#the chests are the same graphic as 30 years ago!!!!!

[bokettochild]

I found the dungeon from ALTTP in EoW!!!!!!

In ALTTP there is a dungeon in the desert that I recall you need to Book of Mudora to open, and there's this little platform where you do so in front of the dungeon, with a very particular turn of rock nearby that I always used to avoid the geldmen.

Anyways, I was wandering the desert in EoW, and I found the same turn of rock, and just as I was beginning to smile about that, thinking "i know this! this is familiar! like home in a weird way!!!" THE FREAKING PLATFORM appeared too, and then? The three heads that signal the door to the dungeon in ALTTP! The middle of which, as everyone knows, being the entrance to a dungeon!!!

So, EoW Downfall Timeline confirmation I guess?

*Ketto happy noises*

[jamdoughnutmagician]

Teenage Dreams (13 going on 30 AU) - part 3

Eddie Munson x reader

<- previous part Next Part ->

Word Count:1,943

SERIES MASTERLIST

Masterlist // Eddie Munson Masterlist

*dividers by @saradika-graphics

As you walk in, you see his old red and black electric guitar leaned up against the couch. The same guitar he’d always played, the same guitar he’d play when he performed at the school’s talent show, always dreaming of him and his band making a name for themselves, wanting to be something bigger.

“You still play guitar?” 

“Yeah, never stopped, really.” he nods, running a hand through his tangled curls.

“And are Corroded Coffin still together?”

“We never made it big like we dreamed, but the boys and I still play together sometimes, it’s just hard, y’know, we’ve all got lives outside of making music. We still play the odd small gig when we can, though. It’s nice to have that little bit of extra money on hand when days at the garage aren’t as lucrative.” he explains. “Anyway, enough about me, what about you, huh? What are you doing here?”

“Eddie, something really weird is happening to me, and I didn’t know who else to go to.”

“Go on.” he says, giving you the space to explain yourself.

“It’s like, yesterday it was my thirteenth birthday, and now I’m this.” you say, gesturing to yourself. “..and you..I mean look at you, you look so different! Do you see what I’m saying?”

Eddie shakes his head, squinting his eyes at you unsurely.

“Are you high or something? Like have you been smoking weed? Special K? Ecstasy? Are you doing drugs?” 

“What? No. No, not at all!” you quickly reassure him before taking a breath to calm down. “It feels like one moment I was there, in my parents home, sitting in the closet, and now I’m here and I just skipped forward in my life. It’s like a weird dream. I can’t remember anything about being a teenager, or even being in my twenties for that matter, I don’t remember my life at all. You need to help me remember my life, Eddie.”

“You need me to help you? I don’t think I can do that.” he says with a shake of his head.

“Why not?” you ask, the threat of tears beginning to bubble in your eyes. If Eddie couldn’t help, then what hope was there for you? Perhaps you were going to be stuck like this forever.

“I don’t know anything about you, alright? We haven’t seen each other since freshman year of high school.”

“What?” you gasp softly.

“We’re not friends anymore, you grew up and moved on.”

“But you were my best friend, Eddie.”

“But that’s just the thing, isn’t it? ‘Were’. We were kids, but we both grew up and got on with our separate lives. We’re different people now.” 

You take a step back, the room suddenly feeling like it was closing in on you. A tight pain hinges in your chest and your breathing gets quicker. Each breath is more shallow than the last as you fight for air.

“Hey, hey, hey..” Eddie shushes in that reassuring voice. “Here take a seat, I’ll open up a window and get you something to drink.”

You plump back down on the couch, trying your best to let your breathing return to a normal rate, as Eddie comes back into the room to hand you a cool glass of water. You take a few sips, as Eddie speaks up again.

“I think you should go back to your own apartment.” he says softly. “C’mon, I’ll even walk with you if you want.”

“Y’know, it’s not a bad thing, you went off to a big fancy college, we started working different jobs, we just drifted apart.” Eddie said, as he crossed the street with you.

“But what about Christmas? Didn’t you ever think to come see me then? Send a card?”

“I think I saw you through a frosted window of some bar once like six years ago. It looked like you were at some kind of fancy Christmas party. Didn’t think it was my place to suddenly barge back into your life like that.”

You give him a short sigh as a way of a reply.

