone for the announcement. Poor Lils never recovered.” You lifted your head to give him the loudest laugh ever.

“They’re sooo cute. It’s upsetting.” you said, lying back down in your bunk. Remus watched your every move, subconsciously. “Oh, you said your knees were hurting. You get pains? Arthritis? My mum gets that in her knees, she just keeps moving, but I think it’s making it worse.” you rambled, turning your head to face him.

“Oh, yeah, just chronic pains, really. Just try and rest as often as possible.” he explained, stretching out his legs across the two bunks. His legs fell atop your own, now creating a bridge between the gap in the bunks. You smiled over at him.

“Must suck, huh? Well, let me know if I can help. Tour isn’t really resting.” you offered, giving him a big smile.

“Yeah, thank you, speaking of tour we aren’t far off Glasgow now.” he stated, peering out the window and then down at his watch.

“I’m ecstatic.” you stated sarcastically as your stomach twisted with nerves. Telling you not to worry, the sandy haired man gave you a smile that only made your stomach twist further.

The venue was a shit hole. A complete and utter shit hole. The ceiling had a badly patched up leak, which had almost destroyed Pete’s copy of the setlist. The reason Sirius had been so desperate to get you on his staff was because you specialised in drums - his instrument, of course. You’d managed to get everything set up relatively quickly. Carefully, you began to tighten the cymbals, listening for the correct pitch and length of the ring. Humming as you worked, you stopped every so often to admire the work of the rest of the team. Frank, who specialised in strings, was particularly impressive. He had finished up rather quickly and moved on to help his girlfriend, Alice, with getting everything ready for vocals. It seemed everyone here, but you had the perfect relationship. James and Lily were a lifetimes worth supply food for the green eyed monster. Frank and Alice were just as cute, but less well known as they weren’t in the limelight.

“All good?” he shouted over at you. You gave him a thumbs up and smiled over at Alice, who was fighting with some duct tape and a wire. Everything was all good for you, at the moment.

Finally, you finished up the final checks and placed a backup pair of sticks beside Sirius’s chair. It was then onto sound checks, all went well. You actually really quite liked the Marauders music. With inspiration from bands like The Clash and The Jam it’s hard to make a bad sound. He was weird in that he’d always carry around his sticks before the show, believing it would bring him good luck. In fact, in the first show you found out all the boys weird pre-show rituals. Pete laid down on the couch and threw chocolate raisins into his mouth. James clung onto Lily ever so slightly more than usual and insisted on drinking a shot of olive oil. As the lead singer he swore upon it for lubricating the vocal cords. You nearly gagged when you watched him do it. Whereas, Remus sat outside, cigarette in one hand and a cadburys chocolate bar in the other.

Trying to escape the rest of the boys, you ended up going outside and bumping into Remus during this. Quenching your thirst for normality, you couldn’t help your next actions. “Oh, sorry, hope I’m not interrupting.” you stated, giving him a small smile as you gravitated towards him.

“Nah, take it you saw James’s shot?” he said, before taking a long drag from the cigarette. Wincing, you looked at him with pure disgust in your eyes. “No I get it, can’t be around him when he does it either. Makes my jitters worse.”

“Christ, you don’t look nervous at all. Good poker face. Your sound check was really incredible though. James performs like Joe Strummer, it’s funny. You’re good, really fit the part of Paul, huh?” there was an unspoken message behind fitting the part of Paul. The bassist of the Clash and the so called good looking one of the group (as stated by their drummer, Topper). You thought the same about Remus.

“You calling us Clash tributes? Also, he humps less than Joe.” You laughed. Full force laughter left your lungs as you keeled over in genuine disbelief. Snickering, Remus looked down at you, a little scared you’d collapse on the floor and knock yourself out. You went to speak, but the words were drowned out in laughter. “That tickled you, dinnit?” he mumbled, dropping his cigarette and crushing it below his foot. The shout of ‘Five minutes till you’re on!’ snapped you out of your laughter. Grinning up at Remus, you tilted your head.

“Break a leg!”

“It’s not the theatre.”

“Oh, good luck.”

“Thank you.” he replied, smirking down at you. He pushed the final piece of his chocolate bar into your hand before walking inside for the ‘team talk’. Time seemed to move at the speed of light whenever the lanky man was around. You found yourself completely lost in everything about him. Seriously, you couldn’t believe how long Sirius had deprived you of this perfect man.

