#looking up signs of depression for a fic. because the guy has depression

[skyward-floored]

Hmm. Inch resting. Don't like that.

[denwritesandcries]

Later you'll laugh about this – H.C

Pairing: loser!hazel x fem!reader

Summary: Later you would say that you only got into this stupid situation because of a cotton candy. PJ and a cotton candy. A goddamn cotton candy you bought for Hazel Callahan.

Word count: 4,3k.

Content: cursing, fake dating, pining, kinda angst, insecure!loser!hazel, toxic situationships, dialogues. lots of dialogues, reader having a beef with pj, idiots in love.

Note: This fic is supposed to have 3 chapters, I didn’t mean it to be so long but I couldn't stop adding new things to the story and now it's a series cause it got out of control. So basically, Hazel is a loser and the reader is a loser for her. That's it. That's the plot.

English is not my first language.

>>

Coming across Hazel's sad face pressed against the precariously clean table you always sat at in the cafeteria, with her puppy eyes seeming to wander forlornly every damn day was becoming really depressing.

“I… I simply don’t understand.” Hazel starts and you let out a tired sigh when you turn your head to follow her gaze and find PJ gesturing to Josie in the lunch line, because of course she would be talking about this. Again. “It’s been weeks since the game and she just acts like nothing happened between us.”

Stella-Rebecca squeezes her shoulder in solidarity and you all exchange a knowing look without her noticing. None of this is really new, but it's getting more and more painful to watch now.

“I thought she liked me too, but lately she’s just acting like…”

You sip your juice audibly, absentmindedly nibbling on the straw in the box: “A bitch?”

Hazel gasps in alarm, “I wasn’t going to say that!”

You notice Sylvie stifle an incredulous laugh next to her as Isabel scolds you with a slap on the shoulder.

“Ouch! 'M sorry, Haze, but we've talked about this before.” You say gently, brushing aside a strand of dark hair that has fallen on her face. “PJ is a bitch. She's a bitch to everyone who's not Josie and especially to you, it's always been like this. You can do better.”

“Like who?” she whines and you huff.

Maybe it might seem a little rude the way you're talking now, but Hazel is your best friend and you've been having this conversation for months, even before the fight club, and it seemed impossible to give her any advice and talk some sense into her head. After the game with the big fight against Huntington and your group of friends grew, things only got worse, because now there are finally more people to hear about her longtime passion.

It turns out that there is no one to listen to you about your long-time passion for her.

It's ridiculous, sitting here next to your best friend, listening to her talk about another girl. The girl she likes.

Still, all you really take into consideration is the way her eyes shine against the sunlight streaming in through the windows, the way her hair falls in thick, unruly locks across her face, the way she rolls up her sleeve of the colorful jacket wrapped nervously around her wrist and the dreamy, yearning tone of voice with which she speaks so desperately about what ails her.

Isabel turns her attention to Hazel, looking almost apologetic: “Y/N is right. You have a crush on her since, what, third grade? And she’s being a bitch with you even after you guys made out in front of, like, the entire town.”

Annie leaned on her elbows to join in the conversation, holding a half-bitten apple in her hand indignantly: “She’s literally acting like a straight guy!”

Everyone at the table looked at her at that.

“What? It's true! She’s giving all those confusing signs: sticking her tongue on your throat after barely apologizing for calling your mom a whore, being nice with you for a while and then getting right back to her bitch act without giving you a word about it.” Annie rolled her eyes, “Aren’t gay people supposed to be more mature than that or whatever?”

Hazel shrank even more in place: “Guys, please.”

“Girl, what are you even talking about—”

“You could, you know…” You rest your chin on your palm, “Ask her what you guys are.”

Hazel seemed to suffer in anticipation just imagining this, “I don't want her to move further away and stop being my friend by insinuating anything. I just wanted her to be nicer.”

You shrug, looking away from her tiredly to unwrap your grilled cheese, “Then I’m afraid everything will stay exactly as it is, sweetheart.”

“Yeah, way to show some self-respect, Haze.” Annie added sarcastically.

Hazel dropped her weight back against the table, putting her face in her hands dramatically and you silenced everyone when you saw Josie and PJ coming towards the table, pulling Hazel a little closer and putting your arm around her back to push her away when PJ sat on the other side of her.

You change the subject quickly and you choose to ignore the look Isabel and Brittany exchange as Hazel gratefully leans into your touch.

“Why are you whining like that?” PJ asks, looking disdainfully at the scene. “Aren’t you going to eat anything?”

You thought you could get through the rest of the day, or at least your lunch, without any more arguments, but that unfortunately doesn't seem to be the case.

“Leave her alone, PJ.”

Hazel sighed, finally sitting up straight to cast a disgusted expression at the tray in front of her.

“I would,” she said, “but now my fries are all cold and limp and the texture gives me shivers.”

Already feeling another nasty comment coming, you decide to interrupt quickly, shrugging: “I’ll trade you for my grilled cheese.”

Hazel immediately brightens: “Really?”

You can't regret your impulsive decision when she looks so cute like this, pushing the package towards her and giving a little smirk in response to PJ's annoyed look.

“Yep,” you highlight the P at the end of the word, “I'm sure.”

Mind you, it's not that you hate the girl exactly. It's just that you hate the way she treats your best friend, which makes you not like being around her most of the time.

And maybe – just maybe – you're a little bitter, because you make a point of giving her a smug look from across the table to the sound of Hazel's excited exclamation of 'you're the best!'.

Your lunch goes without a hitch other than your sad fries and Isabel's eyes burning holes in your head and you're happy to remain quiet and listen to your friends talk for the rest of the time.

Isabel still looks thoughtful when the bell rings and everyone starts to leave for their respective classes. Luckily, the two of you shared the next period, so you could just go ahead and ask her if she had anything to say.

…Which ended up not being necessary, as Isabel pulled you aside with Hazel as soon as she said goodbye to Josie while you looked at each other in confusion as you were suddenly practically dragged through the hallways under Hazel's protests because that was definitely not the way for her to go to class – and your own too because, damn, the cheerleader had a surprisingly strong grip on your arm.

“Isabel, what the hell are you doing?” You ask, perplexed and worried, narrowly avoiding bumping into a random kid carrying a stack of books.

“You know, Hazel, about your problem,” she blatantly ignores you, “if you want PJ to actually choose to be with you and ask you out for real, you could, like, just make her jealous.”

You don’t know why you’re hearing that, “What?”

Isabel shrugged, “It worked for me and Josie, and we know they think kinda alike.”

Hazel stopped abruptly in the middle of the hallway, interested: “I’m listening.”

“Oh man.” You groaned.

Your head is hurting just at the concept of such an absurd idea, with the three of you standing in the empty hallway, talking about some crazy plan.

“Josie only made a real move on me when she saw me getting back with Jeff,” Isabel grimace in disgust as she recalled, “She got all tearful and jealous when the group broke up and I started ignoring her. That made her act.”

Hazel seemed to drink in every word of what she said, nodding her head at the reasoning as Isabel explained it as if it were the most logical thing possible.

You leaned your head against a locker behind you, crossing your arms around your body defensively. If Isabel brought you along for the conversation, it's because you're definitely part of what she's planning.

“And you didn’t bring this up when we were all arguing about it because…?” You asked.

“I would have said something sooner, but you two were so busy having a moment that I didn't want to interrupt.”

You gave the finger to the sound of Isabel's laughter and Hazel dismissed what she said with a gesture, even though you noticed how red her face turned.

“This is so stupid.”

“It’s brilliant!” Hazel grabbed your shoulder, shaking it excitedly, “It might actually work! What do you have in mind?"

Isabel shrugged, “You just have to, like, get someone to make out sometimes and show it to her face.”

“Like…?” Hazel asked, not understanding what she was getting at.

But you did.

“Like her,” she pointed at you.

“Oh.”

Oh, no. No, no, no, no.

“Oh, but no freaking way!” you exclaimed, face burning with embarrassment, “Don’t bring me into this. It’s not my problem!”

“But didn’t you want to help her?” Isabel asked, sounding too innocent and you realized that this was what she had been planning from the beginning.

“Yeah, with advice!”

This is stupid. This is really so stupid. You should have been in class for a good few minutes now, paying attention to anything on the board and counting down the remaining hours so you could put it all away and leave, because it was Friday, there were no club meetings to be at and it was your movie night with Hazel. That shouldn't change.

“No, she’s right.” Hazel walked in between you, shaking her head in denial: “It’s not happening. I thought about, like, flirting with someone in front of her, maybe making up a date or something.”

“PJ’s not gonna buy this. You, suddenly showing up with someone new? Very desperately obvious.” Isabel pointed out, “Besides, just flirting with someone probably won’t hold her attention long enough.”

She was right. Isabel was painfully right and you knew it. You two, by the way Hazel's expression changed. By the way she seemed to be seriously considering it.

“But I,” she stammered, “I can’t just ask someone to do that for me and use them like that.”

You took a deep breath, “Thank you!”

Isabel cast one last glance between you, before finally raising her hands in yield, “Well, it was only a suggestion. It's just that you guys already act like a couple anyway so I thought it would make more sense.”

She turns and resumes her walk down the now completely empty hallway – only now do you wonder where the hell the monitors were –, leaving you and Hazel standing there like idiots with distraught expressions, before shouting over her shoulder:

“At least it would be more convincing!”

Your movie night starts late and turns into a sleepover because you all got detention for being so late to your periods and now it's too late to be worth going home anyway, so you stay.

In all the years you've known each other, you've slept at Hazel's house more times than you can count as much as she has at yours, you know this huge place inside out. It's like your own home too. There's nothing weird about curling up in her ridiculously large bed, wearing an old sweatshirt you left there and a pair of sleep shorts she lent you, pulling the covers up so they wrap around you perfectly, and getting as close as possible with her laptop between you, playing some animation on it. Is not strange. It's familiar, it's recurring.

Except it isn't.

There's a tension, a slightly awkward silence that has hung between you since you left school and were alone for the first time since that conversation, that damn conversation, that leaves you nervous and upset with the expectation that something horrible is about to happen and change everything between you. Because Hazel seemed too quiet and thoughtful for someone who wouldn't do anything.

God, you don't like this, this stillness and how it affects you. You don't like how you can't help but notice the way her shoulder presses against yours every time she takes a slow, deep breath, how warm and soft her arm feels where it touches your skin, and how comforting is the weight of her chin resting on your shoulder. You hate it even more to see the soft features of her face illuminated by the blue light of the screen, making you squirm nervously because Hazel is all you can focus on.

And the thing you hate most, without a doubt, is the fact that she must not have noticed any of these things, nor your behavior in general. There's no reason to do it, nothing should be strange to her. Because she doesn't like you that way.

You don't pay attention to a single minute of the movie until it's over and Hazel is moving to turn off her laptop, snapping you out of that trance you've put yourself in without realizing it. She gives you a smile and stretches her arms above her head, tired.

The two of you exchange a few words as you get ready for bed, getting around the elephant in the room, and then you're in bed again, this time without any lights, Hazel staring at the star-decorated ceiling and you with your back turned to her, fidgeting for what feels like the thousandth time and trying your best not to make things even more awkward. Anyway, you can't sleep, even with the tiredness of the day and you know she can't either.

“Hey,” Hazel calls out to you in the darkness, her sleepy voice suddenly startling you. “It was, uhm, really crazy what Isabel suggested, right?”

“Yeah,” You replied hesitantly, turning to her to see what she was getting at: “But you can’t stop thinking about it.”

She hums in agreement to her statement and turns to you as well, keeping her eyes on the sheet.

“It’s just that it seemed too good to pass up the opportunity, you know?” Hazel's hand traces meaningless patterns on the fabric, “As if in those fanfics and books where these things happen, the couple always ends up together and, I don't know, I guess I just felt like I was finally going to give a step and do something about it.”

The way she looks so upset and frustrated breaks your heart and you resist the urge to move even closer and take her hands in yours, seeing Hazel sad feels terribly wrong no matter how many times. You want to help solve her problem. You wish the problem didn't even exist in the first place, but man.

It would be so, so much easier to just be a good friend and support her if you didn't have these stupid feelings bottled up in your chest. Make crazy plans, smile and wave and encourage her to chase the person she wants. It would be enough.

“Things will work out, Haze.” You say it instead, because saying whatever is going on in your head right now might just make everything worse.

“You're right,” she turned around again, gesturing with her hands nervously: “I probably wouldn't even be that good of a girlfriend anyway. I wouldn't know how to plan dates or give gifts, or act all cool and smooth when I'm with her. What if I'm too embarrassing? What if she found me too annoying and ended up breaking up with me?! I think that would be worse. Being romantic seems so hard.”

“I think it should be something unconscious if it’s with someone you really love,” you shrugged, playing with a loose thread on your clothes, “But, no, you’re not like that. I mean, I think you'd be more of the kind of girlfriend who makes thousands of kind gestures to show that she cares without even noticing it, like, writing notes, opening doors, bringing flowers or something. At least I’d like to get flowers, I don’t know.”

Hazel turned her head to you, meeting your gaze hesitantly, with eyes so bright and hopeful that your heart swelled so much it could pop out of your chest at any second.

"You really think so?"

"Yes." You sigh, “Yes, I’m sure.”

The weekend had been relatively peaceful, with you having returned home by the morning after a very bad night of sleep that you spent mainly staring at the ceiling with Hazel sleeping next to you, the rest of the day passed in a blur and now it was Sunday night.

Sunday night and you and your friends were all gathered at the city fair, some event organized purely because there weren't many other ways to entertain yourself living in a small place like that, but there was a lot of junk food and stupid games to spend your money on, so of course everyone always went to it.

Everyone except Hazel, apparently, since she's late and you and your friends are all gathered together, waiting for her. Oh, and there's a cotton candy almost melting in your hand from where you're leaning against Brittany's fancy car.

Later you would say that you only got into this stupid situation because of a cotton candy; PJ and a cotton candy. A goddamn cotton candy you bought for Hazel Callahan.

“Hi, lads!” And there it is the source of your teenage angst.

One look and you know there's something wrong with Hazel. You haven't seen her since that night, but she seems a little distraught, panting and with her hands resting on her knees from running up to you.

“Finally!” Sylvie exclaims, fixing the beanie over her head, “The fair started already, I want to go before they take all the good prizes from the game stalls.”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to hold you guys here,” she waves awkwardly and the group dismisses without further comment, you all heading towards the colorful event.

You walk beside her, noticing how nervous and distracted she looks, eyes focused on the floor and hands twirling the rings between her fingers. She doesn't seem to have noticed your presence.

“You're late.” You say, without the expected bite because you're honestly more worried than angry right now.

She squeaks in fright, making some of your friends look over the shoulders to check on you. She recovers quickly, however:

“No, I'm Haze.”

You let out a nasal laugh at the completely adorable, stupid, and alarmed expression on her face. Of course she would answer something like that.

“Here,” you hold out the candy toward her, trying your best to appear indifferent. “I got you one before the line got too long.”

Her jaw dropped a little before breaking out into a shiny smile: “Oh, you've got my favorite!”

You shrug, “Just don’t let anyone throw it away this time.”

“I won’t.” Hazel swears.

She seems to be strangely close to you as you walk together, shoulders side by side, your hand would probably brush hers if it weren't properly hidden in your pockets and Hazel still has that nervous look of someone who has something to say.

You turn your head to her when your friends decide to stop on a stand, frowning and placing a hand on her arm gently.

“Are you okay, sweetheart?” You ask and she gulps.

“Yes, uhm,” she clears her throat, shifting her weight from one leg to the other, “It’s just that I really wanted to ask you a favor.”

For a moment you don't even think twice about it, leaning back on her playfully.

"A favor? You know I don't do anything for free Haze,” you smirk, patting her on the shoulder, “Win me a stuffed animal or a goldfish and maybe I'll consider it.”

She doesn't smile and respond wittily like you expect, instead she looks even more shy, shrugging her shoulders as if she wants to disappear and folding her hands comically with the cotton candy behind her back.

“Look, I know we’ve already talked about this, but please.”

Oh, so it's about that then. Seriously.

“Haze,” you sigh.

“Please,” she repeats, “I just need you to—”

And that's when things derail out of your control.

“Guys,” Josie waves, pointing to the others, “let's go before Sylvie picks a fight with the stand dude.”

You hadn't even realized how long you spent standing around talking, but now PJ is staring at you, looking somehow uncomfortable.

“Are you done flirting there? We have more things to do, you know.” She points indifferently.

Hazel looks pleased for a moment, a determined look covering her face, which makes you suddenly nervous. A determined Hazel is an impulsive Hazel.

You clear your throat, “We weren’t.”

PJ rolls her eyes at your response and then she approaches, with Josie watching the exchange hesitantly before taking a step back and resigning herself to returning to her girlfriend, lucky girl.

PJ is too close, in a way that makes that bitter, unfair feeling come back to you, she reaches out to grab Hazel's cotton candy, just like she did at the last fair you all went to.

Except this time Hazel stops her from doing it.

“Hey, don’t.” She takes the candy out of her reach easily, looking upset, “Y/N gave it to me.”

"So what?" PJ protests angrily, “You act like she's your girlfriend or something.”

Oh god.

Hazel looks deep into PJ's eyes for a moment and whatever she was looking for in her expression, she seems to find exactly what she wanted.

“That—”

Oh my fucking god, this was exactly the opportunity Hazel had been waiting for. The opportunity to make an impulsive decision that may or not ruin your friendship.

“—Is because she is.”

You look at her in alarm, grabbing her free hand and squeezing in warning, which perhaps wasn't a smart choice of action for what you wanted to avoid.

“What?” PJ flicks her gaze between you and your hands repeatedly, as if she didn’t expect such a turn of events, “What?”

Hazel lifts her chin and pulls you closer, as if challenging her indignation, but you see the exact moment her breath hitches as you open your mouth to question all of this, her eyes meet yours, nervous and pleading, begging you to just play along.

And then, because that girl in front of you is annoying as fuck, because your best friend is convincing you with her sad puppy eyes, and because you spent 8 dollars on some stupid cotton candy, you stay quiet and let PJ think whatever she wants.

“Fine,” she huffs and turns around, “Whatever.”

You feel Hazel trembling slightly against your grip and she sighs audibly in relief when PJ finally leaves.

“Dude,” her shoulders slump tensely, “Thank yo—”

“Dude?” You repeat in disbelief, dragging her behind the nearest empty corner, “What the fuck were you thinking about?”

Hazel flinches at the sound of your screams, letting go of your hand instinctively, the false confidence from seconds ago immediately disappearing.

“I panicked!” she exclaims.

You inhale deeply, “Haze, I told you not to get me involved in this.”

“I know, I'm sorry,” she looks away, completely embarrassed and you notice that she inevitably dropped the candy along the way as she reaches her hands out to grab both of yours. They're cold and sweaty against your skin.

You know she didn't mean any wrong and you can't stay mad at her anyway.

“Why didn’t you talk to me again before making a scene like that?” You ask, as softly as you can.

"I was trying! That's what I was going to ask you. I—” She lets out, “Ineedyoutobemygirlfriendforawhileplease!”

It came out too quickly and all as if it was a single word, but you're sure you didn't get it wrong.

Hazel keeps talking to stop you from protesting – which is exactly what you were about to do –, letting go of your hands and gesturing:

“I had even prepared a speech to convince you that it was actually a good idea, seriously! It would only be for a while, just a little. But I was desperate because earlier Stella-Rebecca told me that Josie told Isabel that PJ is interested in that short cheerleader who just joined the club and I wanted to cry because I'm losing my chance and wha—”

“Haze, sweetheart,” you interrupt, grabbing her shoulders to stop her, “Slow down, okay?”