“Well I guess this is me then.” you say, stopping outside your apartment building.

“Okay then, well it was nice seeing you.” he smiles, giving you a soft one armed hug before pulling away.

“It was nice seeing you too, Eddie.”

“Well, alright then, Bye.” he waves you off with a small two-fingered salute.

“Bye.” you smile as you watch him walk away, although something doesn’t want you to let him leave, and before you know it you’re calling out to him once more. “Hey, Eddie..Do you wanna..maybe, come up to my apartment for a little bit?”

He turns back around at the sound of your voice calling out to him and he once again flashes you that cheeky, boyish smile.

His eyes flick down to his watch, checking the time, before looking back to you. “Okay then, I don’t really have anywhere else to be anyway right now.”

 “Oh look! It’s the most depressing years of my life all compressed down into one handy-dandy school yearbook.” Eddie laughed sarcastically as you spread open the pages to look at all the pictures. Your finger lingering over a picture of you hanging out with Nancy and her clique.

“Oh, yeah, you spent a lot of time with those girls.” Eddie told you, as he looked over your shoulder to see what you were looking at. “At one point, I think you were like their leader or something.”

Your eyes scan over a picture of a much younger Nancy Wheeler, bright eyes and bouncy curls, arms slung around your shoulders to pull you close.

“Oh yeah, last I heard, you and ‘Fancy Nancy’ were still really good friends. I think she works with you, yeah?”

“Yeah, she does, but she just seems so different now, I guess.”

“Botox will do that to you.” Eddie snickers from over your shoulder.

You turn over the yearbook’s page and there you are, in a poofy purple dress, with your hair teased up to the maximum in curly updo and styled with a glittering tiara.

“I was the prom queen! And I went with Steve Harrington?” You giggle when you see Steve standing next to you in the picture, his arm snaking around your waist and a matching purple flower corsage pinned through his suit's button-hole. His gloriously coiffed mane of hair rivalling your own.

“Yup, you two were the King and Queen of Hawkins’ high if I remember correctly.” Eddie huffs.

“I can’t believe it, I got everything I ever wanted.”

“Yeah, you got it all, congratulations.” Eddie mutters under his breath as he walks away from you.

You’re interrupted from flicking through your highschool yearbook photos by your phone ringing.

“Uh, your purse is ringing, I think you might wanna answer it.” Eddie laughs softly pointing to where you had left your bag on the coffee table in his living room.

You fish out your phone from your purse and answer it immediately.

“Hello?” you answer.

“Hi, we were just calling to confirm your limousine pickup for 8.30 this evening?” asks the voice on the other end of the phone line.

Limousine? Suddenly your life just got a whole lot fancier.

“Yes, my limousine pickup, I will be prepared to take my ride at that time.” you agree. “Would you mind telling me where it is that I’m going?”

“ Of course, ma’am. It’s The Palace, on 23 Ivory Street.” comes the response.

“Okay, thank you very much.” and with that you calmly end the call before buzzing with excitement. “I’M GOING TO A PARTY IN A LIMO!!!”

“That’s wonderful, looks like you’re back to your old self now, huh?” Eddie nods. “I should probably get going.”

“You don’t want to go to the party with me?” 

“I doubt it’s going to be my scene, besides I’ve got to get back to work.

“Well if you have a change of heart, and decide you want to come then it’s at The Palace on 23 Ivory street.” you smile at him. “It’s going to be fun.”

“I’ll keep it in mind, y/n.” Eddie nods as he makes his way to your front door to let himself out of your apartment.

“Eddie, wait a minute!” you call out to him, just as he was leaving. “What if this isn’t just a dream? What if what I wished for actually came true?”

He rubs a reassuring hand on your shoulder.

“Well then, you got everything that you could have ever wanted. Might as well enjoy it.” and with that Eddie makes his way through the door and down the hallway.

“Eddie! See you later, alligator!” you call down the hallway.

He smirks back at you one last time.

“In a while, crocodile.”

Up-beat pop music filters through your apartment as you take your time to get ready for the party, wearing a soft pink satin dressing gown, with your hair set in rollers. Sitting in front of your vanity mirror, you apply a swipe of bright shimmering eye shadow to your eyes, and glossy pink lipstick to your lips, swirling a big powder brush into a peachy blush and dusting it over your cheeks with a bright smile.