Frank had told you whilst you were setting up that the band always had a talk before going on stage. The talk often consisted of: “James don’t cry and don’t fuck up” from Sirius and Remus; “Dodge bottles, whatever you do don’t get hit please you’ll look stupid.” as the general message to the whole band and “Jump around”, which was mostly directed to Peter and Remus. Frank had also warned you about the dangers that came from within the crowd. Police. Famously, punk music was viewed as being quite aggressive; it ended up being the roadies job to make sure fighting and dancing could be differentiated. Sirius hadn’t told you about that part whilst advertising the job. However, now wasn’t the time to take offence.

Erupting like a volcano, the crowd filled the rotting venue with noise. You watched the boys sprint on stage. All leather and tight fitting trousers.

James really did look like Joe Strummer when he performed and Remus was right about his comparison too. Sirius looked truly ecstatic whenever he performed and the energy brought about by the show pulled Peter from his shell. And Remus, oh, Remus. He was entirely perfect.

Catching yourself, you blinked and shook your head. You’d met this man three times, including the current interactions and here you were, fawning over him. Sure, it’d get you in a little bit of trouble, but what harm is a crush. Right? Not much harm compared to glass bottles and punk rockers. Oh, and a leak in the ceiling with wires messily taped to the floor.

Bang.

[navxry]

Hi! Former reader from your writing blog, I just saw you had a main account here after you left. How did you develop your writing style?

Hiiiiii, as for that, I think that's. a bit of a lengthy answer so. uh. let me just put this on a 'read more' before you start wondering why its long hehe

I'm going to be realistic here and say my writing style isn't exactly something I can say that's 'developed'. After all, any signs of me actually writing for real (or, rather, for fun) started in my Undertale phase (2016 - 2018) and it was for an AU.

(Don't look it up, because it is bad. Gastertale I love you, but... 2016 - 2018 Navi didn't do you justice. I'm sorry.)

I think back then it was... Really rough around the edges. Overuse of caps, punctuations, things you'd see in a novice writer. Actually, I only wrote for it back then because I was so invested in the fic, and when the main author said they wanted help from a co-author, I jumped at the chance.

Back then... Writing was something I do for fun. Something to not take seriously. Something that I can simply drop because it's just words on a paper, or in this case, on a digital book.

But when I began to write for that book, people began to.. Love it. They were commenting, some yelling at my choices, others celebrating and giving me compliments for my writing. It made me feel warm, happy; it made me feel that, despite my writing style not being on par, people love it as is. Flawed as it may be, it had character, and I think that's what gets people to enjoy it so much.

It's genuinely something you can look back on and go, "this kid doesn't know how to write well, but they're enjoying it".

I think after that, I began to branch off and write for more books and fics. I actually started in Quotev (shocker, haha!), and one of the fics I starter were just co-authoring Undertale ones. "MINE" was one of them (a Chara x reader one-shot collection), and its funny looking back on it.

Then there was "This is my world", "Life in the Underground", "My World", "How...", "Puns and Laughs", (embarrassingly but funny on hindsight, don't laugh at 2018 Navi here) "Human! FNAF Boyfriend Scenarios" (2 million reads!! Let's go 2018 Navi!!), "Ocean Eyes", "It's Complicated", and finally, my recent works since 2021, "Deception of the Abyss" and "Poisonous Thorns".

I became a co-author and an author for majority of them (the exception being the boyfriend scenarios, I was an editor), but I remember loving to write. I remember fondly on how I'd look at what people are saying, how they're commenting, and what they have to think about each chapter. It wasn't much now, but back then... It was more than I can ask for.

Hell, it even pushed to greater heights because I took it to a new form: roleplaying. Even back in my Undertale phase, I was roleplaying with a few people, and I made friends that way. Sure, some weren't great (my ocs especially, they're hella broken), but it was fun. My fun. It was also how I met some of my long time friends too (hi, Fifi!)

But then... Life happens. Things change, and suddenly, I'm not the same as I used to be.

I remember checking on my old works and then going "huh... things changed. And my writing... doesn't feel the same."