She mumbles another silent apology, squeezing the rings between her fingers and you don't know what to do. There's a warm feeling in the pit of your stomach from when Hazel pulled you close earlier, almost protectively, when she stated that yes, you two were a thing, and for a moment you think about being able to have moments like that with her every day, in her acting like this around your friends and you showering each other with affection all the time and a yearning in the back of your mind to show her that you could actually be a good partner for her.

“It was… it was pretty ridiculous, my speech,” she begins again, “I was going to say something like 'come on, don't you want to think about this a few years from now and be able to laugh and brag about how you were the one who helped put together your friend with her crush like that?'” Hazel chuckles awkwardly, “But I think it sounds too arrogant.”

Hazel tugs at the sleeves of her sweater anxiously when you don't answer, it's been getting a little cold lately and she's wearing the sweater you gave her for her birthday last year. You feel yourself giving faster than you could think.

“You know I wouldn’t ask that to hurt you, right?” she questions hesitantly and you instantly know it's true. “I just wanted to show that I’m worth it.”

You sigh, defeated, “You’re worth it, Haze.”

Hazel looks at you hopefully as you take her hand, intertwining your fingers and pulling her into the crowd.

"Let's do this." You agree.

Screw it. Maybe you'll laugh about this later.

[loganlermanstanaccount]

Rigor Mortis (part 8)

College roommate!Miguel O'Hara x reader

(AO3 Mirror) (Wattpad) Series Masterlist, Main Masterlist,

Part 7, Part 9

summary: You visit your ex. Miguel tags along.

warnings: mentions and description of depression. heavy angst, depictions of a toxic relationship. some suggestive language.

a/n: me when idk shit abt the american school system:

Thank you to my beta readers, @tianyhi and @urgonnaneedabiggership (they also write Miguel fics, I highly recommend! my favourite is this series), I couldn't have done it without you guys <3

Join my taglists here

wc: 5.8k

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

you had forgotten; they were good.

Blank walls. Quiet corridors. The buzz of monitors and dull chatter sandwiched between blue vinyl and exit signs. You're not usually one to wander during your breaks; but you're going crazy looking at the same four walls. 

That hair net itches and the strap of a blue mask digs into skin as you make your way to a little courtyard. You sit out on a paltry bench overlooking concrete. The spindly remnants of a tree provides little cover from harsh elements. Wind whips through its branches, whistling and cool, as you rip off the mask and crumple it up in your pocket. A heavy sigh, and you feel some semblance of peace. Some quiet, before the morning comes. Before a rush of orders and shunting plastic trays up and down the wards. 

You screw your eyes shut to still the pounding at your temples. God. You're grateful for the job, really. And all things considered, it's not particularly taxing: coffee orders until the little cafe closes, meal prep for the morning rush, and sometimes you'd volunteer to take orders to bed bound patients. A whole lot of reheating and chopping and pressing buttons on the little machines. You don't quite get it, of course, but your lone coworker picks up the slack well enough. 

The older woman doesn't do much for company, anyways. Riveting conversation comes in the form of grunts and sharp elbows when you get in the way or round the corner of the kitchen. It has you counting down the seconds until your shift ends. 

And so you are grateful, well and truly. Jamie's not so sappy, anymore; doesn't partake in 'I love you's or grand gestures; but he is dependable. Safe. Willing to stick his neck out for you, at least. He'd gotten you a job at the hospital he has his placement at; with decent pay, and it slots in well with your other ones. He's taking you seriously – taking the news better than your parents. After telling him you wanted to go back to school, you're not met with thinly veiled disbelief, or lips pressed together with pity. He'd nodded, rather simply. Didn't make a fuss. No deep sighs, or heavy frowns. Okay , he had said. How can I help? 

It was the simplicity of his reaction that had bowled you over, almost bringing you to tears. To have someone believe in you, for once – wholeheartedly and without an onslaught of questions – felt like a deep breath of air after almost drowning. It felt like love ; and after desperate breaths, gasping and gulping and clawing at something to hold on to, you think you've found dry land. Something solid, something stable; a rough palm to pull you out of swirling depths. Because, unlike your family, and unlike half-hearted friends: Jamie was there. 

After heading back in to catch the morning rush, you're wiping down surfaces and sorting plastic trays onto a cart. Rote, repetitive, boring; you've settled into a routine that feels familiar. A couple more months, you reckon, and you'll be able to cover the costs for a second go at undergrad. You can shed the skin that seems to follow you at every family gathering, and the job interviews in between. Dropout – and when your Mom says it, it feels like a vile curse. Jamie calls it spiteful, and you opt for the democratic alternative; she's being dramatic - rather than cruel, rather than hurtful, rather than crass. You've heard enough, from all sorts: ‘too much pressure’, and ‘didn't think she had it in her, anyways’, are common phrases whispered in the background of phone calls home. 

Your chest aches with the weight of it – the kind of ache that seeps into skin, and lines a casket. Grief; mourning a person you could've been, and a person you never would be. For a while, it left you paralysed by the what ifs and the maybes; rotting in a quiet corner. Sinking into sofa cushions or caked onto the bed sheets like the mystery mould bloomed onto the plates in your room. But Jamie was there, more than anyone else. 

You'll wait for him in the corridor near the back of the service elevator, like you always do after a shift. You finish when he starts, early in the morning and rubbing away sleep from his eyes for ward rounds. You'll give him a kiss, and he'll give you a soft little smile to send you on your way. It almost makes the whole thing worth it. Almost. 

You give and you give and you give. Your boyfriend isn't quite the same; doesn't pour into you the way you'd like him to. But it works. It works because it has to; a thousand miles away from anything resembling home. You can't ask for more – the right words die in your throat. 

~~~

You've spent the past couple of hours in the library. Procrastinating for at least half of it, but you've managed to draft out a couple of essays and more or less reorganise your life. It's something you've been dreading for the past week or so; letting yourself get swept up in the monsoon that is your roommate. Miguel – sarcastic, saccharine-sweet Miguel – and his stupidly pretty lips, his pretty hands, and the pretty way he scrunches up his face like he's smelt something rotten. 

You're staring at a computer with a slew of books spread out on the adjacent desk. Your half-finished report seems to jumble together on the screen; a tangle of citations and filler words and shitty diagrams. It's not quite clicking , and it's making you want to tear out chunks of your hair in search of relief. A tale as old as time, one you can merely wallow in and fold yourself between its pages. Struggling at school; and this time it's a stats module you thought would be an easy couple of credits, that you definitely can’t afford to fail if you want to graduate early. 

You’ve picked a quiet spot on the third floor; a computer bay tucked into the corner. It overlooks a little window, cramped and claustrophobic and mystery mould in the corners of its grout. You've resorted to scanning the cracks with sharp eyes, light fingers on your neck to trace the leftovers of the morning. You can see it in the slightly mirrored surface of cloudy glass; you look like shit, you feel like shit, but you can still feel him. Lips on your neck, sucking soft hickies into the skin; and you can't help but like the way it looks on you. It's the same under your jeans, blooming like mauve and purple heather on a sprawling field.

You cross your legs, wincing at the dull ache that spreads. Sore, in that way that feels good; sending flashes of a morning with Miguel. Fingers knuckle deep in your cunt and the heat of him – cut and lean-lined – on top of you; it's impossible to ignore. Condensation drips from the panes, pooling in its corner and you swipe a finger in it, lazily. Again, you're reminded of him, for the thousandth time in the past hour: shaking legs, fisting his cock, spraying fat globs of his cum onto your face and chest. 

With another glimpse of your reflection, you sigh. Deep and heavy, with the weight of half a decade of frustration, sexual or otherwise. You've never felt this good or had your needs satiated so wholly, so exorbitantly. It feels odd. You don't know where to put your hands, how to place your feet on the floor. Do you shout, do you scream? How do you tell all the poor bystanders that scatter the third floor: I'm sleeping with Miguel O'Hara! A walking red flag with cheekbones that could cut glass! He wants me, and I want–

Your phone rings. The noise catches you off guard, and has you stumbling to press accept. 

"Hey," Miguel's voice sounds tinny in the speakers, and so you press it to your ears. 

"Y-Yeah?" You steel yourself, batting away daydreams of your legs wrapped around his middle – too horny for your own good, clearly. 

"I'm outside, chula. " He stops talking. The quiet ticking of an indicator becomes the only sign of life, before he says, "In that parking bay by the–" 

"I know, I know. Give me 5 minutes." You rush to pack up, clicking off the monitor and haphazardly shoving your notes into your bag. Not everything fits, and you give up trying to cram that textbook in. 

A beat passes before you realise he's still on the phone. Quiet, but still there. 

"…I brought food, by the way." 

You only just manage to catch it, slotting the phone between your ear and shoulder. That makes you perk up. 

" Seriously? " You give him a small laugh. You think you can hear him smile through the phone. "Thank fucking God, I'm starving. But you weren't rushing, or anything, right? I mean, it's so soon after your session with… Sally, or–" 

You're bounding down two steps at a time, so eager to see him – to get food , actually – that you're careless going down the stairs.

"Sarah . " He breathes, and you make your way downstairs. 

It stops you in your tracks, for some reason. 

"Okay. Sarah ." You say it with finality, voice tight. "What did you end up doing anyways? At her place, you said?" 

"Pressure differentials. Modelling viscosity. It's not very interesting." He hums, shifting in his seat. "What about you? Did you get something done?" 

You take a beat too long to respond, and it comes out half-baked. 

"Loads, Mig."

He snorts. " Sure. "

" Fuck you. " You say it under your breath, ducking past the entrance, and into a side road.

And there Miguel is, car heaped onto part of the sidewalk. He's leaning back, lazy arm sticking out the car window, showing off muscle and pretty tan skin. It's getting cold, but he's cracked the car door ajar; donned in a well-fitting t-shirt and slack trousers. 

You're trying not to drool; and he makes it a little easier by flashing a shit-eating grin. 

Childishly, you stick your tongue out; wrenching the door open and slumping into the passenger side. You tuck your things by your feet, and it lands on the floor with a thump. 

"You can put your stuff in the back.. . " Miguel frowns.

" Can't. We need the space, remember?" 

To pick up the rest of your things left in your ex's apartment. You hope he can parse out the rest of that from a raised eyebrow. 

He sighs, tossing a brown bag of takeout onto your lap. He starts the car. "...I didn't think we were still doing that, to be honest."

He seems disappointed, eyes flitting this way and that as he reverses and pulls out. You must've hit your head at some point, because you're in heat – pressing sore legs together at the way he does it. One arm on the back of your headrest, sharp jaw jutting out as he looks back, and bottom lip hooked under his teeth; he's just concentrating, trying not to hit one of the cat-sized rodents that roam the streets this late at night, and he's still hot . 

"You promised ."

"I had my face between your thighs. Would've said anything if it meant I could have more."

You draw your lips in faux disgust – your heart's not in it, but it's enough to make him chuckle. 

"Fuck you."

He doesn't miss a beat, deadpanning, "...you'd like that."

Lips pursed, you ignore the way it twists your stomach into knots. Steadfast, you stare out at the window, watching the yellow lights of a bustling city pass you by. 

Miguel takes a different turning, one that'll take you across the city and away from your place. To Jamie's, most likely. You soften, taking a moment to look across at him. 

His eyes flit over, intense and almost a deep red in the neon and lights. It's barely a couple of seconds, but he knows, just like that. 

"Are you nervous?" He tests the waters, voice steady and non-committal. It's not an accusation; even though everything feels like one, lately. Not from him, though. Never from him. 

" No ." Your tone is betraying, and you both know it. He seems to pretend not to hear that tremor in your voice. 

"You'll be okay, sweetheart." He says it soft and low, not quite looking at you. 

"It's just… it's the first time I'm going to see him after–" Your voice crackles. "After everything."

"You'll be okay," He starts. It doesn't feel like an empty platitude when he says it: it feels genuine and full-bodied and sonorous, clanging around your head like the chime of church bells. "Probably not right away – it's going to hit you like a semi, first. And you'll feel like shit afterwards. But it won't last. You'll move on, and you'll be okay; because you have to be."

He drifts off somewhere far away when he says that last bit; and you're not too sure what he's talking about anymore. Regardless, you wrap his words around you, holding it to your chest like a little songbird in the cradle of a tree. 

You'll be okay. You have to be. 

It feels less solid when it's not Miguel saying it, you think. You don't tell him that, though, sinking into the seat instead. 

He doesn't let that silence sit for too long. Traffic creates a natural lull, and he reaches over to tap at the book in your lap – one of many different textbooks, the rest of which is lodged in your bag.

"You're taking a stats module, I assume."

You nod. 

"With Dr. Karev?" 

You sit up slightly. "...yeah, actually."

He hums. "You thought it would be an easy A, then." 

He's right, but it doesn't make it sting any less. You were hoping for simple math and data processing, and here you were: drowning in matrices and linear algorithms.

 "I thought it would be."

"Let me help you, then. I took one of his classes and he barely changes the syllabus. I could dig up my old notes, and–" 

"You want to tutor me ?" You splutter – but you don't mean to sound as shocked as you do. " Why? " 

"Why not?" He shrugs. 

"I… I don't have any money, or anything."

"M'not offering because I want money." He's nonchalant, inching towards the car up front. 

You squint. It's not adding up. "What's the catch?" 

"No catch, I swear. Is it so hard to believe I'm being nice?" 

Now, you feel guilty. "Sorry, Mig. I appreciate it, I really do–" 

"Sit on my face and we'll call it even."

He turns to you now, face flat but with a twinkle in his eye. The corners of his mouth are slightly upturned - amused. He thinks this is funny? 

You give him a light shove as the traffic starts to break up. He's riled you up, now, and you're much too annoyed to be nervous. 

"Eyes on the road, asshole." 

It's more bark than bite, and you settle into the seat, finally cracking open the paper bag. You munch on fries and it makes him laugh. Miguel swears he can see it: the hint of a gentle smile on your face. 

~~~

He pulls up to the apartment complex. Modest, close to the hospital; and you probably couldn't have afforded to live there without your ex. Jamie was lucky; his parents could foot the bill of moving out, and he had family that lived in the city. 

It feels odd to be on the outside looking in. The building's windows become snapshots into other people's lives. For some, it meant an early night, blinds drawn and lights off. From the parking lot, you can see the dim yellow of lights streaming through other apartments. Silhouettes flit past every now and then; the only sign of life. 

Jamie's apartment is on the top floor, the two windows on the far right. You crane your head out of the car window, to get a better look. The lights are on, with one window left slightly ajar. 

Miguel moves to get out, with shuffling that breaks the silence. You stop him with a hand on his arm. 

"No, no. I'm going up by myself."

He cocks his head to the side, ever so slightly. 

"...you sure? If you need help shifting boxes, I can–" 

"I'm good, Mig. I just needed the car."

It comes out snappier than you meant it to, already irritable. With that, you pop the door open with a thunk . You can't see it, but he frowns, watching you swish and sway towards the entrance. 

You trace familiar steps to Jamie's apartment. The door code hasn't changed, and so you buzz yourself in. This is something you can do quickly and efficiently, you've decided. In and out, and you don't have the energy for much else. Bracing at the door, you get ready to knock, hand curled into a fist. 

The door swings open before you get the chance. He's there; still in light blue scrubs and a name badge pinned to his chest. It's the first thing you see, trying not to look at his face. But it's like pulling teeth, you decide: less painful when it's quick and sharp. 

" Where's my –" 

" Your stuff's in the –" 

In a great clash of words, you finally look up at him. Where you're expecting some form of emotion – a flash of something, even for just a moment – Jamie is steadfast. Blank; blinking back sleep, if anything. You clamp down what feels like bile rising in your throat and push past him into the front room. 

"Is this how it's going to be?"

Head down, you grit a quiet, "Don't . "

It's just as you left it, to the point it's almost comical. The same pillows you'd bury yourself in after work, the patterned tea towel you'd bought on a whim. The bar stools in lieu of a proper dining table, and that great big desk he had insisted on carting to the living room for years . Bits and pieces of you, of your relationship, and he barely bats an eye. He'll use your mugs and sleep on your patterned sheets. 

It makes you sick .

You head to the second room. There's a stack of boxes, hastily stashed in the corner. There's still permanent marker on them from when you first moved in. Now, it houses the things you couldn't take with you the first time – everything you left behind. 

Sick, sick, sick . 

You take a moment to dig through the top box, that's clearly been moved. Knick-knacks, books, clothes and all the clutter you've acquired; and it reminds you of family, it reminds you of friends. 

Jamie leans by the doorway, looking on in silence. 

When you pick up a box, straining to lift it, he doesn't offer to help. He watches as you flounder, dragging it towards the door. 

You're huffing when he finally says something; something that's clearly been on his mind for a while, with the way he says it. 

"Are you seeing someone?" He's looking out of the window, gaze fixed on the car parked outside. Miguel's car. 

Your eyes widen. You don't quite trust yourself to speak.

You leave the box by the door. "Are you?“

He shrugs. "Don't have the time."

It's noncommittal and frustratingly blasé. He's not giving you much, and it's fucking with your head. This whole thing feels like a big joke – he wants to talk, and all he's doing is asking bullshit questions. Once upon a time, you would've stewed in it; sat with that question on your tongue and let it rot. 

"I don't understand." You croak. It hurts to say out loud, but you say it. That's the important part. "I don't know why you're doing this… why are you still doing this?"

"I don't like how we left things." He says it slow, like he's choosing his words carefully. 

You want to scream.

" So? " 

" So , I need some kind of closure. We've got unfinished business."

" Unfinished business? " You roll it around on your tongue, reeling at its bitter taste. It feels clinical and lifeless, yet again. 

And then… oh. It clicks. Looking at him, arms folded and leaning on a wall, he looks antsy and uncomfortable. Now, when forced to face you. 

" Closure. " Another word that tastes like shit. You give a watery laugh. "You feel guilty."

He doesn't say anything but his body language says enough. He shifts his weight side to side, unable to make eye contact. 

You don't bother to stick around for an answer, snatching up the box as best you can. Through the doors, and down the corridor. You stagger down the flight of stairs, gritting your teeth. It's heavy – you've packed as much as you can inside, trying to get this over quickly – and you make it to the first floor before it clatters onto the steps. 

You fold ; knees drawn to your chest and hands tight in your hair. Heart racing, chest pumping: you're trying not to get swept away by heavy emotions. The tide rises. You pump your legs around the swirling mass - barely staying afloat in deep, deep water. 

You'll be okay. 

You remember Miguel's words, gentle and sweet and kind. You remember the way he said it; firmly, like it's the most obvious thing in the world. The kind of grace that you don't have to work for and doesn't need a performance. He believes in you, at least; thinks you're stronger than you have any right to be. And you think of him in the car: eager to help and reassure. You brushed him off. You were mean. 

Deep breath. 

Miguel's waiting for you, just outside those doors. Diligent and patient, saccharine-sweet Miguel. Getting up, you make your way down the stairs with that box. 

When he spots you, a pretty little thing in a hoodie and jeans, he leaps out of the car. 

"Hey, hey, easy… " 

"I'm good, Mig – " 

You're struggling with the box, and he eases it out of your hands without breaking a sweat. One hand on the boot of the car, the other holding up the heavy box effortlessly, and he gives you a quick once over. 

"...he didn't offer to help?" His face is scrunched up - disgusted by the looks of it - and all you can manage is a limp shrug. 

It doesn't take him long to figure it out. You're dejected; nervous, down-trodden, blue in every meaning of the word; losing a little bit of that shine you had started the day with. If he had to guess, and he knows you well enough he'd bet money on it, it was that ex of yours – stealing away that light in a burlap sack, a thief in the brilliance of bright sun. 

It makes him grind his teeth, eyes flicking up at the fourth floor window. 

"I could help." He offers, a hand on your shoulder. It's your favourite hoodie, he thinks, as he circles the soft fabric with his thumb. 

You purse your lips, thinking it over. 