You dance your way over to your walk-in closet, your eyes raking over all of the shoes on the shoe rack, looking at all of your clothes, trying to decide which dress is going to be the perfect dress to wear to the party. And then you see it, there on the hanger. The skirts a twirling swish of bright colours, the perfect dress to dance the night away.

You throw the dress on, and pull the rollers from your hair before ruffling it and teasing it into an updo. Bejeweling yourself in all of your favourite pieces of jewellery, a butterfly pendant necklace around your neck and glitzy earrings dangling from your ears. Looking in the mirror to swipe a final layer of lip gloss over your lips, and spritz yourself with a few dabs of fruity perfume you were ready for the party.

You make your way out of your apartment and down the hall, accidentally bumping into a young girl as you totter around in your heels.

“I’m so sorry, I totally didn’t mean to crash into you like that.” you apologise. “I’m y/n, by the way.”

“Yeah, I know.” The young girl answers. “I’m Stacy. We’re neighbours.”

“How old are you Stacy?” 

“I’m thirteen.”

“I’m thirteen..uh I mean.. I used to be thirteen.” you quickly correct yourself.

Stacy rolls her eyes at you.

“Why are you even talking to me anyway, you usually ignore me.” Stacy grumbles.

“Well today’s a new day, things change.” you smile at her. “I like your shoes.” you compliment her. Stacy reminded you a lot of your younger self. Quietly unsure of herself and a little bit shy. You give her a warm smile and a few kind words, because it’s only what you would have wanted someone to do for you when you were in her position.

“I like your dress.” she smiles back.

“Thanks! It’s because I’ve got these amazing boobs to fill it out!” you beam brightly.

Stacy and you share a quiet giggle in the hallway. 

“I like your bag too.” Stacy says.

“You’re more than welcome to drop by anytime, I’ve got a bajillion bags anway, just pick out something you want!”

“Really?!”

“For sure, it could be totally cool!�� you give her a quick hug before running off. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a party to get to!”

@paybacksawitch @penguinsandpotterheads @ali-r3n @aphrogeneias @eddiesxangel

@mrsjellymunson @munsonology @onegirlmanytales @xxbimbobunnyxx @nailbatanddungeon @optimisticallygarbage

[karenarella22]

Third.

This chapter contains Graphic Content, read at your own risk.

***

- The victim's name was Joshua Moore, we found the ID in the car parked on the side of the road- I turn up the collar of my jacket until it partially covers my cheeks, the starry night is beyond cold as the winter blizzards collided with full force in the town.

-Any clues as to how he got in there? - He pointed the flashlight at the mud puddle where the victim was buried.

-Apparently he was buried alive- intervenes Misael, who had not been seen behind the victim- his nails are broken, which would indicate signs of struggle- he walks around the body.

-He is an obese person, 125 kilograms at least, a single person definitely cannot do this, much less bury him after the physical wear and tear of moving him-

-Someone of the same size, or that they had drugged him in some way, of course with a lower dose since he has signs of struggle, if they drugged him and at some point on the way here he woke up, that would explain the broken nails- corresponds the doctor .

-Joshua! - A woman in her 30s bursts into the scene running directly towards the corpse, I quickly get in her way and hold her by the waist while she tries to reach the deceased.

-Miss please calm down- I hold he away.

-No, oh god no! - don't call god, I think to myself, apparently he took vacations in this town. I help her get to a patrol car by sitting her in the passenger seat, I put a blanket over her since she is not dressed for this weather and I hand her something warm to calm her down.

-What's your name? - I see her drink the liquid from the cup and I refill the mug one more time.

-I'm Catherine, Joshua's girlfriend- she says between sobs.

-Well Catherine, when was the last time you saw Joshua? - I bend on my knees right in front of her.

-Two nights ago, last Saturday leaving the house, I went to church like every Saturday afternoon- I give her a tissue.

-Could you give me the name of the church please?-

-Yes, it is the San Bernardino church; his mother was very Catholic and instilled religion in him since he was little-she cleans her nose.

-How long have you been going to that church? - far way I can see the news reporters trying to get to the scene.