I remember getting on Tumblr because of Food Fantasy (2019 I believe? Or was it 2020...), and being friends with a few people that, on hindsight, I shouldn't be associated with. I remember being involved in drama, in consuming other people's works, becoming the reader that would talk about them to the author and even down to reblogging some.

There were ups and downs, and yes, I still remember them. I remember how it made me enjoy so much of other people's content, and how it made them feel. I remember so fondly of seeing people so... Active.

That... Unfortunately changed when I left Tumblr.

I won't get into what made me leave the first time. It was just... A sudden change that I couldn't put to words. So much in my life happened, so much stress, it began to affect me and how I see myself. It began to affect how I see in writing, how I began to disassociate and pull away from it. Hell, it even made me dislike running ask blogs, because both of my passions couldn't bring me out of that stump.

For the first time, I felt.. Really dissatisfied. Like something I did just won't fix it.

So I left.

I took a break for a while, which helped me see things differently. It was still too much for me to handle back then, but it felt easier. And when I returned, I had done a few changes: ask blogs were put in either archives or hiatus/es, new ones began, old ones were discarded...

I even started running @oletus-manors-log back then because I was in a constant state of returning and leaving. I remember how I only started the blog because I thought, "hey, my writing changed and improve. I might as well do something worthwhile."

And... That's where I met a few of my friends. Yuu was one of them (hi, Yuu!), and it made me remember how it felt... Nice to have someone see them. Requests weren't a lot back there, but it was fine—it feels the same as it used to.

Though, during that time, things.. Changed.

I think my feelings with writing is the same as I felt back at my first rut. If anything, me leaving and returning made me slowly realize that there was one thing that changed.

User interactions... Were smaller than I remember.

I wasn't okay when I returned. I still feel that way, and even with that blog, that grew into something bigger.

In some days, I began to doubt myself, and my ability to even write. There were even moments that I felt that my ability isn't even on par with what I did in 2016 - 2018, where it was fueled by my own feelings, my passion, and what makes me me. It made me dislike myself because it feels like, little by little, I'm unlearning about myself.

I LITERALLY could not sit down and write in my drafts without thinking, "why do people bother to stick around anymore? what do they see in my works? what do they see that they enjoy, when I can't see it myself?"

I think those years were my best, and even if I was critical of my writing style, it wasn't bad. It was fun. It was something I enjoyed.

So… What happened? What made me dislike writing so much?

Truthfully... I don't know. I don't know what made me detest it.

But I think I have a few thoughts. An assumption or two, I guess. And I think its because I rely so heavily onto what others see in my works that it... Bled into what made me me. It bled into my life, my expectations, my own self-worth.

In my venture to get better, to return to the hobby I loved, I became my biggest critic, my worst nightmare, and the flame that snuffed my passion.

I know you used to read my works, but there were so much I put that many ignored. My old writing blog (sfw) for genshin was an example. I used to write for SFW (aka @dxy-drxxm), but it stopped because I noticed so little were seeing it.

I noticed that so little bothered to say something about how they liked my works. My style. It began to eat at me and make me think that what I did isn't enough. That my own drive isn't enough.

I tried it over and over with different characters. With different plotlines. With different AUs. Hell, in EBG hosted by a friend of mine, I had it based off of IdentityV, which I loved.

But... No one see it that way. No one bothered to tell me the things I wanted to hear.

So... I stopped writing.

I thought no one actually cared. I still do, unfortunately. It was how I also saw my recently archived writing blog, which was @yxstxrdrxxm-a. Don't get me wrong, I do not regret meeting my friends there. I don't regret meeting Brynn, Jessamine, Avalon, Harmony, Yuu, Fifi, Cal, Tae, and many more of my mutuals. I don't regret becoming a writer, because if I didn't, I'd never meet the wonderful people I know now.

But...

Engagement is... A slippery slope. One that can take you so deep to your darkest thoughts. Some that make you question if you're human. Some that make you wonder if you're a machine to others. Some that make you truly think, "do I deserve this fame? when no one tells me what I achieved?"

I still have those thoughts sometimes. I still think... I'm not. You know. Worthy of everything.

I think, if I put this in an MV, Beaver comes to mind. There's so much that makes it feel that I can relate to it. The shots, the lyrics... It made me feel that I was heard in that video.

It's stupid. I'm aware. But... It's the only thing that made me go "god, this is me."