"It'll be quicker, chula. "

That pushes you over the edge, and you finally nod. 

It must be a sight, knocking at the door with Miguel hot on your heels. After living with him for so long, you've forgotten how intimidating he can be when you first meet him; taller than Jamie, and mean-mugging the blonde with a deadly look. If you weren't so on edge it would make you laugh: you know your roommate is mostly harmless. 

Jamie doesn't, of course. He visibly bristles, looking you both up and down. 

"I just need some help with the boxes. This is my roommate, Miguel."

You turn to the man beside you.

" Miguel ," You say it softer. "This is Jamie."

Wordlessly, he stretches out a palm,

rough and broad and tan. Hesitant, the man in front of you takes it. 

"Hey, man." Jamie flashes you a strange look when he says it. 

Miguel doesn't answer. 

You lead him to the second room, divvying up the boxes as Jamie hovers at the doorway. It's surprisingly efficient: Miguel insists on taking the heaviest boxes, hauling them up onto his shoulders, before stacking them up at the door. You'll take the smaller stuff, and it seems everything will be done in far fewer trips than before. It's hard to say out loud, but you're grateful for his help – Miguel was right , for once. 

After the first trip, he's bounding back up the stairs for more. You've both made it into a game, with neither one of you having to explain the rules. He pinches your arm whilst you sift through boxes, and you stick your tongue out in response. Elbow deep in crap, and he manages to make it feel a little better. 

Jamie stews. Jamie festers. In a corner of what used to be your shared apartment, he pretends to tap at his phone, uninterested. You know him too well for that facade to stick. 

Miguel takes the last of the boxes down, and you're straggling behind, picking up the last few bits and pieces. You're left alone with your ex, for a brief moment. 

"You're fucking him." He says it quiet, in a whisper that sounds oh-so loud in that little room. Fucking. He spits it out, and makes the word feel cheap and dirty. 

You look up from across the room. Slowly, he traverses its width, gaze pinning you down like a bug under a microscope. 

He brings a hand to your chin, cupping the flesh tenderly. It's intimate and familiar, reminding you of better days. Something bubbles up in your stomach, sweet and innocent. That feeling doesn't last long. 

"You're fucking him." 

It's accusatory, spat out with a rueful smile pulling at his lips. His fingers brush over your throat and you squirm, pulling up the mouth of your hoodie. 

Those hickies, blossoming like flowers in the spring. They crackle across your skin like fallen leaves in autumn. 

"It's none of your fucking business."

"Of course you are. I can't believe you." He rolls his eyes, half-laughing. "I was going to apologise! I was planning to say sorry for the way I handled things and you had to rub it in my face."

" What ?" You croak. 

"You brought the guy you're fucking to our apartment!" He explodes. 

His lips flatten into a tight line.

" ...now it's our apartment? You kicked me out. You dumped me ." 

"Don't…. fuck , don't do that. Don't make me the bad guy, here. I gave you plenty of time to find a new place."

"Two. Weeks." You grit. "You gave me two weeks, asshole. You left me alone, and told me to fend for myself whilst you fucked off to your sister's." 

That fire dies down as he hesitates. "I… I would've let you stay longer. You know that, baby."

" No. No I don't know, 'cuz you don't tell me shit , anymore." You blink back hot tears. "I don't make as much money as you do, and my family can't support me like yours can."

"I would've–" 

"You didn't. " You swallow roughly. "You didn't. I don't even know what I did wrong ."

"No, no." He cradles your face with his hands, swiping at stray tears. "You didn't do anything wrong."

Now, you look up at him. With glistening eyes, and a heavily furrowed brown, it barely comes out as a whisper; red-raw and strained. 

"Then why don't you love me?"

He doesn't deny it. There isn't a scramble to reassure you; to pat your head and kiss away tears to show you how much he cares. Instead, he steps away guiltily. 

"I care about you, of course I do. Remember when you changed your major?" 

You nod. 

"I was there, wasn't I? I stayed up for hours talking you through it. And when you dropped out, I came over on the weekends and brought you groceries."

"I was there. I helped you through that funk , and helped you get that job for school. Every stupid little question, every depressive episode, all those moments where no-one else would help: I did. Even though I had other things going on in my life, I showed up. For you. It was enough, for a while."

Until it wasn't. He sighs. 

"I'm starting my residency next year… and you're still in school, right?”

“Yes, I am.” You say it simply, not able to say much more without breaking down.

“I'm happy for you, really - proud that you actually got that far. But we're going in different directions, and at different paces. It's easier now that we're not together.”

You bristle at his tone: still in school, actually got that far . It oozes pomp and a quiet kind of superiority. Easier now, like it was difficult before. 

“I didn't make that decision because I hate you, or because I don't care about you. I know you're angry.” He places his hands on your shoulders, and doesn't break eye contact. For the first time since you got here, you think he's finally showing emotion; quiet melancholy just below the surface. Up this close, you can see it: deepening bags under his eyes, sallow skin, and fine lines. Jaime looks tired. In fact, he seems exhausted .  

“I'm sorry that I made you feel that way. But that doesn't excuse the fact that you brought your fuck buddy here, when I just wanted to talk.”

It feels cruel. The way he looks at you, and the way his demeanour switches from the Jamie you knew before, to this .  

"I wanted to talk." You strain. " Months ago. After you broke up with me, and disappeared off the face of the planet. Every time I called, crying and panicking, it went straight to voicemail." 

You shake his hands off of you, stepping back. 

"Miguel's a friend… did you ever think of that? Maybe I just needed some help moving my things, Jamie. Maybe I don't have that many friends since they stopped talking to me because of you, Jamie. Maybe, there's not some devious plot to spite you."

You pick up the rest of your stuff, a little basket of trinkets and books. The very same books that he had told you to pack up; to make some space for his textbooks. 

"Get your head out of your ass. Don't call me. Don't text me. I'm done. "

You're already halfway out of the door. With that, you start to storm off; clattering into Miguel by the stairs. When your things spill out of your hands, you both drop to your knees in a scramble to pick them up. You're chewing the inside of your cheek so hard it draws blood, fumbling around. Miguel is more efficient, scooping up your belongings back into its box. 