-5 years ago more or less when I arrived to town-

-One last question, did you notice something off in Joshua's behavior the last days you saw him?-

-Not really, well maybe... as you must have realized he was morbidly obese, on Thursday he took out food without paying from a store; he felt bad with himself and waited until Saturday to go to confession with Father Mario-

-Thank you very much, miss- I leave her in the care of an officer who will take her home- Dylan- I draw the attention of my partner who checks that there is no evidence left without photographing and classifying while the forensic examiners lift the victim's body and upload it to the pathologist's van.

-Aeryne, look at this- he takes out his phone and shows me a picture- we find another line this one is written on his chest, they made it with something sharp, probably a razor or knife of some kind-

"...except for the eternity, I last eternally..."

I read out loud.

-We should talk to the father, he will know what these writings are about- we get into the patrol car and I drive back to the police station. The road passes in silence, after the kiss we don't talk about each other, we just get up from the sofa and leave in a hurry. I return to work, what cannot be denied are the furtive glances that we give each other from time to time and that kiss that we can stop thinking about.

-We're here- cut the silence formed in the environment once we got off the patrol car and entered the police station towards the cells.

-Good night detectives, apparently they are not going to let you rest, the boxes seized from the church have arrived- he points to piles of boxes on the table- I think you won't be able to go home just yet-

-Apparently not sir- Dylan answers sarcastically to which I giggle, he was annoyed that they cut off our inspiration in a kiss as delicious as the one we were sharing and I must say that I am too. I take a seat in front of the table and begin to open the boxes; we go through boxes of papers and official church books.

After at least three cups of coffee and a dozen reviewed books I managed to get some positive results.

-Look here-I hand him the book where he had written down some names- Here are the special mentions that the father gives at the end of the mass, look at these names and why they were named-

-Marta Winston, for making an important donation to the church, the following week, Christopher Graham and Elizabeth Morgan, for making contributions to the community-

- I don't understand, everything seems normal to me- I roll my eyes.

-Read the names again-I urge.

-Marta Winston, Diana's mother, our first victim, declared with our officers that the flower shop was not in the best economic moment- I placed in front of him the family's account statements that corroborate this idea- I was investigating the family last night to find out a little more about his customs, Aaron's boss, according to social media posts, is a parishioner of the Santa Marta church on the outskirts of the city and I did not find any connection with this church- check the files.

-If you put it that way, what about Elizabeth Morgan? - I look for the woman's file.

-She married her husband in the Santa Isabel church, which she attends every Sunday since her brother is the parish priest there, Dylan I think they are involved, we just have to find the connection at the crime scenes- I carefully observe him lying on the back of his chair, he places his hands behind his head, thinking carefully about what I just said.

-I will not argue that I would love to know what the sudden change was about, but we cannot accuse Marta of the murder of her own daughter without evidence-he adjusts the holster of the weapon on his waist in what fits in the chair.

-I know, but now we can further investigate the families and they won't realize why-

-Aeryne, the lack of sleep is affecting you, think about it, now that Father Mario is detained they will be more alert than ever-

-Let's investigate the whereabouts of the relatives on the day of the murder- I take the computer and start with the basics, social networks are the perfect GPS to know where people are during the day, very few refrain from posting a photo.

3:45 am It has been at least 2 hours since we started investigating the families of the murdered, my eyes are devastated from so much effort but even so I continue reclining in my chair in front of the computer checking the security tapes of Diana Winston's flower shop that very kindly, note the sarcasm, Marta sent us after sending the kidnapping order for them.

My colleague already asleep on the desk commented on some strange situations between mother and daughter that the victim's employees declared and that I would like to see with my own eyes. The days go by and you see the two women working without major problems, with little dialogue to tell the truth, but not every mother should have a very fluid relationship with her daughters, there is something in the videos that bothers me, the poor quality of the camera does not allow the background audio to be recorded, but Marta's reaction to some of her daughter's comments gives me the chills. I fast-forward two days before the murder until I see him walk in the front door.

- Dylan! Wake up, look at this- I move it without delicacy until he decides to open his eyes- Shit, move and look at this! - I turn the computer pointing to the male figure in the image.

-What's wrong? - he says yawning.

-Sometimes I don't know if you're stupid or your mom threw you to the ground when you were little- look who he is, Conte was there, take a good look at him- I point to the computer again.

-And that Aeryne could have been him just buying some flowers- he speaks trying to recover his composure.