I think, in that regard... I don't know how I feel with writing still. I don't know how I feel with my works. After leaving those blogs, after ditching them because I feel worthless, I'm at a standstill.

...

I'll be real with you, anon.

I don't know if I can rekindle my unbridled passion for writing anymore.

I don't know if people can still see the same passion that my younger self did. And I wish, for once, someone could.

The biggest irony is... I have experienced what's called an 'artist effect'. Don't know the term? Here's what it means:

Artist Effect Where an artist is only recognized once they are gone, usually by death.

... Do you know the saying, "An artist is only appreciated after he is dead"? If so, this is what it means.

When I left, I left tumblr. I left that space for a good while because I was at my lowest. I thought no one will recognize what I've done, and only my friends will. I coined that term because it feels right. It's something I experienced, simply because I was focusing on the wrong thing.

Fame is nothing to me now, though. I don't desire to be famous of my writing. Don't take what I say as though I'm chasing for attention from readers; that's not what I want you to take away from this.

I refuse to return to that thinking. After all, it's specifically that thought that ruined me.

Nowadays, I'm... At that standstill. At the fork in the road, so to say. I don't even know if I can return to loving myself, and my works. I've spilled my guts so much in them, it feels a part of me has been torn bit by bit. And if people won't appreciate them, then that is the truth of the matter.

Maybe I'm too much of a pessimist, but... Such is life. People only see writers as machines and content creators, but I saw each of my works as pieces of myself that I've spilled.

A starving artist fits me better, I guess. But maybe, someday... Things will change. And maybe I'll love it again, just like what 2016 - 2018 Navi did.

I don't think this answered your question, and for that, I apologize. I'm not... Used to being completely honest about myself. There's so many things I need to resolve, demons I have to fight, and I think this will never be over for me.

What is helping me little by little was my friends. They are the ones that keep my passion ignited, even for just a little longer. If I didn't meet the people that would tell me I'm more than what I do, that I shouldn't pursue the thing that'll ruin me, I wouldn't be here now.

So, I hope from this answer, you understand how I see things. Although my reasoning can be rather out there, I know some also feel the same as I do with theirs. And I hope that they feel validated, in some way.

Because chasing for something as fleeting as 'engagement' will ruin them, just like how it almost ruined me.

[aching-tummies]

This is for your fizzing prompt! I would wake up hearing an audible fizzing noise. Turning over to ask you what it is just to see you laid on your back still asleep but your tummy is visibly bloated and actively fizzing. I gently place my hands on your tummy not to wake you up and I can feel your tummy slowly bloating even more as it fizzes. Slowly I start massaging and shaking your tummy squeezing maybe just a little to hard and shaking just a little to much as your tummy starts to fizz louder and bloat even more clearly upset by all the movement. A soft groan comes from your mouth as you slowly wake up seeing my hands on your bloated tummy already putting way to much pressure on it for how packed it feels.

Would love to hear your response to waking up to this!

Response to this post.

It's barely light out as you slowly wake up, wondering why you're up so early on a day off. A quiet groan and a shifting from your right draws your attention. I've shifted in my sleep, it seems, going from having been sleeping on my right side to rolling over onto my back. I'm a pretty restless sleeper, shifting positions both when I'm conscious and unconscious. This appears to be the latter as I'm still quite deeply asleep, it seems.

It's too early to wake up on a rare day off, so you intend to go back to sleep when something else draws your attention. A noise.

It's faint, but constant--like TV-static. Not quite…wetter than that. Fizzing? Raising an eyebrow, you sit up and listen, trying to hone in on the noise via closing your eyes and really concentrating on listening. We're not the type of people to bring food or drinks into the bedroom, so why are you hearing fizzing--like a freshly cracked can of Coca-Cola--so close? I'm still asleep and you're definitely not cracking open a cold one…so where's the noise coming from?

Your eyes roam around the room, sweeping the room and your attention starting from the edges and drawing closer as your ears tell you that the sound is closer. Eventually, you open your eyes--gaze landing squarely on my abdomen.