You're drooping, only able to mutter a quiet thanks. On the way to his car, you're dejected. Miguel watches carefully, trailing behind. 

~~~

He doesn't know what to say. 

You've left him speechless before. Many times, in the span of your couple months together. Miguel recalls it in exasperated messages to Lyla; you're something else entirely. Frustrating, sometimes. Quick-witted. Perceptive. Thoughtful. A million and one words to describe you, and yet, it still doesn't paint the full picture. You are multi-faceted and brilliant in a way he's not sure he completely understands. 

[Sent: 22:33]

Can't explain it, Ly. 

[Sent: 22:33]

I'm going fucking crazy. 

[Received: 22:34]

ur being dramatic :p

[Received: 22:34]

think u just need to get laid 

[Sent: 22:34]

Fuck off. 

[Sent: 22:35]

I said I'm taking a break. Meant it. 

[Received: 22:37]

(image attached) 

[Received: 22:37]

got this at the party

[Received: 22:37]

ur staring, mig

[Sent: 22:38]

… 

[Received: 22:38]

that's my dress! told u I have great taste :)) 

[Received: 23:06]

miggyyy

[Received: 23:06]

stop ignoring me! its not fun anymore >:(

That was a while ago. Before anything serious happened between you both. And he's had the privilege of seeing you in many different ways; stressed, angry, beaming with joy. Bouncing off the walls after too much coffee, or crawling out of bed following a late night. He's seen your lips curve to form a delicious O as you writhe underneath him; he's seen you smile. He'd tattoo it onto his skin, if he could. 

Fuck . He's overthinking it. 

You've retired to your spot on the couch, and yes, he's staring. Tracing the slope of your jaw and the tilt of nose outlined by the glow of the TV. After getting back home late, he brushed off limp protests and took most of the boxes up himself. It sits in a pile by the dining table. You'll deal with it tomorrow, he supposes. 

Retreating behind your ratty blanket, you stare blankly at the screen. Glassy eyes, you've curled up to watch reruns late into the night. Can't sleep, you told him, as he hovered by the doorway. 

He should go to bed. It's nothing to do with him, really, and he shouldn't have overheard as much as he did. Miguel is curious but not nosy, and well-versed on the art of minding your business . So he shouldn't feel his heart splintering; creaking like the trunk of a felled tree; hacked into two by the way he sees you drowning. 

He sits by your side. Not too close, of course, he's wary of all the shit you've been through today; not wanting to make you feel more uncomfortable. 

He's reminded of a childhood holiday. Half a summer spent at a campsite, bounding through woodland and creeks somewhere up north. Gabi and him would disappear, forgoing the beaten paths for their own adventure. Miguel couldn't make friends the way his brother could, so he'd straggle behind; watching from afar as the other kids would climb trees or swim in quiet lakes. Reading by the banks, and he remembers a time someone had slipped under the water. Drowning, and it wasn't anything like the movies. It was quick, silent and deadly. Thrashing under choppy water, and then…

…nothing. Just quiet. 

He feels that panic rising now, watching you stay so eerily still. You've slipped under the waves, and he doesn't know what to say to pull you back out. 

Miguel isn't too good with words. He's not known for his warmth, or comforting presence. Sometimes, he thinks he wasn't built with that switch turned on in his head – and he certainly didn't learn the right words from his parents. And so, he gives you comfort the only way he knows how. He shows you. He takes care of you. 

You come to him. Like two parts of a whole, you slot together perfectly: your head on his shoulder, at first. You end up on his chest, curled up like a housecat; matching shaky breaths to his steady ones. He brings a hand to your shoulder, drawing lazy circles in the fabric to soothe you. 

With the dull chatter and gloom of the TV, you fall asleep. It takes Miguel a little longer, but he wraps his arms around you. He listens out for it: the gentle rise and fall of your chest. Steady, like a metronome, and it grounds him – drowning out the creak of gears. 

_

_

_

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[destieltropecollection]

Destiel Trope Collection 2024 | Day 28: Coffee Shop AU

The barista and the bookshop | @abi-cosmos Rating: Explicit Word Count: 55,794 Main Tags/Warnings: Barista Dean Winchester, Librarian/Bookshop owner Castiel, Friends to lovers, Mutual pining, Bisexual Dean Winchester, Gay Castiel, Slow burn, Angst with a happy ending, Depression, Costume parties and masquerades, Top Castiel/Bottom Dean Winchester, Sharing a bed, Coffeeshop AU Summary: In a sleepy mountain town, stitched together with fairy lights, Dean Winchester has been running Squirrel and Moose Coffeehouse since his Dad died. Next door, anchored by family obligation, librarian Castiel has been tasked with taking over Chuck’s Bookshop. Wanting a distraction after his brother leaves town, Dean offers to help Castiel fix it up. It’s a job, something to get his hands on, it doesn’t matter that the librarian is hot and kinda weird. Castiel doesn’t understand why Dean is helping him, but he’s happy that he is, and their friendship grows until he can’t deny what’s right in front of him. But when their time together is cut short, both face a decision they aren't ready for. In a sleepy mountain town, stitched together with fairy lights, what's it gonna be? Peace or freedom?

Are You Writing From The Heart? | @luckshiptoshore Rating: Explicit Word Count: 86,788 Main Tags/Warnings: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Writer Castiel (Supernatural), Bisexual Dean Winchester, comedian dean, Season/Series 04, Masturbation, Alcohol, Writer Dean Winchester, Slow Burn, Alternate Universe - Writing & Publishing, Fanfiction Writer Dean Winchester, dean/crowley relationship in the past of the fic, cas/meg and cas/hannah relationships in the past of the fic, Internalized Homophobia, Hand Jobs Summary: Castiel Novak's a writer who's waiting for his big break. His last book didn't sell, so now he's doing work for hire, ghostwriting the next in a series of ridiculous horror novels about two hot brothers who hunt monsters together. It’s pretty popular, and the fans are desperate for the next instalment — which is a problem, because the guy who usually writes them just up and vanished a couple of months ago. He left behind a signed contract and the outline for the next two stories, so the publisher’s been looking for someone else who could pick up where Chuck left off. And that's Cas. So he heads to a cafe to get the words out ... and that's where he meets Dean, a smartass wannabe comedian who's working on his stand-up set. Cas is straight, obviously, but there's something about this guy that he's fascinated with. The two of them strike up a friendship ... and soon the world Cas is writing and the world he's living in begin to get mixed up. Sometimes you're writing what you know without even realizing it ...

Finding You In Every Sign | @casblackfeathers Rating: Explicit Word Count: 99,407 Main Tags/Warnings: Deaf!castiel, mutual pining, angst with a happy ending, flower shop au, coffee shop au, strangers to lovers, bottom!dean, bottom!castiel, sweet!dean, hurt!dean, hurt and comfort Summary: Castiel was content with the constant flow of his life. He had his brother Gabriel, had his coffee shop and the weekly book club meetings as well as a small but solid group of friends. If there was one thing his hateful family had taught him, it was how fast things could go wrong if he let too many variables shape his life. So when he met Dean, a gradual regular at his shop, Castiel knew he was trouble, because Dean was like a comet, beautiful but beyond reach. Ever since his father died, there wasn’t a single constant in Dean’s life. Moving on, never stopping, never getting attached to one thing for too long had made him a drifter for the past seven years. Being the only hearing person in his family hadn’t been easy with a father like John Winchester, so as soon as Dean saw an escape, he took it. Settling down to open his flower shop was anything but easy, especially when he met the elusive deaf owner of the coffee shop next door. The more he discovered about Cas, the louder the voice in the back of his head whispered that maybe Castiel was the person finally worth staying for. And maybe, just maybe, Dean was willing to listen now.

[wangxianficfinder]

Fic Finder

Feb 24th

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1. Eyyyy it's me boyfriend XD (eyyyyy hello again 😊 - Mod C)

I'm here for a fic (I think it's a time travel fic) that I forgot the name of. All I remember is a scene where a village in Lotus Pier was flooded and Yanli, Jiang Cheng, and Wei Ying went to aid the people. Lan Zhan and Jin Zixuan also tagged along but Lan Zhan is openly courting Wei Ying on that fic while Jin Zixuan is being himself

And that's sadly all that I remember 😔. Thank you!

FOUND? This is probably a stretch but #1 isnt And Time Is But a Paper Moon by sami (M, 139k, WangXian, XiChengQing, Time Travel, Fix-It, Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Healing, Mental Health Issues, PTSD, Hurt/Comfort, Depression, BAMF WWX, BAMF JC, BAMF LWJ, BAMF JYL, Getting Together), is it?

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2. There was this fic I read sometime ago and it was about how lan Wangji accidentally uses silencing spell on wwx too hard that wwx isn't able to open his mouth again and lan Wangji isn't able to lift the spell. It's during the cloud recesses study arc and the major issues with the permanent silencing spell is that Wei Wuxian isn't able to even eat anything and he can't practice inedia fir long. Please find this fic?

FOUND? 🧡 Couldn't Scream Couldn't Shout by mermorgie (T, 42k, WIP, WangXian, Not for jc stans, i tried to not bash jc too much but like, Muteness, Sign Language, references to selective mutism, Homophobic JC, canon jc characteristics, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Anxiety Attacks, Pining, LWJ is a Panicked Gay, Supportive Sibling LXC, JZX Tries, LQR Tries, Protective JZX, Scheming NHS, Bisexual JZX, LWJ is Bad at Communicating, WWX Has ADHD, Autistic LWJ, WWX Has a Fear of Dogs, Jiāng Family Bashing)

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3. hi !! this is for ficfinder, i'm looking for this modern au with crime elements ?? i think wwx is a thief/pickpocket, and lwj and the lan clan are organised crime ish but art associated. lsz and ljy were also heavily featured as mentees of lwj, wwx makes a playlist. it was multi-chap, probs over 30k. they correspond over email quite a bit, and it's set in multiple cities, there's an entire chap where they talk to each other in logical fallacies and friere is quoted. tysm !!

FOUND! (i’ve got) trouble in mind by seularen (E, 76k, wangxian, JGY/LXC, modern w magic, heist au, thief WWX, forger LWJ, consigliere JGY, epistolary, long-distance relationship, d/d elements, Canon wangxian kinks, happy ending)

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4. Brain cannot brain rn so I need you guys' help finding a fic

So like, it was a Canon divergent fic where wwx submitted himself to the clans and was ordered to be cleansed of resentful energy in order to... prove he wasn't corrupted? Something like that? For the Wens? And it was ritual dual cultivation. He was sent blindfolded to a room so he couldn't tell who it would be (it was lwj, of course.) Wwx knew it wouldn't exactly work cuz he didn't have a core, but he did it anyway.

There was a second.... part? Chapter? The was from Lwj's pov of after, where he finds out about the core, then JC? A Jiang disciple? Shows up to tell them to get their asses to the conference hall because JGS is being JGS and this whole thing was mostly just a distraction

That's all I can remember, thanks for the help!

Hi 👋 4 from the latest fic finder, a friend on discord found the fic I was looking for! It was 'the meaning of the ritual' by newamsterdam

FOUND! the meaning of the ritual by newamsterdam (E, 8k, wangxian, Explicit Sexual Content, Blindfolds, Light Bondage, Ritual Sex, Canon Divergence, Let LWJ Fuck the YLLZ 2k19, First Time Blow Jobs, Anal Sex, Porn with Feelings)

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5. I'm hoping you can help me find a fic.I haven't had any luck searching for it. I think it's a time travel fic. At one point it's during the Cloud Recesses classes. Jiang Fengmian is the Chief Cultivator and comes to talk to Jiang Cheng. They're talking in Nie Huaisang's room and he and Lan Xichen are standing outside it. Jin Zixuan walks by talking loudly about Jiang Yanli in a really rude way and Jiang Fengmian hears him and comes out to confront him. Any help would be appreciated!

FOUND! We'll Build A Dynasty (one the heavens can't shake) by One_eyed_God (T, 66k, wangxian, WQ & WWX, WN & WWX, JYL & WWX, canon typical Jiang family dynamics, BAMF WWX, Canon JC Characteristics, POV Outsider, Hurt/Comfort, Pre-Relationship, WWX is a Wēn, Sect Leader WWX, Genius WWX, The Casual Intimacy of Hand-Holding, A Love Letter to WWX, Minor JYL/LXC, Not JC Friendly, Time Travel Fix-It) the scene described happens about a third of the way into the first chapter

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6. Hello and I hope I'm doing this right. I remember this fic that's set in the modern setting and mo xuanyu is recently married (engaged?) To lan zhan but wei ying takes over the body and then just decides to follow along. Lan Zhan ends up finding out that it's a different soul and ends up falling in love with him. I don't remember the name and I hope you can find it if it's not deleted. Thank you! @nightshade2017

FOUND! Write It on My Neck by diamondbruise (E, 23k, wangxian, A/B/O, Transmigration, Alpha LWJ, Omega WWX, Fake Marriage, Falling In Love, Jealousy, Happy Ending, Anal Sex, Spanking, usual wangxian cnc elements, Misunderstandings)

is it a transfiguration as opposed to resurrection?

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7. hello! love what you’re doing with the blog! i need help finding a fic: i remember it was lqr pov and at one point lwj left the lan sect behind to go to the burial mounds and lqr and some other elders go to investigate and find o ur lwj and wwx married and adopted a gaggle of children. i remember lqr nagging on lwj for disrespecting lan rules bcs he was wearing like too many adornments and spoiling the kids. also the rabbits had their own pen in there.

FOUND? 🔒 Unpack Your Heart by Terri Botta (Isilwath) (T, 22k, wangxian, Romance, Everybody Lives, Canon Divergence, LWJ Has Feelings, Protective LWJ, Burial Mounds Settlement Days, LWJ Stays at the Burial Mounds, Burial Mounds Ensemble as Family, Wangxian in Love, YLLZ WWX, Lan Clan Elders are Assholes, Minor Transgender Character, Qiongqi Path Divergence, LWJ loves his bunnies)

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8. Hello! I'm looking for a fic which I cannot remember the name of. The main things I remember are that Meng Yao stays for the Cloud recesses lectures and roommates with Nie Huaisang. The only scene I can remember is Nie Huaisang ends up mudering a Jin disciple who tried to kill Meng Yao with a rope. Wei Wuxian ends up finding them afterwards and getting help right after.

FOUND? somewhere to belong by KouriArashi (T, 62k, LXC/JGY, JGY & NHS, wangxian, JGY & WWX, Canon Divergence, Friendship, Developing Relationship, Families of Choice, Class Issues, Bullying, Light Angst, Politics, Eventual Plot, Happy Ending)

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9. Hello, I am looking for a fic where Wei Wuxian is not brought into the body of Mo Xuanyu. Rather a random cultivator does the ritual instead as revenge for killing his family in the nightless city. His terms are for Wei Wuxian to despair, so naturally WWX finds Lan Wangji and falls in love only for the ritual wounds to start trying to kill him for not despairing. He nearly loses his arm before they figure out how to save him. Happy ending.

There's also a few bits about WWX trying to get the sword of his body's og owner to come around and work with him. @shinyobsessed

FOUND! A Storm of Laughter in the Stillness of the Jingshi by OnlyMeAndMyBones, 2nd in series (T, 74k, wangxian, LXC & LWJ, LXC & WWX, angst w happy ending, hurt/comfort, injury, recovery, mental illness, depression, PTSD, rehabilitation, slow burn, empathy, guilt, forgiveness, suicidal thoughts)

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10. Hi! Can someone help me find this fic, please?

Lan Wangji is a post-war-soldier and nowadays is actually helping people to adopt a therapeutic “bunnie”. A man named Wei Ying goes there trying to find a bunnie to adopt, lwj get supper mad because this “man” is loud and disastrous and ask (order) him to go out of there. Later he learns with lxc that “Wei Ying” is actually Wei Wuxian, one of the most dangerous people from the war.

Lwj gets sad about his treatment towards wwx, because both of them are very traumatized by the war. That’s the beginning for their future relationship. It’s setting in modern setting too.

Thank you! @weicongee

FOUND? Recovery by Unforth (G, 27k, WangXian, Modern AU, Rabbit Breeder LWJ, Veteran LWJ, Veteran WWX, PTSD, therapy animals, Therapy Rabbits, LWJ is an Asshole Sometimes, Doctor WQ, Fluff and Angst, Happy Ending, Former Prisoner of War WWX, LXC is a Good Brother, Gray Asexual LWJ, Anxiety Disorder)

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11. Hi hi! There's a modern au fic I'm looking for that I can't find no matter how many tag searches I do! It's a modern au where wwx gets drunk and sad bc he loves lwj and he doesn't think he cares for him back. Nhs calls lwj for a rise home for him, but wwx doesn't know its him and "services" him on the way home if you know what I mean

I think it ends with nhs texting one of them to talk to each other so they finally get together

FOUND!🔒Nie Huaisang plays cupid like a baller by KizuKatana (M, 10k, WangXian, Accidental drunken confession, Dirty Talk, sort of mistaken identity, Alcohol as a Coping Mechanism, so much pining, So many tropes)

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12. hello i am looking for a fic where lan wangji is a stripper and wei wuxian is the bodyguard who is protective of him, and it was probably xianwang @ahiku-chan

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13. hi! Last year I read a fic where Wei Ying is kept imprisoned or like in an unresponsive state in Jin Guangyao’s secret room behind the mirror. He’s accidentally consumes/cursed with a spell that requires him to have sex to stay alive? Jin Guangyao then calls Jiang Cheng to pick him up and they return to Lotus Pier where after a couple of days Wei Ying like I have to leave cause I don't deserve to be here. Lan Zhan then finds him in a state of delirium. That was the last update then. Thank you sm

FOUND? 🔒 The Return series by LtLJ (G, 63k, JC & WWX, wangxian, WWX & WQ, WN & WQ, Canon Divergence, Yunmeng Brothers Reconciliation, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon-Typical Violence, BAMF WWX, BAMF JC, YLLZ WWX, BAMF LWJ, five year old JL, ten year old LSZ, ten year old LJY, discussion of a canon suicide attempt, canon-typical curses, Angry sabre spirits, BAMF Everybody, Complicated Relationships, they're trying but they aren't there yet, BAMF NHS, Canon-Typical Behavior, Hurt/Comfort, WQ Lives, WWX & WQ Friendship, BFFs)

FOUND? till our ribs get tough by feelslikefire (E, 38k, JC/WWX, wangxian, WIP, Dubious Consent, Forced Feminization, magical pussy, Sex Pollen, Fuck Or Die, Possessive Behavior, Breeding Kink, Canon Divergence, Top JC, Top LWJ, Bottom WWX, Bondage, bondage via Zidian, Dubcon Somnophilia, WWX has possessive boyfriends but luckily he's into it, Intercrural Sex, Cunnilingus, Anal Sex, Spanking, Pussy Spanking, Dirty Talk, Porn With Plot, Oral Sex, Rough Sex) It has fuck or die and starts with Wei Wuxian being kept in the secret room

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14. Hi! I'm looking for a fic that I clicked on in tumblr (possibly through your page, I have no clue) read about half the first chapter put my phone down and then reloaded the app it went all the way back to the top of the feed, never to see the fic again 😭

It was a Canon divergence AU, WWX thought Something Was Probably Up when he got the invite to JL's one month celebration so went in disguise as a woman, and the first line was him hitting on LWJ, who obviously twigged almost right away and took him to an inn, and that was all I got to.

Sorry it's not much to go on but hopefully someone recognises it! Thank yooou 💕 @scenicpixie

FOUND! My Leaves Reach Ever for the Sun by nonplussed (T, 26k, WangXian, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fix-It, Crossdressing, Idiots in Love, Sharing a Bed, Canon Divergence, Happy Ending, Mutual Pining, Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies)

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15. hi can u plshelp me find this fic it's driving me crazy as i don't remember the name

Basically wwx and lwj are already married but wwx wears a mask all the time and tbh they barely get to see each other like during the cave scene here lwj kept on deliriously calling his name they then kissed for the first time (they were already married during this)and then lwj pushed him away like literally ...

also they like had sex for the first time at where wwx was sitting w his ghost girls(they were already married during this too)...the ghost girls were still there this time lwj jus appeared wwx waxed poetry abt him jus standing there(who woudnt)he indirectly told wwx to not commit infidelity wwx seductively walked to him seduced him they fucked then wwx pushed him away literally and yea lwj went away

also wwx had adopted some babies too at the end i rmb

and yea during all this wwx wore tht fucking mask

FOUND? sounds like A Price to Pay by wangxianist which unfortunately has been deleted. 😭

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16. hellooo, i'm looking for a fic where wei ying came from new york (i think) it was somewhere in america to china. wei ying lives with lan zhan along with his uncle and brother. i still remember a scene where lan zhan asked wei ying to take off his shoes but he misunderstood and took off his pants instead lol. thanks!!!

FOUND? The Fifth Type of Non-Contact Force by Caixx (Not Rated, 83k, WangXian, Modern AU, High School, Slice of Life, Slow Burn, Fluff and Humor, Actually Somewhat Canon, Mutual Pining, Horny Teenagers, Angst with a Happy Ending, Non-Graphic Smut)

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17. Hi, I'm not sure if this is how this works. If I'm doing it wrong please let me know.

I've been looking everywhere for a story where Wei Ying is a reincarnated phoenix and doesn't know it. He eventually finds out and because of everything he goes through, he's taken over by the pheonix, and the firebird part of him wants to destroy the world.

I remember the sects locked him in the Gusu caves while they tried to find out how to control him.

Eventually Lan Zhan figures out a loophole where the Phoenix/firebird agrees to hold off until Lan Zhan dies...and then Lan Zhan cultivates immortality as a loophole. I remember it was on AO3 and was complete.

I'd be grateful for any help you guys could give me. @vitolieltrue

FOUND? Breathing Firestorm by ladyshadowdrake (M, 110k, wangxian, angst, fluff, captivity, creepy WRH, no non-con, dreamsharing, politics, people making the best decisions they can, epic length, mythical creature WWX, canon-typical violence, dark, happy ending)

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18. Hii i have a fic i cant seem to find anymore T_T. It was modern, explicit, with genderbent wangxian and pretty much just smut. I have this vivid recollection of butch lan wangji with short hair sitting in a bar (?). Then (but this might be me confusing two fics together tbh) they agreed to a deal where lwj showed wwx how to kiss, how to be intimate etc, and theyd have lessons at lwj's house every few days or such.

FOUND! throw the keys back by dustyloves (E, 31k, wangxian, F/F, Gender Changes, Cisswap, Modern, College/University, The Porn Is the Plot, Virginity Kink, Dom/sub, Teacher/Student Roleplay, Sexting, Dirty Talk, Non-Consensual Spanking, Mild Painplay, Mutual Pining, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Under-negotiated Kink, despite the tags it's actually quite soft)

NOT FOUND! sideways by vesna (mrsronweasley) (E, 20k, wangxian, F/F, Modern, Cisswap, butch dyke LWJ, Casual Sex, not so casual sex, many many orgasms, Fingerfucking, Cunnilingus, strap-on sex, So much kissing, WWX gets rekt, straight girl WWX, except for how she isn't)

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19. For the fic finder, I saw someone mention a fic in which after LWJ and WWX wander off with their donkey in the novel epilogue, they come back and find that LWJ's been voted Chief Cultivator behind his back. He does not take this well. Does anyone know of it? @kedaliya

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20. Hey I'm looking for this fic where either WY or LZ is a camboy and the other accidentally finds the account. They subscribe and continues to watch their channel behind their back.