-Look at the mother, her body language have changed, she is completely tense and even clumsy- I refute pointing out her inconvenience in holding a simple pair of scissors firmly.

-This is still ambiguous evidence, we can't get anything if we present this to the DA- I growl taking the phone and doing a quick search.

-There are 17 flower shops between the newspaper and Diana's flower shop- I comment looking at google maps.

-Aeryne, are you sure what you're thinking?-

-Very sure, please trust me- I practically beg.

-Okay, let's talk to the boss- he takes the video and we walk at a step to go to the sergeant's office.

[romeo-golf]

Another Day of Growth

He's sitting at his desk shirtless, in a tight fitting pair of "gym" shorts which haven't seen any more exercise use than regular shuffles to the kitchen. Since moving to home-working he's found it easier to snack undistracted and his weight has skyrocketed over the last two years. An already chunky 190 in early 2020, his last weigh-in was a solid 376; a number he knew was outrageously overweight for a man barely 5'9 on a good day.

He'd tucked his left hand under his overhang while scrolling through the day's emails with his right and reached the end of his inbox just as the microwave beeped with his breakfast.

After adding an embarrassingly large quantity of Nutella to his oatmeal he flopped back into the creaking desk chair, armrests tickling his love-handles, and balanced the warm bowl on the top of his rotund gut. Reaching forward to the desk had long become an uncomfortable position to eat in and the benefit of such a ball-gut was an easy-to-reach lap tray for all manner of snacks.

A mirror on the wall to his right was perfectly placed for him to watch himself eat. Around 100lbs ago, which didn't feel like very long, he realised how enjoyable it was to admire his body while he was growing it. In the same way a gym rat poses between sets in the mirror, he took deep pleasure in watching himself gorge.

As he took a spoonful he watched the rolls under his chest stretch and sink, merging with the one below them which ran under his arm, and then a final huge slab of side-gut which spread down to a good half-inch below his waistband, swallowing it whole. He was beautiful, a beauty which made him hungrier and encouraged him to eat quicker, packing in the full triple-serving before his body could tell him he was full.

He quickly searched online for a BMI calculator and fingered in his height and weight. Pressing enter he got a rush from watching the arrow graphic slide up the scale, stopping right at the very end. The scale only went a few pixels past 35 but the number 55.7 displayed at the top in bold letters, closely followed by the line "your result suggests you are obese". His heart pounded with horny adrenaline; An indescribable thrill. His next goal was a BMI of 56 before the weekend was out.

**

At 11:45 his phone vibrated; "Reminder: Lunch 1230". Once upon a time that was both a timestamp and a calorie target, but these days that would just be a snack. He opened a second tab on his browser and went to the paid-content page he ran, logging in to check the account balance and withdrawing enough for lunch. He'd always been surprised at the number of people willing to throw money his way for photos and video clips, things he'd happily give away for free to the guys he liked, but it certainly helped cover the costs of his appetite.

A few clicks later and the cash he'd withdrawn was already on its way to Dominos for his increasingly frequent lunch order of a large pizza, 2331 calories, and a tub of ice cream, 1390 calories. He knew in less than 30 minutes he'd be be tucking in to another fattening feast and sent a screenshot of his order to one of the guys whose encouragement, and teasing, he enjoyed.

The shocked-face emoji and mild insult which came back almost immediately made him chuckle and he took a photo in the mirror next to the desk to give a quick visual. The next reply was instantly x-rated; he loved how much his body turned this little feeder on and highlighted the contrast between them.

As a matter of routine he took a large bath towel out the cupboard and lay it on the living room floor. When he was in this kind of mood things could quickly get messy.

The doorbell rang and he answered it as he'd been all day; shirtless and fat. The way the delivery driver struggled to keep their eyes on his face made the endorphins dance in his head and he made a forced joke about the ice cream melting in the hot weather just to give himself and excuse to laugh and make his body jiggle in this semi-public situation. He was proud of his size and showing it off like this was both empowering and erotic. Every time he did it his confidence grew and with it his lust for more.

Settling down on the towel he enjoyed every bite of the pizza, not forgetting to take a few photos and send them to a few encouragers, knowing their responses would keep him entertained while he gorged himself. Predictably, one replied with the calorie content of his meal and he pretended to be shocked while also feeling a thrill at being reminded that his lunch was almost twice the recommended in take for a man with a sedentary lifestyle.