Our area has been under a heat-wave/intense-heat warning for the last week. It's pretty much the only way I'll ever consent to sleeping without blankets. I'm the type of person that always likes to be covered up when I sleep. I even invested in a spare flat bedsheet and even a lace-y one to give the feeling of a blanket, without trapping too much hot air. Unfortunately, four days straight of temperatures over 33C have finally chipped away at my itching to have a covering of some sort while I sleep. I'm clad in a camisole that's been washed and dried enough times that the material has shrunk. What used to rest around my hips now barely covers my navel area. It's an article of clothing that stays buried in my dresser and only sees the light of day or a wear when it's my last clean top or when it's hotter than 30C.

The little black tank-top rests on the slight curve of my belly--an unnatural curve to my usually trim figure. You can see the little dip in the fabric where my navel would be--right at the edge of the fabric as I take shallow, slow breaths--still asleep.

The fizzing noise is coming from there--from the slight, unusual swell you see before you.

You sit up, inspecting the unusual bloat for a while before you slide your left hand over the swell--running it over the soft cotton of my tank top, stretched over the unfamiliar bloat in my belly.

The pressure of your palm doesn't trigger much to happen, but you can feel the subtle sensations beneath your palms--even more so as you add your other hand, tracing a slow spiral over my belly--starting wide and ending with your palm on the crest of my belly.

You repeat the motion, repeating the spiral a few times over the next twenty minutes or so. At that point, you realize something: something is different. My navel is now clearly visible. Some of it due to your actions causing the tank-top to ride up, but not by that much. Your eyes widen as you inspect the pale strip of flesh between my sleep shorts and the hem of the tank-top. A rolling burble punctuates the moment you come to a realization: my belly is still bloating up. It's bigger than it was when you first laid eyes on it.

Grinning, you continue to rub spirals all over the bloated swell of my abdomen--pressing more firmly in places, pausing to give it a harsh shake or a poke when each hand reaches the apex of the swell. The spirals are faster now--always punctuated by a harsh shake or prod as the fizzing and gurgling begins to grow louder.

"Oh…mmmhh…oww…" I groan as an uncomfortable sensation rouses me from my sleep. "Nnngh…babe what's--what are you--mmph…" My voice is heavy with sleep and interrupted by pitifully short puffs of air too small to be considered burps.

I lay back, assessing the situation as I try to answer my own question. There's an uncomfortable pressure in my stomach and a weird 'fizzing' sensation all over--like I swallowed pop-rocks…or an Alka-Seltzer tablet or something. Not only is my gut 'fizzing', but it really does feel like there's something foaming around in there. Maybe it's just gas or just something blowing bubbles in whatever liquid is there…but it's really uncomfortable.

Your hands on my belly haven't done anything to soothe the sensations--if anything, you're stirring them up--coaxing more of the grumbling fizzing to occur.

The sharp jabs to my navel or to the bloated swell where my stomach-organ should be leave deep aches reverberating through my organs. The firm pressure you apply as you run your palms over the swell of my belly are quite painful--designed to stir things up rather than to soothe. I also note how you're switching the direction of the spiral every couple of passes--intent on shaking things up and keeping everything inside of me rather than coaxing anything in any particular direction. It's no wonder my belly has swelled in the few minutes that you've been awake--you've been consolidating, condensing everything with your random swirling palms--gathering up all that nastiness to nest in the very centre of my being.

"Nngh…b-babe? Oooh…p-please…c-could you…could you stop now? Nnngh…h-hurts. Oooh…d-damnit…owww…nnngh…lemme…le-let it out…please…nngh…n-need to…to…l-let something out." I mutter, trying to sit up.

I squirm, but you've straddled my hips, keeping me pinned to the bed. Your knees squeezing around my kidneys painfully. You pin my wrists above my head with your left as your right continues to jostle my achy belly, slapping and pinching at random as my belly continues to grumble and squeal from the pressure of everything being corralled into a giant mass of what feels like mostly air sitting heavy in the space between my ribs and my navel.

The stretch is intense. And the pressure--I feel like a balloon being inflated into a vice.

You continue to palm at the bloated swell of my belly and the sight of my now-much-shallower-navel brings a sense of satisfaction to your face. Almost ready. Like those meat thermometers or whatever that pop out when the internal pressure is ready or whatever--just a little more.

You continue your teasing massage, squeezing my guts roughly and delighting in the distressed squealing coming from my guts. You let your mind wander. What's next? It's too early to be awake on a day off, but you've got your favorite toy right in front of you. So…what are you going to do with it?