But the camboy eventually finds out and they have a fight regarding respect and boundaries. All is well in the end but the camboy is extremely disappointed the other went behind his back to watch his channel and pretended like he didn't know anything. The other party apologises.

Does it ring any bell? @imstillthinkingaboutithmm

FOUND? For a Good Time, Call by ScarlettStorm (E, 170k, WangXian, Modern AU, Getting Together, Pining, Porn, like in the writing and also as a plot point, onlyfans au, repressed LWJ, sex worker WWX, Minor Angst, major shenanigans, Background ChengQing, background NieLan, background XuanLi, Nonbinary NHS)

FOUND? ❤️ All Old Things are New Again by The Feels Whale (miscellea) (M, 52k, wangxian, modern, reincarnation, sugar daddy, kink negotiation, gentle dom LWJ) HGBun has reached immortality and finally finds WWX reincarnated

~*~

[pastafossa]

Happy Birthday and a merry 6 years to TRT! 🎂 🎁 🎈 🎉 🍰

🕯 🕯 🕯 🕯 🕯 🕯

Some FUN TRIVIA FACTS:

TRT's sun sign is VIRGO and its moon sign is LEO!

After 6 years, its current wordcount is 932k words. If you put that in size 12 arial font, single-spaced, this would come to about 2000 pages, and even more if the pages were the usual mass market paperback size!

TRT is now 40 in cat years!

The Man in the White Coat is my tribute to the Mad Scientist trope common in scifi, which is one of my favorite genres!

It is old enough developmentally to tie its shoes! Keep going, TRT!

Ciro is partially inspired by John Marcone from The Dresden Files!

TRT shares a birthday with literary great Agatha Christie! Maybe I'll introduce poison-based murder into the fic in her honor...

The idea of seeing threads came to me after seeing a meme about red threads tying soul mates together. Everything that came after - the other threads, the thread world, how it works, is unique to TRT!

TRT is now longer than War and Peace, and Crime and Punishment combined! So if you've read all of TRT so far, then you have the perfect middle finger to anyone who tries to say you can't focus on longer stories!

The inciting penguin documentary that Foggy drunkenly watched (which led to him declaring Matt and Jane 'penguins') was about Adelie penguins specifically!

Jane has a leather jacket because I love leather jackets and think all badass characters should have a leather jacket! And so you should you! EVERYONE DESERVES A COOL LEATHER JACKET.

The long hiatus between Chapter 4 and Chapter 5 was because I had life things pop up. During that hiatus, I realized the plotline/ending needed some work, so I spent those two years outlining, and I also wound up doing a bunch of additional novel writing classes just because I wanted to learn. A lot of this wound up influencing TRT!

The grey threads are one of the only threads that no one has solved yet!

There are absolutely some bad people working for Cyrus James. There is also a guy named Kyle. He is there not for Evil Purposes (tm) but instead because this was the only place he could work that would allow him to pay off his student loans.

When I started TRT, I thought maybe 5 people total would read it. I was told five people total would read it by some shitty people. So I wrote it expecting five total people would read it, and told myself at least I'd enjoy it, and I could use it to learn. In other words: I had ZERO idea TRT would take off like this. None. Nada. Zip. AND LOOK AT US NOW, BABY. FUCK THE HATERS, 6 YEARS AND GOIN' STRONG.

Based on my outline, we're a bit over halfway to the end!

I hope you enjoyed these TRT funfacts. And I hope you know: this fic isn't just me. It's you, too. This fic has become so much larger than just me. It's the TRT playlist you've sent songs in for that keeps me inspired when writing. It's the fanart I look at to give me a boost. It's your sweet comments and likes and kudos and messages that encourage me when I'm sick or depressed. It's the people who've made friends over this fic, or who've been inspired to write fic themselves, adding beautiful works to the community that we all use to keep going. It's all of this love for both TRT and Matt, and I'm so happy that I've been able to contribute in at least a small way in keeping Charlie!Daredevil love alive even after the show's been gone for years now. I love you all so, so goddamn much. I love this fandom. I love TRT with all my heart. Thank you so much for being a part of these past six years through cancelations, through your high school and college years and beyond, through my ups and downs of moving and sickness and fiberglass and pandemic craziness, through late night chapter drops and wild twists and turns.

And I hope the next few years as we enter the second half of this story are just as amazing!

[mahi-wayy]

HI can u do one for shiv mannar

𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐍𝐒 | 𝑺𝑯𝑰𝑽𝑨 𝑴𝑨𝑵𝑵𝑨𝑨𝑹

• General • Romantic [both. sfw and nsfw]

A/n : I'm really taking this a ask for headcanons and not the micro fic :)

I - GENERAL

he is the big boss. no one has guts to speak infront or worse against him.

controlled violence. where do you think varadha gets his from.

grew up under a busy/absent father and emotionally unstable mother aka tough childhood.

spoiled his son rotten whenever he was around him.

loved reading.

immence knowledge of a lot of stuff. (he wrote down a constitution guys. come on.)

wanted to give equal votes but he also knew that would just generate a lot more chaos and take away from his authority so he took the maximum votes.

married only once and that too arranged.

adored dharaa like a son. maybe a little more.

taught him whatever he knew personally.

was close to shouryangas in general. the head general of his army was a shouryanaga too.

the most violent man khansaar saw from the manaar clan.

like once he looses it there is no stopping him.

everything in sight will meet their end in a brutally.

was the one who selected the name "varadharaj" for his grandchild.

was also the one who selected the name "devaratha" for dharaa's son.

wanted his family to always be close to shouryangas. (well we know how that ended)

he was not happy with how his son was turning out. it made him more and more strict and coldish towards him.

his death is still a mystery. a man like him dying out of blue and that too from a "heartattack"? yeah, no. the whole khansaar called bullshit but no one had courage to speak or ask about the matter.

the most believed rumor is his son killed him after shiva mannaar found out abt the shouryanga massacre plans along with other things he would never let happen as long as he was breathing.

commanded respect from literally everyone without saying a word as soon as he stepped in the room. that was just how he was.

he had some degree of high functioning depression.

from his teens he showed signs of being a king.

he scared his father for a number so reasons. mainly because of how fucking smart he was while also being a typical mannaar man.

calculated chaos. doesn't instigate things, like openly, until he is sure he will win.

NOT impulsive in the least.

he can cook.

had a bad insomnia.

had a weird obsession with his swords. he designed them himself.

the whole palace is designed by him.

a bit of a control freak.

took opinions from his advisors very often and almost on every matter.

his looks killed people. not a joke.

II - ROMANTIC

SFW

won't make the first move because he ain't interested.

love is not a concept he believes in until it happens to him.

would play hard to get.

actions>>>>words.

would sort out time to spend with his partner.

totally a bi [the only straight person in mannaar family is probably Raj. his son-]

has dated like two males in his teens. it didn't end well.

listens to his partner ranting endlessly.

reads to them.

cooks for his partner.

sleeps as the big spoon.

NSFW

a dom that can be talked into subbing.

definitely has a praise kink about as big as khansaar.

but the degradation kink is quite big too.

enjoys some kind of sensory deprivation.

not very vocal but he groans deep in his throat.

totally a bondage guy. both ways.

---------

tags : @mayakimayahai @warnermeadowsgirl @vijayasena @voidsteffy @jkdaddy01 @rambheem-is-real @allari-ammayi @mellaga-karagani @ulaganayagi @navinskizz

[pandoratheprocrasticreator]

I have a lot of opinions on Shuichi Saihara as a protagonist like on one hand I really liked his arc and think he was a genuinely interesting character and on the other hand the twist in chapter 1 kneecapped a lot of what I thought made him a compelling detective character on top of playing into some sexist tropes but like who cares about that.

What I ACTUALLY want to talk about is the AMAZING energy this guy exudes. He has more eyeliner on than any scene kid from the early 2000's. He's as gaunt as a sheet of paper. He looks like a stiff breeze could knock him over. Probably because he canonically didn't eat breakfast before entering the killing game so somehow the murder teddy bear coliseum has actually IMPROVED his living habits.

Nearly every line of Saihara's dialogue in the Japanese dub makes him sound like he's 5 seconds away from bursting into tears. During some intense moments he does this sprite where he's supposed to be adjusting the brim of his hat in a cool way but after he ditches his hat it just looks like he's doing a really emo peace sign. His character arc is about realizing that he doesn't want to kill himself and the way he resolves the conflict at the end of the game is to turn to the audience and say "You guys all suck. We're going to kill ourselves."

In chapter 6, Shirogane literally says that the concept for his character was her going "Hey what if I made a detective who's just, like, the most pathetic. The most cripplingly depressed poor little meow meow in existence?" He isn't even a poor little meow meow at this point he's like. One of those blind orphans that get run over in those propaganda films from the 40's. He's like if Oliver Twist went through puberty.

All the protags yap a lot but all of Saihara's internal monologue in the Free Time Events makes him sound like a fucking Wattpad fic about getting sold to One Direction. He embodies Komaru Naegi's "uwu im just a normal teenage girl" schtick except unlike Komaru, he'd probably dislocate his ankle running from a Ball Monokuma. Babe at least Makoto Naegi is kind of an extrovert?

He's super smart and observant and when he genuinely makes the effort to investigate the school, he uncovers the mastermind's secret lair on like the second day. And the next time he makes the effort he figures out the mastermind's identity and all of her schemes. Every investigation he looks at the evidence and immediately makes 8 logical leaps and somehow figures out the seesaw zipline toilet paper murder of the week.

But between that he, like, alternates between curling up in a ball and sobbing in his room and curling up in a ball and sobbing in front of Momota and Harukawa so like, it takes him a while to get to it. Kirigiri was busting into boys' washrooms and sneaking into secret off-limits dorms and throwing herself down trash chutes. Meanwhile Saihara sees the girls' washroom and is like "Hhhhhhhh I can't go in there that's cooooooooties" and needs The Power Of Friendship to, like, push over rubble or smth.

Like, oh man, he's a great character and he does get marginally more confident but, like, I think this dude runs on nothing but coffee and anxiety. He probably doesn't get more than 3 hours of sleep a night between Momota's midnight hangouts and whatever the hell the love hotels and the Monokuma theatres are all about. Say what you want about his role in the game but he's definitely a unique protagonist because I didn't think someone like him could narrate for a chapter without having a seizure. He looks like he has tuberculosis. MORE than the guy in the game who actually has tuberculosis.

[jazzthatonewriterchick]

Hit ‘Em Up! (18+ Fic)

Pairing: Cowboy!Gojo Satoru x Cowboy!Geto Suguru x Black!Cowgirl!Reader (Slow Burn/Enemies to Lovers)

Synopsis: You get to meet Geto & Gojo the Gunslingers, the notorious outlaws that have every town and law enforcement in a twist, when your bum-ass BF offers you as payment to avoid going to prison. Little do they know that this is only a part of your plan to get what you desire. But when you realize that the infamous gun-slinging, smooth-talking cowboys could be everything you want and more when they offer you a deal to team up with them, will you successfully be able to go through with it? 

Warnings: Smutty Smut; 18+ (MINOS GTFO); poly!SatouSugu; Reader is Black & Fem; Mention of other JJK characters; Porn with Plot; Tragic Backstories; T/W for Childhood Trauma, Parental Death, Violence, Panic Attacks & Torture; Angst/Hurt/Comfort; Hand Kink; Masturbation; Voyeurism; Gay Sex; Polyamorous; Double Deepthroat; Mutual Oral; Fingering; CMNF; Spitroast; Riding; Unprotected PiV Sex; Creampies; Outside/Public Sex; Shotgunning; Multiple Positions; Spit Kink; Facials; MDom/fsub Undertones; Aftercare

Disclaimer: I own none of the characters mentioned in this fic. However, as this is my writing, I do not give permission for my work to be reposted on any other sites that are not from my own accounts. Thank you!

Writer's Note: This one is LONG. A lot of action and fighting n shit like that lol. Also, trigger warning for the reader because she has a panic attack later in the chapter. Enjoy!! -Jazz

Chapters: One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten. Eleven. Twelve. Thirteen. Fourteen. Fifteen PT I & PT II. Sixteen. Seventeen. Eighteen. Nineteen. Twenty. Epilogue. Soundtrack.

********

SEVEN: HIT ‘EM UP!

You arrive in the tiny, dusty, damn-near abandoned town of Bull’s Creek by the next morning. 

You three didn’t stop for a night of rest, only taking breaks to feed the horses and let them rest their hooves before continuing on your journey. Most of what you do is on Reneigh’s back: brushing your teeth; eating your snacks; power naps. You now feel sweaty and tired, but not exhausted, only happy to finally be at your destination. 

Bull’s Creek is as depressing as it is quiet. Nothing moves but a tumbleweed that noisily rolls across the dusty road among the disturbingly quiet shops and boutiques that you’re sure once were brimming with life and vibrancy, but are now dingy and sad-looking. “Beauty, ain’t it?” Gojo sniggers as he and his horse totter beside you. 

“Where is everybody?” you question, feeling eerily uncomfortable with the silence. You half expect to be ambushed because of it. “Most of ‘em moved because of Benji’s crew members takin’ over,” Geto explains. “Sad. Most of the civilians had been here for years, but couldn’t take the terror anymore.” 

“Buuut,” Gojo interrupts with a grin, “lucky for the ones who stayed, we’re here! And we’ll make sure we send the baddies on their way.” You continue to look around for someone, anyone, in this ghost town. “So how are we supposed to find these guys?” you ask. “Just ask around?” 

“Exactly that, little miss,” Geto chuckles, suddenly coming to a stop in front of you. “And we’ve found just the spot.” You and Gojo stop your horses in front of a small saloon where you can just hear the sound of music and chatter. Gojo hops off of his horse first and goes to help you down, but you ignore him, choosing to get down yourself. 

You walk by, ignoring Gojo’s pout, and look up at the bar’s sign coated in dust: “Bull’s Bar,” you read, hearing Gojo giggle.

“That’s so original,” he comments as he pats the holster carrying Hollow Purple. He goes in without even waiting for you or Geto, but his partner doesn’t seem to mind. “The woman who wrote us asked us to meet her here in her letter,” he explains as he walks you inside. “So she should be…” 

His words die when he opens the wooden doors and lets them swing shut. The sound of them creaking is the only sound among the silence in the bar. The bar is small with tables covered in cowskin, bullheads mounted behind the bar, and every eye in the place on you, Geto, and Gojo, including the piano player in the corner. 

It’s beyond uncomfortable and you feel your face prickle with nervous sweat beneath your bandana. But Gojo and Geto are immune to discomfort as they confidently walk towards the bar. “Rough crowd,” Geto mutters under his breath. You nod in agreement, keeping a close hand on your hip. 

The bartender watches you come to the bar and sit, slowly wiping off a glass. He is tall and burly with unruly, spiked brown hair and a lollipop sticking out of his mouth. “So what’s a guy gotta do to get a drink around here, mister?” Gojo kindly asks. 

The bartender doesn’t say anything at first; just continues to stare you all down. The music hasn’t resumed yet and that makes this moment even more tense. “Kusakabe,” he says, his voice smooth and rough. “What will y’all have?” 

Gojo’s smile widens, pleased. “Jack n’ Coke for me and my partner; Sherly Temple for the lady.” You shoot him a look that could kill. “All Jack n’ Cokes, please,” Geto sighs, passing Kusakabe a couple of coins. He takes them and nods, still giving you a suspicious look that has your skin crawling. 

“U-Uh…excuse me?” a small, feminine voice asks behind you. You turn, finding a young, petite girl with long, sky-blue hair cut into a bang standing there, looking nervous. “You’re Gojo Satoru and Geto Suguru, right?”

The duo turns to face her now, making her face go beat red. “That, we are, ma’am,” Geto says, tipping his hat at her. “And you’re Miwa, I’m presumin’?” 

The girl damn near pops a blood vessel. “T-That’s correct, yes!” she stuttering replies.

Another young girl with two blonde ponytails comes up beside her. “You ain’t ask ‘em to sign your book, Miwa?” she snorts. “That’s all you’ve been talkin’ about since we showed up here.” Miwa gapes at the girl, mortified. “Momo!” she shrieks. “That was private!” 

“Miwa!” a male voice calls suddenly from across the room. A young man comes hurrying up to the two girls, tall and handsome with a spiked, black ponytail and a scar on his right cheek. “Are you alright? Who are they?” He ticks his eyes between you three suspiciously.

“Mechamaru, it’s okay,” Miwa soothes him, gently stroking his arm. “They’re here to help us.” 

“Friends of yours?” Gojo chuckles, not at all phased by this. Mecamaru glares at him. “I’m her boyfriend, actually,” he sharply corrects the gunslinger. Miwa nods at Momo who barely even smiles. “This is Momo. She’s a Bull’s Creek native, just like me. She told me not to write you guys!” 

Momo narrows her eyes at her friend. “Way to throw me under the bus,” she huffs. “It was only because I didn’t want more trouble comin’ into this town!” Geto nods understandably. “We ain’t here for trouble, little miss…well, not the kind that’ll get y’all killed. We just want the four we came here for.” 

“And who would that be?” Kusakabe asks suspiciously. “Who the fuck are y’all to come into my place of business askin’ around like y’all own the damn place?” You go to put your hand on your glock, but Gojo stops you, shaking his head at you. 

“We don’t mean no harm,” Geto gently says, “but we’ve got business in this town and with her.” He nods at Miwa. “She wrote a letter to us askin’ for help to save you from the four takin’ over this town.” 

The three younglings share a wary look with each other. “Don’t say their names,” Mechamaru warns. “They’ve got a tight hold on this town already. Last I heard about them is that they’re livin’ up in the mountains beyond the creek among the riches they snatched from the town.” 

“We’ll take you to them!” Momo excitedly announces. But Mechamaru shakes his head. “No,” he firmly says. “You two are stayin’ right here. I’ll take them.” While Momo tuts in disappointment, Miwa looks damn starstruck by her boo. 

Gojo gulps down his drink, finishing it off with a burp. “Fine with us, just as long as we get to where we need to. But before that…” He takes an ink pen from his pocket, smiling at Miwa. “Who wanted an autograph?” 

But before Miwa, who has now turned red, can hand over her book, Kusakabe stops her. “Hang on.” He leans over the bar toward the three of you, his eyes deadly and intimidating. “You get them and then you get the fuck out of my town. We don’t need no more trouble here.” 

With a silent nod, you three agree and Mechamaru guides you into the mountains.

*********

The creek is quiet when you make it up the hill. 

Too quiet. Though the soft sloshing of the water should be comforting, it’s damn disarming to you as you walk with the duo and Mechamaru along the creek yards away from Bull’s Creek (funny enough). The air is sweet, the sky is blue, and you know danger lurks. 

You finally come to a shabby-looking house up on a grassy hill yards down from you four. The roof is missing some tiles, one wall is caging in, and it looks abandoned.

“They should be in there,” Mechamaru says, pointing at the house. “They stay there because there are trails in the woods to escape through if the law ever happened to sniff ‘em out. But they haven’t for months because so many people are too scared to speak up for fear of being killed.” 

The young man stares you all down as you silently examine the home. “You gonna get them out of here?” he asks, hope in his eyes. The duo doesn’t answer, so you do, putting a hand on the young man’s shoulder. “Thank you, Mechamaru,” you gently say. “We’ll take it from here.” ‘Yes, we’ll get them out of here for you.’ 

Mechamaru seems to be happy with your words. Meanwhile, Geto is stringing up the horses to a nearby post while Gojo spits his cigarette out of his mouth and crushes it under his heel. This is just ordinary work for them. “Go on back to your girl,” the white-haired outlaw says with a wink. “She’s a cutie.” 

Mechamaru narrows his eyes, but doesn’t say anything back. Instead, he backpedals and hurries back the way he came towards town. Once gone, you follow the duo up the hill to the small house, the grassblades tickling your ankles as you move. Finally, you come to the wooden front door padlocked shut. “So how are we doin’ this?” you ask. “Do we just bust in there and–” 

You’re rudely cut off by Gojo’s foot smashing into the padlock, forcing it open. The door opens with a long creaking sound like in a horror film.

The way this house looks feels like a horror film too: stained, old furniture in the living area; dishes in the kitchen sink and rotten food on the counter down the long hallway leading to the back door; ripped curtains covering the stained windows, making the entire downstairs dark and dreary. The smell in the air is rotten and rancid like something died. You cover your mouth despite the bandana covering your lower face. 

As you creep inside with the duo, your hand on your holster, your eyes shift from left to right, top to bottom. You look for a shadow; some slight movement from around a corner or behind something. The floorboards ominously creek under your boots, making the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. “There’s no one here,” you whisper. 

While Gojo stays behind, Geto walks ahead of you towards the circle of furniture, his gun hanging from his hand. He places a hand on one of the leather armchairs and shakes his head. “No,” he protests. “There is. Feel the chair.” You carefully walk over and place a hand on the seat, your hear thumping wildly. “It’s warm,” you gasp. “Someone is–” 

“Y/N, look out!” Geto shouts from behind you, but it’s too late. Your words are cut off when you suddenly feel something snatching you by the ankle, causing you to fall onto your back. The noose tightens and begins to pull you throughout the house on your back despite your screams. You try to grab the knife in your pocket, but you can’t. You’re moving too fast. 

Finally, you stop and are suddenly facing two men with very bad intentions in their eyes. One of them is nothing short of a pretty boy: beautiful bone structure in his face with high cheekbones, dimples, blue eyes, and a Colgate smile. If it wasn’t for the gun in your face, you’d think he was a model. This is ‘Angelface’.

“Well, well, look what we’ve got here, Zankoku: the prettiest little trespassor we’ve gotten.” He smirks at his partner. “What do you reckon we should do with her?” 

His partner, Zankoku, looks like he’s all types of crazy: unruly curls that fall in his face; a bumpy nose like he was punched too many times in his lifetime; a scar running from his left ear down to the corner of his mouth; wide, wild eyes that frighten you more than the gun pressing against your noggin.

“I’ve got one idea that would make her sorry,” he growls, his voice like jagged glass to you. “Do you know what we do to trespassin’ bitches like you?” Angelface shakes his head at Zankoku. “Now, now, that’s no way to talk to a lady!” he mockingly tuts. 

“Y/N!” Geto shouts from beyond. You manage to twist around to look behind you and find the duo running to save you. However, they are stopped by a woman who pops up from under the staircase, pointing a gun at Geto’s head and a man jumping out from behind a wall to pull Gojo back and put a knife at his throat. 

The only woman in this crew, Makima, is tall and slender with long red hair and cold eyes. “Don’t move,” she warns. “You move and either I put this bullet in you or Arata puts that knife in your partner’s throat.” Arata is mute as you’ve been told, his tongue cut out long ago. But what he lacks in words he makes up for with his knives that are as long as his hair that cascades down to his hips. 

“Or we fuck up this cutie’s face,” Angelface growls, pushing the gun into your cheek. “Never thought I’d meet the famous Fatale Femme in the flesh.” He uses the barrel to pull your bandana down, revealing your nose and mouth to him. “And see her gorgeous face,” he cackles. “You’re almost prettier than me.” You could spit at him. 

“You motherfuckers got a lot of nerve comin’ here,” Zankoku snarls. “First you leave like y’all are better than us and then you start workin’ for the fuck ass law?” 

Gojo smiles despite nearly grazing the knife at his neck. “Good to see you again too, Zankoku,” he titters. “I guess this is our welcome wagon?” Makima rolls her eyes, annoyed. “God, you always talked too much,” she huffs. “I should put some lead in that throat right now just to shut you up.” 

She cocks her gun, moving it away to point at Gojo while she slips another out of her holster and points it at Geto. The entire room has turned into a warzone. One wrong step and you’re dead. “Listen,” Geto says, raising his voice. “We don’t want no trouble.” 

“Oh, shut up!” Makima spits. “Why else would y’all be here? You’re obviously here to wrangle us up like cattle and bring us into the sheriff.” 

“Y’all tryna get in a good place with the law?” Angelface scoffs, grinning at the gunslingers. “Tryin’ to become good guys ‘cause prison scared y’all? So sad to see what happened with that train.” You can almost feel the rage radiating off of Geto and Gojo in waves. “We don’t want to put y’all in prison,” Geto says, his voice roiling with simmering anger. “We just want information on Benji. We need to find him.” 

The bandit crew share a brief look. “Why would we tell you?” Angelface scoffs, eyes narrowed. “We don’t know where he is anyway. We were in Cherrywood before he fucked outta town months ago. We haven’t seen him since.” As soon as he says it, his partners look at him like he just sealed their fate. And he did. 

“You dumbass!” Makima hisses. The gears in your head are turning and you share a look with Geto and Gojo. “Benji was in Cherrywood?” you ask, finally speaking. “When? Why?”

But the cold barrels of the guns pressing into your head and chin stop you. “Enough,” Makima growls. “We don’t have to tell you fuck shit. Now hold still so we don’t fuck up our home.” 

She points her guns at Geto while Arata pushes the knife further into Gojo’s throat. You stare at the guns in your face, shaking. “Sorry we couldn’t have any fun, darlin,” Angelface sighs. “You’ll make the most beautiful corpse though.” Staring into the barrels is like staring into death and suddenly, you see a flash of your mother’s face. 

You don’t think. You just do. Quickly, you wedge your hand under your ass and pull a knife out. In a flash, you stick the knife into Angelface’s side, making him scream in pain. Immediately, Makima shoots but Geto ducks and swings his leg to trip her. Gojo elbows Arata in the face and rolls away just as Arata cups his nose to stop the blood flow. Makima, who fell, quickly rises and pulls the trigger on both guns. 

Bullets immediately start flying from Zankoku and Makima aimed for Geto and Gojo who you’re sure are hiding. You have no time to see where though, too focused on your attacker. Angelface staggers back and drops the gun, holding his wounded side. “You fuckin’ bitch!” he bellows. “You’ll pay for that! Kill her, Zankoku!” 

Zankoku is momentarily distracted, too busy popping shells. You take that loophole to cut yourself free with the bloody knife and kick him in the back. He staggers, but not enough. He turns around, baring his dirty teeth at you. “You,” he growls and raises his gun. He suddenly falls onto his knees, revealing Gojo standing behind him with a gun that whacked him in the back of the head. 

A bullet zooms over his head and Gojo quickly covers you. “Over here!” he yells as he drags you into the kitchen as quickly as possible. Geto quickly crawls in behind you and rips the table up to turn it over to serve as a shield from the bullets. Gojo pulls you behind the overturned table. You sit there, the three of you, as bullets whiz past you, breaking windows and putting holes in the walls. “She’s still shooting!” you announce among the flying bullets. “This bitch is crazy!” 

Geto busies himself firing back at Makima from behind the table while Gojo points at the back door. “You go out there,” he tells you. “We’ll take care of her in here.” He slides his gun out of his holster and cocks it. “Just wait for us with the horses,” he whispers. “We’ll find you.” So you go, hurrying over to the backdoor as fast as you can on your hands and knees. 

You turn for a second to see Arata stabbing through the table right above Gojo’s head. You itch to help him and Geto both, but you know they’d tell you to get out and save yourself. So you keep going. When you finally make it, you shove the door open with your shoulder and roll out into the open, landing on your back in some grass. Quickly, you look up, squinting in the sun. 

The backyard is nothing but an empty pig pen and a stretch of forest. Down below the slope of the hill the house is on is the creek and beyond that, your horses. On wobbly legs, you get up and try to run, but two arms wrapping around you stop you. One tightens around your midsection while the other wraps around your neck, nearly choking you.

“Hel–!” Your scream is cut off by a choke as you struggle to breathe with the arms squeezing you tight than a vice. 

“Gotcha,” Zankoku chuckles. “Stupid bitch, thinkin’ you could run from me…but I’m not goin’ to prison. So I’ll let nature take ya.” He begins to walk with you as you struggle helplessly in his arms, not even able to reach your weapons. 

When you realize where he’s taking you, it’s too late: you’re suddenly being dangled over the side of the rushing water of the creek. Without a warning, Zankoku drops you in. 

Your body plunges into the icy depths of the water, shocking you to the core. You immediately swim to the surface and gulp down the air. The waves are rough and wild, splashing you repeatedly in the face as you struggle to reach for a rock, a tree branch, anything to stop you from going downstream.

Zankoku stands at the bank and pats his knee once. A horse comes running from out of the forest, stopping at his feet and allowing him to climb on. “Have fun with the fishes, bitch!” he cackles before galloping off on his horse upstream. 

“Wait!” you scream, so loud that your throat goes raw. You watch helplessly as Zankoku disappears, growing smaller the farther the water takes you. You try to pedal to stay afloat, but the current is too rough and the water too deep. You can’t feel the bottom. “Gojo!” you wail out. “Geto, help!” 

All that answers you is the water flooding your ears and mouth, salty and overbearing. All of your senses are taken over by it as the current swallows you up. Tears of desperation begin to slip down your cheeks, sobs leaving your mouth. You once again feel alone. Abandoned. Just like all those years ago. And you’re tired. So, so tired. 

Finally giving in to the creek and the ache in your muscles, you let the current take you and find yourself going beneath the ice-cold, salty depths of water. But you don’t sink. Just as quickly as you went under, you’re suddenly pulled back up by some invisible force yanking on your arm. You look up into the sun’s rays, wondering if it’s God. 

But when you turn to look, you realize that it’s Geto. He is hanging off the side of the bank, boots and pants muddy, grunting as he struggles to pull you out. He finally slips in and yanks you to his body, both of you floating in the water together. “Keep your eyes open, Y/N!” he yells among the rush. “Geto,” you try to say, but your voice is so weak that it gets carried away by the water. 

Geto swims to the side of the creek with one arm and quickly grabs an upturned tree root to pull you both up and out of the water. “I’ve gotcha,” he huffs, dragging you into the mud once he’s on the surface. He then pulls you into the grass and finally releases you. 

When he does, the shakes start. And the shivers. Your body convulses as if it’s back in the water and not in the warm sun on dry land. You can’t stop. It’s as if your body has kicked itself into fight or flight. Your fingers tremble and your heart pounds, causing your breath to become labored. “Y/N?” Geto questions. You don’t see him. All you see is the blue sky above you. 

“C-C-C…” You don’t know what you’re trying to say. You don’t know what’s wrong with you. Geto’s handsome face appears above you and his expression softens when he realizes what’s happening. “Y/N, you’re havin’ a panic attack,” he says.

He slowly picks you up and places his hands on your forearms. “Breathe,” he demands, his voice and eyes firm. “I need you to breathe, Y/N, okay?”

You shake your head, still trembling like a leaf. “I-I can’t,” you gasp. “C-Can’t…” It’s a struggle to form a coherent sentence. Your brain can’t keep up, sending warning signals to your body when there isn’t even any danger anymore. 

“Look at me, darlin’,” Geto coos. His big, calloused hands hold your cheeks, willing you to look at him. “Watch me, okay?”

You do, hypnotized by his warm, soulful eyes. “Do what I do, slowly,” he instructs. “In.” His chest expands. “And out.” His chest falls. He does it again and you mirror to the best of your ability. It’s shaky and choppy at first, but soon, your breathing is less labored. 

Then your heartbeat slows and your body relaxes in his touch. All the while, he is gentle and patient. “That’s it,” he says, nodding. “It’s alright now. I’ve got you now.” And you believe it. You believe that you are safe. How the fuck did he do that? 

A whistle pierces the air from down below the hill. You look to see Gojo jogging uphill with the horses. His smile fades when he sees you and Geto, soaking wet and coated in mud. “What happened?” he demands. Quickly, you stand without Geto’s help and wipe at your snotty nose. “It’s not important,” you sniffle. “Did you get her?” 

Though Gojo still looks concerned, he doesn’t push it. “We got them,” he corrects you. “Angelface is knocked out cold ‘cause of blood loss thanks to your knife, but the other three are conscience so we should be able to talk ‘em.” You sigh, relived. 

You hop on your horses and ride back up to the house where, sure enough, the four bandits are bound tight in a rope tied to the pig pen, back to back. Angelface is slumped over, his side stained in blood. Meanwhile, his partners look downright scared, no longer having their weapons to help them. 

You and the duo stomp over to them, relishing the way they shiver at the sight of you. “Please don’t kill us,” Makima whimpers. Geto kneels before her, his expression like steel. “Then tell us what we want to know: Benji the Bandit. Where is he?” 

Gojo kneels beside his partner and pulls down his blindfold to reveal his piercing, blue eyes. It’s enough to make the bandits cowar. No weapons or force needed. It makes you wonder just what the duo did to them while you were in that creek. “The last time we saw him was in Cherrywood,” Zankoku admits. “He was conspirin’ with the outlaw Valentine to rob a train.” 

“Valentine?” you gasp. “He works for Benji?” You look at Geto and Gojo as the realization hits you. Could it be that Benji was behind that train massacre? Could it be that he framed his two former employees?

“After the train massacre, Benji cut us some money and said he was headin’ to Sage County to hide out,” Makima adds. “That’s all we know, we swear!” 

Gojo smiles, happy with this turnout. “Thank you for your participation,” he sweetly says as he stands up. He reties his blindfold before letting out a whistle that echos across the land. 

You hear the sound of horse hooves and thudding footsteps, each sound mingling into one loud heartbeat. You turn, findinding law enforcement and other townsmen following close behind running out of the brush of trees and nature towards you. Among them is Kusakabe sporting a golden star on his shirt as the sheriff of Bull’s Creek (who also so happens to be a bartender). 

“They’re all yours, fellas!” Gojo yells, moving away so Kusakabe and his posse can swarm the bandits like flies. Other townspeople follow shortly after and with them, they bring rewards for you and the gunslinging duo: money; food and spices for cooking; whiskey and ale; and more importantly, thanks. 

Despite your reputation and appearance, the people stare you in your face and pour their hearts out to you. They shower you with gratitude, give you warm smiles, and shake your hand. It is overwhelming, but at the same time, it makes you feel good. It gives you a better feeling than how you feel after smoking a gunslinger and taking off down the road: cold and vengeful. Now, to see the very people you’ve helped with your own eyes, it makes you rethink your career path. 

Nearly an hour later after collecting your rewards and goods to place in a sack for the road, Gojo comes up to you with a big, fluffy towel while Geto chats with some of the victims. “Gotcha somethin’,” he says, wrapping you up in the fluffy thing. 

You don’t look into his eyes, still feeling weird from earlier. Once you’re wrapped up tight, he gives you space and chomps down on a sugar cookie given to him by a sweet old lady earlier as her thanks. “So where to now?” you ask, glancing at him. He just smirks at you. 

Sage County it is, then. 

**********

The night is still and so is the steely, cold, unforgiving prison cell Valentine sleeps in that night. 

He’s been in the Black Water County prison for days now, eating their terrible food and facing terrible mistreatment at the hands of the guards. He is housed in a private cell, isolated from other prisoners.

Being a wanted criminal outlaw means that you have many enemies, so the sheriff thought it was best to keep Valentine isolated to avoid Valentine being attacked….not because he cares, but because he wants Valentine alive for his trial. 

Valentine hasn’t tried to escape, waiting for the right time to do so. He has decided to lay low for now and play nice, keeping to himself and doing what the guards tell him to do. Meanwhile, in his head, he fantasizes about the moment he can put some bullets in those damn gunslingers and wrap his hands around your lying, backstabbing throat. 

Right now, as he lies asleep on his pad, he can almost see your face turning purple as he wrings your neck. He can almost feel the way your hands claw pathetically at his, your body slowly going limp like a rag doll as he– 

Clang. 

Valentine immediately opens his eyes and sits up in his cell, looking towards the strange sound of metal banging against something solid. He squints into the dark hallway outside of his barred cell door. “H-Hello?” he stutteringly whispers in the darkness. “Is someone there?” 

There isn’t an answer for a while, making him feel as if he imagined it. But then he hears footsteps and the young guard usually posted at his cell appears, staggering slightly as he does so. In his hand, he carries a tray of sloppy Joe and beer, possibly for himself, but Valentine makes a joke anyway.

“What’s that?” he scoffs. “You finally bringin’ me some decent dinner, boy? Do you even know what time of night it is?!” The young guard doesn’t answer. Instead, he teeters forward and falls onto his face like a tree that was just axed, falling at Valentine’s feet. 

“Shit!” Valentine gasps, jumping and backing up against the cold cell wall. The food and beer spill along the floor, just like the blood pooling from the back wound the guard is sporting. That’s when he sees it: the knife in the guard’s back. 

More footsteps follow and Valentine shakily looks up at the shadow figure entering the hallway, dressed in black clothes with a bandana covering his mouth. As he gets closer, Valentine cowares against the wall, shivering. “W-What did you–” 

“Shh!” the stranger shushes him. He bends down near the guard’s body and takes off his black glove. There, Valentine recognizes the black rose tattoo on his knuckles. The flower of death. Benji the Bandit’s signature symbol. “The boss sent me here to get you outta here,” he whispers. He begins to dig into the guard’s back pocket and retrieves a ring of keys which he uses to unlock Valentine’s cell. 

The door opens with a click and the stranger slides it open, narrowing his eyes at the outlaw. “If you don’t wanna spend the rest of your sorry-ass life in here, follow me and keep quiet.” It doesn’t take Valentine long to make up his mind. He would take anything over wearing an ugly black and white jumpsuit and eating God-awful slop. 

Quietly, he follows close behind the stranger down the hallway and around a corner between two other wards of cells. Commotion begins to arise from each ward, prisoners awakening and realizing that someone is escaping. The stranger bends down to move a tile from the floor out of its place, revealing a deep hole that must have taken days to dig. “Down here!” he hisses before ducking down into the manmade hole. 

The prisoners begin to knock against their cell doors and walls, yelling and hollering. Quickly, Valentine gets down onto his stomach and slides himself down into the tight, dark hole.

He has never escaped in this manner before and he can’t see why any criminal does it. It’s dank, dark, and dirt keeps getting in his mouth and nose. Not to mention how physically taxing it is. He grunts and struggles to get through certain spaces that are too tight, shimmying along in his elbows and stomach. 

But finally, he sees an opening and the stranger pull himself up out of the hole. Valentine follows close after, pushing himself through the opening by his hands. With a gasp, he rises from the hole, breathing in the open air and the night sky above. He’s never been so happy to be above ground before. 

But he isn’t at all happy to see who is waiting for him. Other than the stranger, Valentine’s eyes trail up the strong legs of a black Bronco before settling on the man sitting on its back. He is a big man––at least six feet––and the size of a bear with long hair, a salt-n-pepper beard, an eyepatch, and a gold tooth that glints at him in the moonlight. He wears black everything: a black hat; black slacks; black boots; a black jacket adorned with fringe. He is the most terrifying man to exist in the Wild West.

“Benji,” he gasps. 

Benji’s smile grows, laugh lines and wrinkles by his eyes. “Nice to see you too, Valentine,” he says in his deep, gruff voice that could make any man tremble. “How was prison for you?”

He doesn’t answer. He rises from his knees and dusts himself off, looking towards the prison. They are right outside of its wired fence, deep in the woods that surround it. “Ya know, crawlin’ through dirt as an escape route ain’t really my style,” he grumbles. 

Benji keeps smiling, menacingly so. “You’re lucky I even sent someone to get your ass bein’ that you fucked up and got yourself caught.” He nods at his goon who has settled onto his own horse. 

“It wasn’t my fault!” Valentine protests. “That damn idiot duo came after me and threatened to toss me in prison!” He seethes, thinking about you. “And now the bitch that they’re with is against me. She turned out to be the Fatale Femme.”

He has no problem throwing you under the bus. You ruined his entire operation! He was so sure Geto and Gojo would take his offer and let him go free. He was going to leave the county, maybe go overseas, and make his life from there. 

It’s bad enough to let Benji once again rope him into another one of his schemes. He just knew that robbing that Cherrywood train would bring him bad luck, but he listened to his boss anyway. “All ya need to do is grab the money with my men and kill the witnesses. You’ll get your cut and I’ll get mine.” 

Down on his luck and in need of some quick cash, Valentine agreed, but also had questions: “What about Geto and Gojo? Why are they apart of this? You haven’t worked with them in years.” 

Benji just smiled, puffing on his cigar. “Because they need to be reminded that they can’t run from me,” he answered, sending chills down Valentine’s spine. “They’ll never know that I was behind this, but that won’t matter. They think they can suddenly become these saviors, but when the law find them on that train with a bunch of dead bodies, they’ll finally understand that they can’t run from their sins.” 

It was punishment for leaving Benji. He wanted the Gunslingers to suffer. Valentine just wanted the money, so he went with it and ran. Now, he not only wants revenge on the duo but on you too. 

Benji’s brows rise at the mention of you. “The Fatale Femme teamin’ up with my old gunslingers, eh?” He ponders this, stroking his beard. “Then that means they’re a threat to me, but not for long. That means we’ll have to take them all out of the equation.” 

He looks down at Valentine like he’s no more than a bug, those dark eyes like a shark’s. “Listen to me very carefully,” he whispers and Valentine roughly swallows his spit. “I only got ya out of here because I’ve got another job for ya.” 

Valentine nods, hanging onto every word: I got word that those two gunslingin’ maggots are headin’ out of the West toward North,” Benji explains. “They’ll be passin’ through Sage County. I need you to follow ‘em with my crew and meet me in Sage County. Attack ‘em on the road if you need to.” 

Valentine nods, placing all of these instructions in the back of his mind. “But why are you goin’ to Sage County?” he asks. 

Benji pulls a cigarette out of his pocket and holds it between his teeth. “I got a call from four of my old workers earlier after they got arrested in Bull’s Creek. I know Geto and Gojo, so I know that they ask around and obviously know where I’m headed.” He pulls out a match box and lights a match in one strike. 

He then lights his cig and takes a puff, holding it between his ringed, inked fingers. “If they show up, I wanna kill them myself–especially that nosey bitch they’ve got with ‘em,” he spits. “I can’t have no one lookin’ for me.” 

The severity and seriousness of his words are set by the silence that looms over them along with the ice in Benji’s eyes. Finally, he glares at Valentine. “What are ya waitin’ on, idiot?” he huffs. “Get goin’ and don’t disappoint me.” 

He snaps the reins on his horse and takes off into the woods, leaving his goon and Valentine alone.

[orecana]

Danganronpa: Fruitless Survival

Prologue

Park sunghoon x male reader

Hello everyone It's Orecana here! this took me a while to write because i had to think of the evidence and trials but here we are. I hope you enjoy it as always.

Warning: this fic contains

excessive blood

Deaths

Depression

Y/n is really grumpy having to walk to school on this Monday morning. why did monday has to come so fast? he yawns exhaustingly as he finally arrives at school. He noticed something unusual though. where is everyone? It's already 7:03.

He enters the school and looks around for any signs of school staffs or students. He spotted someone waiting by the school gates. He hurries over to see a handsome young adult. judging by his face and uniform, he's probably not from here.

y/n: "hello who are you?"

The young adult looks up to him and smiles. Y/n felt a small blush creep up.

sunghoon: "I'm a transfer student from korea. i'm attending the school today. uhhh is this normal?" y/n: "No.... It's definitely not normal."

y/n felt a sweat down his spine, where is everybody?

y/n: "i-i'll guide you around, uhhh." sunghoon:"sunghoon. park sunghoon. I'm 20 years old." y/n: "well then sunghoon-hyung, i'll give you a guide around the school."

sunghoon follows y/n as he gives him an overall detailed guide about the school. they also talk about some stuff and each other.

y/n: "this is the auditorium where everyone meets for announcements or school events."

he opens the door only to be met with all of the missing staffs and students looking around the auditorium. he looks at all of them confused.

y/n: "what are all of you guys doing here?"

Everyone: "the principal wanted to announce something i don't know"

A buzzing sound was heard and everybody look at the huge tv screen in front of them. an adult with brown hair appears and smile menacingly.

Orecana: "hello everyone! Orecana here to tell you all such wonderful news. You are now participants in a killing game isn't that great?"

(photos of how i imagined myself to look like here)

(i think i draw bad on paint so i did a hand drawing one)

Noises of protest is heard everywhere as the once quiet auditorium is now filled with loud chatter. the person called Orecana doesn't seem to be please with this and screams in a loud booming voice

Orecana: "SIlence!"

everyone in the room quiets as the inhuman figure takes a deep breath

Orecana: "unless you want what happened to your dear principal, i suggest you obey and do as i say. you want to see that badly? then look up."

y/n hesitates, his whole body is shaking as he knows what he will find if he ever looks up but sunghoon places his hand on y/n's shoulder. y/n looks behind him and see sunghoon nod his head while smiling warmly. he squeezes the handsome male hand as he looks up to see the principal dead and pinned to the ceiling.

Orecana: "now that everyone know the situation they're in, let me give you a simple motive to start off. whoever killed someone will get 10000000 dollars for free."

a lot of complains arrupted but then someone else happened. anybody who protested had a spike pierce through their heart from the floor.

Orecana: "i hope that the last 16 of you will listen to what i say, you can stay in the newly installed dorms on the third floor and no leaving the school because that is against the school rule~. Enjoy the killing game!"

the tv closes as y/n looks at the surviving students. they all looked so scared. Everyone looks at each other back and forth.

Y/n takes a deep breath before turning around and hold sunghoon's hand, reverting back into his bright persona.

y/n: "i almost forgot to mention in this school we don't tell our family names in fear of it being used against us and we all have ultimate talents. i'm the ultimate Babysitter."

sunghoon felt a bit scared about y/n's switch in personality but he sucked it up. It's not the most concerning thing right now.

sunghoon: "well I'm the ultimate ice skater."

y/n: "well sunghoon hyung, i'll just wait for you here at the door while you get to know everyone, while it might seems useless at a time like this but it would be awkward to not know whoever it is that we're surviving with right?"

sunghoon: "i suppose you have a point."

sunghoon walks toward a white hair girl who is standing with her arms crossed.

sunghoon: "hello?"

She turns around and sunghoon was shocked at her visuals. She is very beautiful it might even rival his visuals.

??: "oh? who are you? i don't think i've ever seen you here before"

sunghoon: "i just transfer here today."

??: "really? such bad luck, you transfer to a killing game."

sunghoon: "what's your name? i'm sunghoon, ultimate ice skater"

Alice: "call me Alice. The ultimate model."

Alice huh.

sunghoon: "it was nice talking to you."

Alice: "it was nice as well. see you later."

i decided to approach a guy who is talking among 4 other students.

sunghoon: umm....

???: "this must be the new kid."

????: what did you guys do? he look so nervous.

?: i did nothing?

Sunghoon just watch as they argue back and forth. It wasn't until a large cough comes from a girl that had just came, shut them up.

??????: i leave for 1 minute and chaos happens. I'm terribly sorry for them.

sunghoon: oh no it's fine. but i would like to know your names.

Jackson (not wang for clarification) : Name's jackson, ultimate swimmer.

Yukari: My name is yukari and i'm the ultimate archer!

Scott: My name is scott and I'm the ultimate game developer.

Yuria: My name is yuria, the ultimate botanist and usually the person who stops these guys from trouble.

Keita: that's not true and you know it yuria! anyways My name is keita! I'm the ultimate Librarian.

All of them introduced themselves except for one girl who was sitting on a seat. she was just listening to music.

Keita: c'mon Reina. introduce yourself to him.

the girl who was called Reina shot a glare at keita that made him jump. She look at sunghoon as he awkwardly stands there.

Reina: Reina..... Ultimate Weapon master.

Sunghoon: I'm the ultimate ice skater. my name is sunghoon.

Jackson: anyways back to our discussion, it was obvious that i won that last game.

Yukari: you...win? what a joke.

then those 2 started arguing again while yuria tries to stop them. sunghoon just awkwardly walks away from them.

they're.... a pretty lively group.

sunghoon sees 2 boys rubbing each others hands for comfort.

sunghoon: are you guys okay?

They look at sunghoon. They look at each other before looking back at sunghoon.

??: not really, we've just arrived here and all of a sudden we are on a killing game.

sunghoon looks at them in sympathy. not everyone can act positively.

sunghoon: i actually also just transfer here as well.

?: sucks to be us huh?

they laugh a bit.

Hiro: My name is hiro, you can call me the ultimate comic artist.

Keitaro: And I'm keitaro, The ultimate photographer.

sunghoon: Sunghoon, ultimate ice skater. It's nice meeting you two.

They talked for a bit before sunghoon left them to find the last batch of students to talk to.

Luckily he spots them near the door entrance, talking with y/n. y/n giggled

'it seems he's close to them.'

Y/n: oh hey sunghoon. meet my friends. c'mon guys introduce yourselves to hyung.

the girls and boys look at me.

Dahyun(not twice): hello I'm dahyun, I'm the ultimate therapist. feel free to talk to me if you have any trouble.

Sayuri: I'm sayuri. The ultimate pastry chef. hehe

Rose(not blackpink): R-rose. I'm the ultimate painter.

Amiya: I'm Amiya! I'm the ultimate Doctor. please come to me if you are injured.

Takashi: My name is Takashi. The ultimate bar attendant at your service.

Sunghoon: I'm sunghoon. the ultimate ice skater.

Y/n: wanna hang out with us sunghoon? we can show you the school along the way as well.

Orecana: actually there's no need for map tours.

Everyone looks behind y/n as Orecana appears out of thin air.

Orecana: i totally forgot to give everyone their monopads. these will be your phones from now on, just no call function. you still have your phones for that though but no funny business ok. the moment you call the authorities, you die.

Everyone felt a chill down their spines. this is their reality now.

Orecana: I'm gonna go now, I'm gonna miss an episode to my favorite drama soon. happy killing!

He went out the door as a tense silence fill the room.

Sunghoon: uhh about that hangout sure! i would love to hangout.

y/n instantly brighten. The group stares at him dumbfounded as y/n clings around sunghoon and drags him out the door. he peeks his head in.

Y/n: you guys coming or what?

They scurry outside the door to follow y/n and sunghoon as they enjoy their time bonding briefly forgetting their situation.

*time skip*

They hear the monitor static and Orecana appears on it.

Orecana: It is now 8 p.m. you may now return to the dorms but you can stay up late if you wish, just don't sleep anywhere besides your dorm room or you'll be penalized.

the group look at each other when they hear the announcement.

Y/n: i guess we should stay in our dorms.

They go to the dorm rooms and opens their monopads to know which one is theirs.

Y/n: sunghoon! we're next to each other!

Sunghoon smiles knowing this, even though they only met today sunghoon felt a bond with the younger boy. it turns out dahyun and takashi rooms are also near them which they were glad of. after bidding each other farewell, they go into their rooms.

sunghoon lays on his bed as he scans his room. they model it according to his talent. The killing game.....

his heart fills with dread about tis new information. he hopes nobody kills each other. he decided to try to sleep after changing into comfortable clothes. He did fall asleep, quite peacefully because of today's hangout which he thought about lovingly. He really do hope nobody kills each other.

[kamiversee]

what if gojo does tell us the truth while he’s on the verge of death😞 ive been overthinking it so much and that would be so depressing. Especially if she’s just holding on to him while he’s taking his last breaths. While she’s there sobbing, he reaches his hand out to rest it on her cheek, wiping away her tears with his thumb. Then he whispers the reader’s name as he’s slowly dying.(i feel like you’d give him a slow and painful death as well🥹one where he’s coughing up blood and taking sharp breaths) He grabs her hand and holds it against his chest as he tells her that she deserves to finally find out the truth after waiting so long. He apologizes again for everything he put her through and for always hurting her when he wanted nth but for her to be happy. She continues sitting there waiting patiently for him to continue, not knowing whether she was happy he was finally going to tell her or devastated this is the way she was going to find out. She’s sobbing so uncontrollably she can barely let out one sound but she manages to say something through the fountain of tears pouring out from her eyes. “Please don’t go”. Even as he’s dying, gojo feels a pain in his heart at the sound of her voice but nonetheless he gives her a soft and sympathetic smile. “I don’t think I have a choice, Sweets.” He coughs out. She sobs louder at that and it’s like her heart shatters because she knows he’s right. She knows that after this, he’ll be gone forever. He too has tears pricking at his eyes as he looks up at the sky, feeling himself losing all strength he has left. Regardless, he uses that last bit of life he has to finally let her know the truth behind all of this. The very shocking truth. He sees the look on her face as he tells her but he can’t make much of it as his eyesight finally starts to blur. All he can see is her lean closer to him, clutching onto his shirt as she yells unintelligible words. How he wishes he could hear her last words and what she has to say but it’s too late as his vision fades to darkness. On her side, she’s yelling for him not to go and that she needs him here with her. She heard what he said and she has no idea what to think of it, what she’s worried about right now is the lifeless man in front of her. The man she once held. The man she once shared kisses with. The man whos words brought her an odd sense of comfort despite the confusion that always came along with it. The man she had fell for. She continues to hug him and shake him, hoping, waiting for him to give her a sign that he was alive and still with her. But that moment never came…

-🥹

…

I cried. Dead FUCKING ASS I CRIED.

🥺, go write a fic NEOW. Or else ima hunt you down bc I physically can’t take this anymore. YOURE DRIVING ME CRAZY WITH THIS. AND THE TRUTH LITERALLY MAKES THIS SO MUCH FUCKIN WORSE OH MY GOD.

I can’t.

Guys I can’t do this anymore.

Im going to go sob in a corner now. Thank you.☹️

[allsassnoclass]

Are there any good 5SOS friendship fics?

the answer is definitely yes! we have fantastic writers in this fandom, so there are great friendship fics here. i can compile a list based on previous times i've answered this question, but i haven't been reading much 5sos fic for the past year and friendship fics have never been my favorite type of fic.

to find friendship fics on ao3, search for any of the pairings with a & sign instead of a / (example: Michael Clifford & Luke Hemmings). You can filter out the romantic pairings by excluding pairings with a / on the filters bar. this is a great way to find friendship fics, especially because asking me is only going to get the fics i'm aware of in my small circle here on tumblr, whereas filtering on ao3 will help you find a whole lot more!

now on to my recs:

with open hearts and open eyes by @lifewasradical: rated G, ot4 friendship, 2k. very highly recommend this one i love it a lot

If he closes his eyes, Luke thinks he can almost believe that he’s 16 again, that they’re in Australia and they’re just starting out, thrumming with energy and excitement and glee that still lingers in their bones if they look hard enough. Some of that childlike wonder bleeds through the moment, Luke’s sure of it, as the others all turn onto their stomachs too. Their outlines are barely able to be seen through the darkness, but Luke would know the contours of the other guys even if he went blind.

If I Can Dream Long Enough by @4thbrighteststar: rated G, ot4 friendship, 2k.

Luke leans back, closes his eyes and lets the setting sun wash over his face, lets his fingers find a rhythm of their own. Third fret, fifth string. Tenth fret - his fingers hop up and down the guitar. Seventh fret. Fifth fret - no, keep the riff. He loses himself in it, until the wind and the birds and the distant, roaring cars fall silent in the face of the music he’s making by himself for the first time in eternity.

(An ode to making music in the toughest of times.)

am i broken (are you the saviour) by jbhmalum, rated T, malum friendship, 4k

He should do something. Maybe take a deep breath, in and out. Maybe turn on the bedside lamp. Maybe go lie down on the cold bathroom floor. Maybe bury himself under Calum’s covers and cuddle up to him; it probably wouldn’t even wake Calum, and Michael would get the comfort he needs.

Michael hears something he didn’t want to and has a hard time dealing with it.

dearly depressed and brokenhearted (i’d like to let you know that boys cry too) by @clumsyclifford: rated T, muke friendship, 2k

Michael returns. He’s wearing a jacket and a beanie and there’s a blanket from off their couch in his hands.

“Michael,” Luke says.

“Please,” Michael says. “I’m obviously not going to convince you to come inside, but I don’t want you to freeze.” He takes the steps, footsteps falling where Luke’s had, and comes close enough to Luke that when he offers up the blanket, Luke reaches out and takes it. “I know you don’t wear jackets,” Michael explains.

(It’s cold and rainy out. Luke goes for a walk.)

crack a smile, stay a while (am i holding for applause?) by @clumsyclifford: rated T, cashton friendship (but the other two are there as well), 1k

Glancing down at Ashton, Michael adds, “What’s with him?”

“He’s convinced he’s going to do terribly and publicly humiliate himself,” Calum says, rolling his eyes again for good measure.

“No, you’ll be great,” Michael says brightly. “Calum’s always saying how you’re the most talented person in his music whatever class.”

“Calum’s stupid and wrong,” floats Ashton’s voice from somewhere underneath the seat.

no love sincerer (than the love of food) by TempestRising: rated G, ot4 friendship, 4k

5 times One Direction fed 5 Seconds of Summer / 1 time One Direction needed feeding.

melancholy & honey by @igarbagecannoteven: rated G, malum friendship, 500 words, they’re bees (yes you read that right)

Michael’s only been resting there for a minute when he hears a familiar hum approaching him from behind. He doesn’t have to turn his head to know it’s Calum.

glitter by @igarbagecannoteven: rated G, cake friendship

Calum has no idea how Luke is able to infect all of their tour gear with glitter so completely.

below are a collection of friendship fics that I personally have not read, but I’ve read other works by the writers so I feel okay recommending them

Jess @daydadahlias has written so many friendship fics that I have heard great things about!!!

 Torn Up (ot4 friendship, 8k)

Tailspin (cashton friendship, warning for alcohol/smoking, 5k)

Lightweight (ot4 friendship, warning for heavy alcohol, non-consensual kissing, 5k)

Tender (mashton friendship, 3k)

Superbloom (cashton friendship, warning for discussions of Skinny Skinny, 3k)

Movie Night (lashton friendship, 3k)

Shoebox (lashton friendship, 3k)

The Craft Club series (outside pov of ot4 friendship, but only Ashton appears in most of the installments. I've heard a lot of really fun things about this series, so while it isn't necessarily a heavy friendship focus I still recommend!)

from Bella @clumsyclifford

you should know i’ll be there for you (lashton friendship, 2k)

maybe this is just as good as it gets (cake friendship, 2k)

our best years are yet to come (thanks for choosing me) (cashton friendship, 1k)

from @lifewasradical

have my back (yeah, everyday) (malum friendship, 3k)

so much older (lashton friendship, 2k)

then if I may self-rec:

takeoff by me: rated G, mashton friendship, 1k

Sweater Weather by me: rated G, malum friendship or pre-slash, 1k

Tornado Warning by me: rated T, ot4 friendship, 2k

wedding vows by me: rated T, malum friendship, background roylum and mystal 5k

if anyone else has friendship fics they want to recommend feel free to add on!

[will80sbyers]

I don't know if you were really asking on your last post but I'm among the people that don't believe in queer Mike in canon (but still ship byler and read fics and enjoy headcanons and etc but can't really post in the tag cause it is not very welcoming of us to say the least). I think seeing the airport scene as a romantic one is only one of the possible interpretations of this scene and of course if byler ends up being canon, it would be the most convincing one (still not the only one though). As I sadly don't think byler will be endgame (basically to me there are more in script and off script reasons to think they won't than to think they will), I interpret the airport scene as yet another sign that Mike is written as a brave, deeply caring, somehow fighting normativity guy, who is just often socially awkward as a result. In other words, I think Mike behaved this way because they haven't seen and spoken to each other in a while, and Mike only got updates through El (about the painting among other things). And because his relationship with Will IS different than his relationship with the other members of the party, but that doesn't make it romantic in nature, Will is his best friend and has a more obviously sensitive temper than Dustin or Lucas. Again, it's of course left to interpretation, but everything is. And whether or not we believe in byler endgame, our interpretation will necessarily somehow reflect it

I respect your opinion, but I think this choice doesn't make any sense as a narrative for Mike unless it's for starting a romantic plot line between them, it's just making him look like an asshole to the public because they didn't even catch the fact that Mike actually called Will, they automatically thought he was calling El even if it's risky for El to use the phone because of the government possibly listening... and like maybe if it was only that scene where he's acting awkward BEFORE they resolve their miscommunication issues I could agree with you... but the fact is that it is not only that scene, Mike keeps acting awkward after they have already talked about them not communicating as much in the past months and they have resolved that in theory...

I think this is a clear sign that Mike must have feelings for Will otherwise the writing and the framing and the direction they gave Finn on how to act doesn't make ANY sense... this scene would be absurd if Mike wasn't feeling love for the words Will is saying about him

the '' Will is different only because they are best friends exactly like the others, but he has a more sensitive temper'' doesn't hold up for me because in season 1 Mike had that conversation with Dustin where he told him he thought of ALL of them in the same exact way, but we know Will has always been different, and their relationship is more intimate than just being best friends... one of them is in love with the other... like, they could never be really ok if Will got rejected, that would keep hurting Will for a long time if not forever and the end of the show would be depressing and unrealistic if Will just ''got over Mike'' randomly after they showed just how deeply he loves him... and Mike this season he expressed out loud that he felt different and like Hawkins was not the same without Will specifically, he didn't even mention him missing his own girlfriend...? I believe this is because Mike has always had romantic feelings towards Will even if he didn't realize it, it's that type of loving without knowing where he always felt like this for Will, but he never considered what those feelings were until recently

plus we have the scene at the end of season 3 where Mike looks back at the byers home to confirm there is something more to the story of Mike and Will from Mike's side <3

I think you will be pleasantly surprised by Mike loving Will back too! 💕

[bbwithaknife]

Lessons in Calligraphy Part Two: Cross Your T's (Adrian Chase/Vigilante x Reader)

Hello hello and happy holidays. Today I gift you part two of my Adrian x Reader fic. It's my first smut too. It's not good, but listen I wrote it and my goal was to finish it and I did, so I feel pretty accomplished. My writing is incredibly rusty and forced but I'm proud I combatted my depression and said "fuck you I'm gonna do it anyway." <3 as always feedback is appreciated but please be nice as I am sensitive.

Warnings: Minors DNI. Explicit content. Please note reader goes by she/her, has a vagina and breasts. If I am missing anything, please let me know!

Word Count: 3k+

Part One

To say the car ride home wasn’t strange would be a lie. Before you had joined the team you were already pretty familiar with Evergreen, living just on the edge but still within the city limits. Adrian had made the comment that he knew the town like the back of his hand, never once leaving it. He recalled an incident involving a 7/11 and “some dead guys here and there” being the last time he’d been in your neck of the woods. His footprint of life was the complete opposite of you, moving outside of your hick countryside community as soon as you had the chance and headed straight for Gotham. And clearly, Gotham didn’t last very long and you landed in a mirror of a town you used to call home. 

You looked out the window of the “Vigilante Mobile” to admire the way the street lights shined down onto the asphalt below as you zoomed past, the yellow glow like millions of electrical lightning bugs. Adrian was doing the speed limit of course. It had rained momentarily, just a small dusting of rain as you made your way to your destination. The droplets of water stuck to the window and dissipated as you rolled it down. You stuck your hand out and rode the wind. The scent of fresh rainfall hit your nose, a comforting experience. 

He stayed silent for a few more minutes until the car reached the first stop sign. You made a mental note to inform Adrian that brakes shouldn’t grind like that.

“If I guess why you like me, will you tell me?” If he turned on the car’s interior light (if it even worked in this old hunk of junk) he might see the pink across your cheeks. But knowing Adrian, he wouldn’t dare turn the light on while driving. “That’s illegal” he would say, even though it’s just one of those things parents say. The car pulled forward and was back on the move.

“Fine.” You rolled the window back up and took a deep breath. 

“Is it because of how cool I was with that scimitar a few days ago?”

“No.”

His hands tapped against the steering wheel, thrumming a beat. “Oh! It’s because I’m all caught up with Fargo now.”

“No.” 

“Uh, you appreciate the friendship P and I share and commend us for escaping toxic masculinity and embracing our sexuality?”

You have to stifle a laugh, you know he’s being serious. “No.”

He could go on asking questions for hours if you let him. He would probably drive around aimlessly with no “Point A to Point B” in mind if you hadn’t told him he’d passed your house. 

“Shit, sorry.” He mutters.  A full stop and legal u-turn later, you arrived. Fishing your keys out of your pockets as you exit, the chirp of the car’s horn signalled it was locked could be heard right after your heels hit the pavement. Adrian was still playing guessing games on the way to the door. 

“You appreciate a hard-working busboy!” He sounded so matter of fact. You could feel his presence behind you, hell if you took a step back you’d be pressed against him, back to front. You moved to turn the key, but he was still going. “I mean, I guess maybe it should be busman. I’m 30. No one really considers a 30-year-old a boy, right? I mean, sure I’ve got a bit of a babyface -“

“It’s everything, I guess.” You can’t hide the bashfulness in your voice. You were hoping the creek from the door hinges would hide it when you finally push the damn thing open, ushering him inside. Sure it was dark out, but this was Evergreen; neighbours are nothing but nosey. How would you explain to Beverly you were ushering a wanted criminal accused of multiple murders into your little bungalow? Was he here for a game of Bridge? 

The moment you closed the door and lock it behind you, turning to meet his gaze, he’s on you like a bear to a beehive. Teeth clashed before lips met in a devouring kiss. Your keys fall to the floor clattering on the tiles below. He’s crowding you now, with your back against the door and a large hand gripping your ass. 

He breaks the kiss briefly to meet your eyes with a confidence you’ve never seen from any man. He’s just looking at you and you can feel a build in your core like back in the office. It only makes you turn red. 

You barely have time to register his hungry gaze before his lips meet yours again, this time with a hint of tenderness. You’d bet top dollar you were as red as a fire truck. 

A rouge hand was slipping under the fabric of your shirt. The action hitched it up, the naked skin of your back making contact with the cool metal door behind you had you arching into Adrian. The chain of events had him moaning, a sound you felt you couldn’t get enough of. The friction of his leather gloves became absent for a moment that felt too much like forever but your suffering paid off when bare hands took their place. Rough to some, his touch felt like silk to you. 

Adrian had no patience to even attempt unclasping your bra. Rather he slipped his thumb underneath the painful wire and pushed swiftly up. Your breasts were barely exposed to the air when he took a nipple into his mouth, tongue hot and wet and incredibly overwhelming. The strangled and startled moan you released in response had him reeling back almost as fast as the Flash himself.

“Fuck, sorry - sorry, I should have asked first.” You could tell Adrian was trying his damndest to at least attempt to look you in the face, but he couldn’t keep his eyes off your breasts, both nipples now pebbled from the exposure. 

“No-” you started. Christ, you sounded as if you’d just run a marathon, desperate for water. Thirst too strong for anything else to be your main focus. “No, Adrian- please, you can- you can do whatever.” 

Oh, the expression on his face. He was going to destroy you. 

Lips drag along the valley of your breasts and fingertips trail behind until his palm was centre with your nipple like an arrow to a bullseye. And his grip, Christ the man could squeeze.

The sound you made in response was downright embarrassing. You brought your hands to your face, shaking your head. 

Smooth move, nimrod!

It didn’t seem to phase. Hell, if anything your noises were riling him up. 

Large, wandering hands slowly creep their way south.

You begin to strip your blouse and bra, properly despite the unsteady hands. As you undo each button, teeth graze into the flesh of the start of your hips. He’s tugging desperately at the sides of your bottoms.  

Adrian Chase has seemingly forgotten the invention of buttons and zippers. Trembling fingertips reach down to assist and in seconds goose pimples prickle the skin of your legs. All of your garments had now pooled around your legs. Quick fingers had sunk into the band of your cotton panties taking them down in a quick pull. 

What happened next, however brief was definitely going to be something you’d replay over and over; he takes your foot, carefully caressing as if he's about to place the glass slipper on in reverse as he helps you free yourself completely, allowing for your legs to spread as wide as either of you wanted. 

“Please” He breathes your name, face so close threatening to plunge in. 

“I meant what I said, Adrian. Whatever you- oh God!” 

Adrian pulled away and you whined like a spoiled brat not getting their way at check out. It echoed through the entryway. 

“Sorry, fuck I just -” He spread you open like he’s inspecting, potentially even committing to memory. “You just have such a pretty fucking pussy” His voice is deep, dark, husky, and hot. Too fucking hot.

He doesn't even offer you a chance to respond before he dives in again. Tongue slowly starting from bottom to top, always taking a precious few extra seconds at your clit. A repetitive pattern, a technique perfected. Maybe you were a bit biased, considering the donor but you’d never felt so aroused in your life. 

“Oh, fuck. M’so close . . .” you trail off, as a thick finger (or fingers; you honestly can’t tell at this point) enter you. You feel full and can only imagine how he will feel once he’s fully truly inside you. You didn't believe Chris for shit - thimble my ass. Something in the way Adrian carried himself, especially in the Vigilante suit, gave you “Big Dick Energy” vibes. 

Adrian Chase, apparently Olympian of Pussy Eating, seems to be aiming for gold as lips suction themselves to your clitoris. At this moment, time moves slowly and words come out that even a scholar wouldn’t be able to comprehend. 

A couple things come to mind as you reach your peak. 

Should I be taking what he says at face value? How the fuck did Chris take that photo and send it in the first place? 

Regardless, you thought, I’m grateful.

Fingers dig into his curls as you grind yourself on his pretty fucking face. Adrian doesn’t seem to mind. Rather, he is encouraging the behaviour as he palms your ass and pulls you closer. 

You cry out, your body reacting to the overstimulation before you can form words like “too much” but it doesn’t stop him. In the field, Adrian is ruthless and relentless. You should have expected that would carry over in the sheets. 

With the strength you can muster, you pull him away by the hair harshly. Eyes that should be green look black staring back at you, pupils dilated like silver dollars. His mouth and chin gleam with your slick. Adrian makes no attempt to wipe your essence away. His toned chest heaves. 

You want to leave marks on his throat. Leave a trail of kisses from his collarbone to the “V” of his torso. You desperately want to articulate every single detail of feeling you’re experiencing to him so he knows, knows how good he is. But your legs are jello and your mind is fuzzy and all you can do at this point is try and catch your breath.

You finally find the courage to look down and meet his gaze. Adrian looks up to you like you’re some famous painting from the Louvre. 

He stands up and steadies you. Kevlar rough against your naked skin, you can’t help but notice how unfair the situation is. Legs wrap around him instinctively as he picks you up. Nustling into his neck as he showed off his strength, he says “Let’s get to the bedroom.” Adrian double checks the lock and takes a few steps forward before freezing. 

“Where is the bedroom?”

“Third door on the left.” You kiss into his neck, dead set on finding his sweet spot. 

The surprise of being thrown on the bed is made known to the whole neighbourhood when you let out a horrifying shriek into the comfy mattress, pillows, and blankets below. Comfort and plush was very important to you. You sit up abruptly as Adrian begins to strip. You can’t help but appreciate his physique and take in his figure. Toned and tight you resisted the urge to lick him from top to bottom. 

He brings you back down to earth when he asks for a condom.

This was really happening. 

“Bedside drawer.”

Adrian slides the latex onto his length, pumping himself twice. His dark eyes look to you for consent. You lay back down and spread your legs. He climbs on top of you slowly, a position the two of you had been in before, but not like this. It was playful sparring and he had swept you off your feet, quite literally, with a powerful kick. You fell back on the mat hard and straight on your ass. Adrian pounced on you before you even had time to register the action. Faces only inches apart, your face flushed and you tapped out. 

Oh, the number of times you touched yourself to that moment alone. 

This time was different because this time was real. And you were both naked. 

“You good?” He asks, snapping you out of your way back machine. 

“Yeah, just … fuck I’ve thought about this for a while.” You reach down to stroke him and gauge if he’ll even fit. He releases an inhuman moan, starved for more. 

“Same . . .”

He gingerly slides his cock against your dripping folds trying to hold himself back. Tease you. Convince himself he’s not drunk off the site of you and still in control. 

When he enters you it’s a white-hot sensation. It’s the stretch and depth combination that has you crying out and arching your back again, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him closer. His forehead presses against yours and the sounds he lets out? It’s fucking music to your ears. He slides a hand down to press his thumb against your clitoris, urging you to chase another high. 

“Fuck, I knew you’d be tight.” Adrian admits he’s been thinking of you and you can’t help but clench. He groans like you’re killing him slowly. 

“I . . . I knew you weren’t a Thimble.”

He grips your hips tight and grinds into you with the pressure of an ACME anvil falling onto you almost involuntarily. You want to feed his ego until you breathe your last breath. Such a simp. 

“Sh-shut up don’t say that.” He pants. “You’ll make me cum.”

“Okay, s-sorry.”

The pace he thrusts is relentlessly slow and cautious. You want it rough eventually, you do, but you want to savor this tender moment. Your gut tells you it’s rare.

It’s only a few more circles on your clit before the coil inside snaps again with the force of a thousand suns. Adrian’s response to your orgasm has you convinced it brought him more pleasure than you. He picks up his pace and buries his face in your neck. You want him to stay there so you play with the curls at the nape of his neck and that REALLY gets him going. 

You can tell Adrian is not far behind you from the grunting. 

He shudders out a “fuck” and stills. 

He remains inside when he releases himself into the condom and collapses on top of you. He was now your favourite type of weighted blanket. 

“Fuck, that was good.” He slurs sleepily and lazily rolls you over so you rested on his chest, his member remaining sheathed inside. The best sword in the fucking stone. 

You hum in agreement and snuggle into him, drifting softly asleep.

~

It’s not the early morning that wakes you. And it’s not the hunk of a man underneath you either. 

It’s the cries of an Eagle mere inches from your face and flapping its wings. 

You cry out and fall off the bed, taking the sheets with you and leaving poor Vigilante buck naked. Wrapping yourself up trying to save your decency, you curse Chris with a vengeful scream. 

You hear footsteps pounding, followed by softer ones. You smiled to yourself briefly, happy that everyone showed up even if they didn’t tell you before hand. You were short on snacks now. 

Eagly hops over to you and nuzzles at your feet like some sort of apology. 

Chris appears in your doorframe seconds later and you squeak. “The ‘fuck you, Chris’ was not an invitation to come into my fucking room!” You spit through clenched teeth. 

You hadn’t realized Adrian stepped off the bed to greet Peacemaker, bare as the day he was born. 

“Hey, dude.”

You jump up and clench the sheets to your chest, push Chris out and slam the door. You close your eyes and take a deep breath in and out, a bit too quickly, and turn to the man in front of you. 

“That was fun … but it looks like your party is starting, or I guess started.” Your sentence drifts off. You want to ask what this is if it’s anything at all. 

You open your eyes slowly to see Adrian - still incredibly naked but staring at you intently. He looks like he’s waiting for you to ask so he doesn’t have to. 

“So what-“

“Next time I-“

When you register his words you fling yourself at him, lips locking in a quick peck, then smooches all over his damn cute face. 

“Let’s enjoy your party. And when everyone leaves-“

“It’ll be next time.”

Your heart skips a beat and you feel that flutter. 

When you both make the walk of shame down to your friends, they all smile a knowing grin. 

You clear your throat to break the ice. “Thanks for coming guys.”

“We only came because you left your car at the office. We thought you got kidnapped or something.” Harcourt admitted. “Though . . . I’m not opposed to a beer.”

[0perfectimperfections0]

I think it would be interesting if you'd made an au where the dolls see that they have also wronged Lou and should of given him a 2nd chance. So they now try to earn his trust. From styling his hair to how it originally was and giving him more comfortable clothing to trying to talk to him more. But it's very hard to do so because the former leader is now depressed, anxious, and jumpy. He closes himself off and vows to never trust any doll ever again.

And maybe another au where Lou is very smart and manipulative and everything goes his way.

Btw I love your fics, I've searched everywhere to find good Lou angst and you make my day. Thank you for keeping the fandom alive.

Awww, you're so sweet! I'm glad you enjoy the stories! I've also heard you've found my friend @natalie-the-writer 's account. Her stories are absolutely AMAZING! She has such amazing attention to detail and can make any scene feel so real in your imagination. If you haven't already, I HIGHLY recommend reading through all of her stories on her profile. They're awesome!

And since I've gotten an ask similar to the latter portion of your ask, this one will revolve around the former prompt. Brace yourself, this will be longer (for the first time in forever XD).

<><><><><><>

The dolls prided themselves in how fluidly everything seemed to be running at the Institute. It was like Ox had said: they didn't need Lou. From an outside perspective, everything seemed to be going about splendidly. More importantly, everyone was happy.

Moxy hummed a made-up tune to herself as she walked down the winding sidewalks of the villa. Dolls -- with happy smiles, she was pleased to note -- waved and offered their own greetings as they swept by each other. She found her best friend, Mandy, and hopped in front of the doll's path with an enlightened expression. "Hey, Mandy!"

"Hi," the female offered a small smile of her own. "Have you seen Nolan anywhere? I haven't been able to find him."

Nolan. Did she know a Nolan? There were so many dolls that it was difficult to remember all of their names. Mandy must have caught on to her perplexed face because she soon elaborated. "Has the sign around his neck? Brown hair? Green and purple eyes? Kinda tall?"

For such a specific description, Moxy would've thought herself to be quick with a revelation. Unfortunately, that description didn't fit any of the dolls she had grown to be close friends with in the past few months. "Mmm, sorry. I don't think I know a Nolan." She admitted guiltily. "But!" She swung a short leg out to proceed in the direction Mandy had been going in, "I can help you find him!" Then she would know who Nolan was and all would be splendid again.

Mandy accepted the offer silently and walked in what seemed to be an aimless direction. However, she had a specific destination in mind. Nolan had mentioned a few times in conversation about a certain doll that she'd rather not bring up in front of...well, anyone else. So, unbeknownst to Moxy, Mandy had them set toward the old wooden shed near the back of the Institute. Now that she dwelled on it, they hadn't seen Lou in quite some time.

Her theory proved fruitful when she recognized the brunette outside of the abandoned shed. Abandoned to others, not to Lou. Moxy's pace slowed down to a stop even as Mandy proceeded on. "The shed? Why would Nolan be here?" Her question wasn't answered. Mandy didn't really have a sound answer to it either.

Nolan had made his vigil just outside the closed door. He sat on the ground, knees drawn to his chest to rest his head on, and back pressed against the door. There was a plate of food set beside him. Mandy's footsteps caught his attention before he could say anything. Quickly, he put a finger to his mouth to warn her to be quiet. His eyes went to Moxy as she finally walked closer. "What are you guys doing here?" He asked, keeping his voice just above a whisper.

"Looking for you," Mandy answered. "What are you doing here?"

Nolan cast a short glance at the plate of food beside him. It had grown cold, now. "No reason. Maybe I like the peace and quiet." Mandy shook her head and sat down on the other side of the plate. She tapped a piece of bacon experimentally.

"I'm guessing this wasn't for you." Nolan didn't respond. "How many days has it been?"

"Five. Six, if you count today." Nolan sighed.

"What are we counting?" Moxy tilted her head at them.

The Pretty Dolls exchanged glances. Mandy spoke. "How many days it's been since Lou came out of the shed."

"He hasn't been cleaning?" Moxy looked taken aback.

"You haven't noticed he hasn't been around?" Nolan's eyes went a little hard at that. It was the closest to a glare Mandy had seen him pull off. Moxy stuttered out an excuse of some sort, but he brushed it off. "You two can go. He doesn't like having so many people around. It's just been me for the past week."

"How did you know he was locked up in the shed?" Moxy asked. Had she missed a sign or something? Were the other dolls talking about him? She hadn't heard a single mention of the blond since his downfall.

Nolan visibly refrained from rolling his eyes. Instead, he flicked at an imaginary piece of lint on his knee. "Well, he doesn't exactly have the looks to blend into the background. He stands out pretty well on his own." There was an audible bite to his tone that Mandy silently acknowledged and Moxy took no note of. "I came here the first day I noticed he was missing. The door's been locked and he put a tarp over the window to keep from anyone looking inside."

"Maybe he's plotting something," Moxy brought a hand to her chin in thought.

The brunette tried not to bristle at that comment. He closed his eyes, eyebrow raised indignantly. "Like I said, you two can leave. I've managed to get him to unlock the door and I don't need anyone undoing all that progress."

"If the door is unlocked, why don't you just go in?" Mandy blinked up at the potential entryway.

"Because I want him to be the one to open the door. This is the only place he can go without being pushed around by the other dolls -- in case you haven't noticed that either." Nolan sent a look over to Moxy. She shrunk a bit under the tone. "This is his safe place now, and I don't want to intrude on it. If I'm going to make any progress, I need him to be the one to let me in."

Moxy drummed her fingers against her side, eyeing the door that could easily be walked through. "You make it sound like he's scared or something. I'm sure he's just sitting in there pouting and refusing to carry out his punishment." Nolan's jaw clenched, but he kept his mouth shut lest any harsh words are said by him. "Let's just go in there and tell him to get back to work." She stepped up and turned the knob before Nolan or Mandy could stop her.

A concentrated form of light entered the dark room. It revealed the particles of dust floating aimlessly in the air. She waved off a few visible ones and noticed the small figure hunched in the corner of the room near the door. She had been about to say something but stopped short when she realized something was off.

Lou didn't move at all from his position despite her bombarding him. He had been seated similarly to Nolan: legs were drawn up to his chest tightly, feet angled inward, arms wrapped around them, and head resting on his knees. She couldn't see his face with the mess of tangled, blond hair draping over his arm. He seemed to have his head laying to the side, facing away from her.

Before Moxy could take a step toward him, Nolan startled her by appearing in front of her path. "You need to get out. He doesn't want to be around anyone. Especially you."

Moxy was taken aback. "Wh--What did I do?"

"Is that a serious question?" Nolan finally let himself bristle as he glared down at her.

Mandy pulled on the pink doll's arm. "Moxy, let's leave. Nolan can handle it from here."

"Handle what?" A new voice sounded behind them. Ox tilted his head at the group from outside the shed. "What are ya'll doin' here? And where's Lou been? I ain't seen 'im in almost a week."

"Huh," Nolan couldn't help but comment wryly as he looked down at Moxy again, "even Ox noticed." Moxy merely shrunk in more guilt. Perhaps she had been a little too blinded by all the smiles and positivity of the other dolls that she neglected to check in on Lou.

Ox ignored the two and stepped inside, seeing the ex-leader curled up in the corner. "Lou? What's wrong?" Nolan couldn't get a word out to tell him to step back before the bunny was in front of the doll. Ox put a paw on Lou's head to try and brush away the hair, but Lou flinched away. "Lou, talk to me."

"He doesn't want to talk," Nolan clarified sharply. "And you guys are making it worse by invading his space."

"I agree," Mandy tugged harder on Moxy's arm. "So, let's give Lou some space, Moxy." The pink doll finally relented and walked out with the Pretty Doll.

Ox didn't move from his spot. He watched Lou's hands clutch at his pants tighter. Was...he really upsetting Lou just by being here? The thought sent a sharp pain through his chest. Nolan's gaze prompted him to finally stand and part ways. He sent one last look to the doll in the corner before walking out of the shed. Nolan made a step toward the doorway until he heard rhythmic tapping from where Lou was. He paused and listened.

Tap-Tap-Tap...Tap...Tap-Tap...Tap-Tap-Tap-Tap

Nolan abandoned the doorway and kneeled in front of Lou. His hand was leaning against the side of the building, tapping. Lou still didn't look up. Nolan pulled out his phone and hit the record. "One more time, Lou, please?"

Tap-Tap-Tap...Tap...Tap-Tap...Tap-Tap-Tap-Tap

The message was translated on the phone. Nolan had first heard the organized tapping a few days ago when Lou was aware of his vigil. It initially sounded like a song that Lou was tapping to the beat of, but the repetition of the taps didn't follow along to a song. It was morse code. Nolan didn't know how or when Lou had learned the cryptic language, but the translator on his phone helped them communicate. Nolan read the result:

Stay.

Just to be sure. "You want me to stay?"

A second of silence.

Tap-Tap-Tap-Tap...Tap...Tap-Tap-Tap

Nolan knew that one due to their limited "conversations" between the door. It was 'yes'.

"Okay," Nolan kept his voice soft. "Give me a minute to get them to leave." He stood and leaned out of the doorway. The others were waiting for him. "You guys go on. He wants me to stay."

"He talked to you?" Ox's ears perked up in hope.

"Sorta kinda," Nolan teetered his head with a short glance to Lou in the corner. "I'll text when I'm headed back into town. It might be a while, though, so don't wait up on me."

They hesitated to move, especially Ox. It took some coaxing from Mandy to get him to relent and walk away. Nolan didn't move from the doorway until they had walked far enough from the shed. Satisfied, he closed the door and immersed the shed back into an opaque darkness. He silently sat next to Lou in the same position he'd been in outside. No words were spoken.

[aclosetfan]

Heyyyyy, how are you doing? I hope you are doing well and life gets better and better with each day for you. just saw your post with your H/Cs about the girls. I was wondering if you have some of the boys too?? Maybe something you haven't mentioned before, and/or would be unexpected to some fans.

Btw, you are probably my favourite writer in the fandom. I usually don't re-read fics but Until Do Us Apart has my heart, ksjdhhdgghj. You can't imagine how much I cried when I first read it 😭 When I find it, I will definitely read it again (when I have free time).

Bro ngl, forgot i wrote that (AGAIN), re-read it, and after i got past all the typos i missed and fell into the story, i was like WHAT!? I couldn't have written that! Like who?? Me?? That was too sad. too heartbreaking. I hate it. I want five more stories just like it. thnxs!!

here's the link so everyone can be sad too :) just ignore all the fucking typos

lmao anywayyy! Three h/cs for our fave boys. I've forgotten what i have and have not mentioned, so if these are just repeats, sorry in advance. Like with the girls, my headcanons don't vary often! Once I've characterized them, they're pretty much characterized lolol

Brick:

On paper, he's not a good leader. He's condescending, bossy, lazy, and the biggest asshole, but where Blossom needs a plan for everything, Brick is quick on his feet and doesn't mind Boomer and Butch straying from the plan. He doesn't direct every action, and because he's better at taking shit in stride, his brothers are also better at acting independently. By contrast, Bubbles and Buttercup are well-trained and don't act until directed, which drives Brick up a wall. He's definitely an "I told you what needs to be done, so figure it out already" macro-manager.

Boy band/girly pop junkie, but he'll go to the grave before anyone finds out, except everyone knows. He's bad at hiding it. He claims all the k-pop shirts he owns were bought as a joke, but his spotify is linked to Butch and Boomer's, and they know how big of a swiftie he is. (or like in-universe equivalent lol)

He's depression barbie all the way, which isn't a new h/c I just want to reiterate that mentally he's not doing well and is a gremlin about it. His brothers routinely remind him that he does, in fact, have to drink water.

Butch:

If not for him, his brothers would have killed each other by now. He's not any more responsible than the other two, but he is a grounding figure. He has, overall, earth-sign-middle-sibling energy. He's the one who remembers to take out the trash, not because he wants to take out the trash, but because the trash just needs to be taken out, and he's standing there anyway. This headcanon is actually hard for me to convey with words. Basically, he's the one keeping the trio together. Good second-in-command guy.

Sure, Brick broods and Boomer whines, but Butch is the brother staying up at night yearning for something a little bit more than the life they've got. I think he'd be the brother most easily persuaded to "go good," not Boomer like I've seen. He likes his reputation as the big tough monster of the trio, but a small part of him knows it's all just a front and that he'd like to be respected as a person. With that in mind, it's easy to see how he could be angry angry angry. He's stuck, he wants more, he's doing what he's made to do, he loves his brothers, he wants to leave them, he feels directionless, lost - - - might as well workout to distract himself, maybe start a fight.

planes, trains, and automobiles bbbyyyyyyyyy. Autism be damned, my boy can work an engine (both real and of the model variety)

Boomer:

i feel like i've already said everything I've got on this kid haha, but I don't think I've mentioned that, like Bubbles, he's good with small creatures, but where she focuses on the cute ones, he's obsessed with rabid raccoons and fucked up looking opossums. He has an opossum hidden in his bedroom named Trashcan. Also very interested in Bugs(tm).

Went through an "emo" phase, except he was a total poser about it, which caused considerable tension between him and Brick (goth boy extraordinaire), and wore bad eyeliner. Then, immediately after, went through a surfer boy phase, then a cowboy phase, and then a, well . . . basically, Boomer's always trying to find himself because he doesn't think Himself is good enough (he hasn't had his Kenough moment yet), and is desperately seeking other peoples approval.

Boomer may not know who he is quite yet, but to his brothers, he is crinkly-eyed smiles, breezy laughs, warm hugs, and cold hands with an innate ability to make them feel like they're people worth loving. He may not like it, but he's the baby brother through and through.