The last few slices were harder to finish, his body starting to tell him he was full. He loaded Grommr and quickly browsed the recently uploaded photos to try and find a man bigger than him. He wasn't attracted to big guys, but scrolling their photos gave the most fantastic inspiration.

He found a photo of a near-500lb behemoth and closed his eyes, imagining himself growing to that same size as he pushed the final slices in, letting his other hand caress his stuffed body, spreading his legs a little wider and feeling the end of his dick start poking into his waistband as it joined the party. He smiled to himself and remembered how ridiculously perverse this kink was, how wild it is that eating and becoming grotesquely overweight could be so erotic; The thought just turned him on further and he finished the last few bits of the pizza while grabbing his erection through his shorts.

He took a few moments to breath, slurping down large mouthfuls Pepsi and let out an earth-rattling belch, easing a little pressure at the top of his belly. He'd left the ice cream on the kitchen counter to soften and he was hoping it was now liquid enough to pour into a glass. With a deep breath he heaved himself forward onto all fours, briefly enjoying the sensation of his gut being tickled by the towel beneath him, before grunting involuntarily and raising himself to his feet.

**

He poured the ice cream into a measuring jug and took a heavy mouthful, leaving a thick white moustache on his top lip. The liquid was sweet but refreshing in the heat and he took another gulp while holding the thought in his mind of where each of those calories were going to stick on his body.

Settling down at his desk again for an afternoon of feigned productivity he finished the whole 1400 calorie drink long before 4pm, tipping the jug back to get every last drop from the bottom. At this point he felt enormous and found his libido pushing him back to browse the Grommr newsfeed every few minutes.

In the mood for a little attention he snapped another photo in the mirror, taking care to leave the empty pizza box and opened ice cream carton visible in the background and gently stroked his gut while typing a witty caption.

It wasn't long before he found himself in a friendly back-and-forth with a slimmer guy who seemed just as obsessed with gluttony as him. Every teasing reply, an insult laced with eroticism, made his heart beat harder and it wasn't long before he realised he'd been chatting away for two hours and a thick wet patch of precum was starting to drip through his shorts…

**

T.B.C.

[scintillasofbeomgyu]

winter in itaewon || Choi Beomgyu

Pairing: Choi Beomgyu x gamer!fem!reader

Genre/s: Fluff; Angst; Humor (if you squint)

Word count: 5,0k

Warning/s: it is implied that reader was subject to violence (once); although it says the reader is a gamer, there are not that many references towards to actual gaming lmao; this was proofread like once (😭)

Hyunjin and Jeongin take Beomgyu out to the PC Room in Itaewon for his birthday; a year after their last visit. As he reminisces the events of the year before, every corner of his mind is revisited by her — as if he were capable of forgetting her anyway.

a/n: happy beomgyu day!!💞 the inspiration to write this hit me in the middle of the night, coming from these kickass headcannons by sumi, and it's completely different to the initial idea i shared with amie sksjsjs alsothislowkeysucks. nevertheless, i hope you all enjoy!!

12 March 2021, 23:30

Despite being embraced by his thick padded coat, the freezing air still managed to disrupt the warmth in annoying, sharp gusts every time the wind blew. Itaewon was always more alive while the rest of Seoul slept soundly, and tonight was no exception. The streets were aglow with the lambent signage of the many stalls and establishments which lined it’s pavements, and were filled with clusters of people who either visited the stores, window-shopped or were simply enjoying the night-life.

Beomgyu wasn’t very enthusiastic about joining Hyunjin and Jeongin when they had initially posed the idea. He’d been spending much of his time in the studio and practice room, so the plan was to get some sleep when he had some free time. His conscience eventually got the better of him, though – he hadn’t been able to meet up with his friends in months due to work and the pandemic, and his scheduled birthday live thwarted the possibility of holding it off until the following day.

“Are you good?” Jeongin asked, pulling Beomgyu out of his thoughts, arching a brow at his dazed friend. He noticed that he had been lagging behind the two of them, and that their features were now etched with concern. Beomgyu pushed the bangs out of his face before waving them off, mumbling that he’s okay.

There was a look in their eyes that Beomgyu couldn’t quite decipher, but pushed it off as nothing when Jeongin draped an arm over his shoulder and lead him further down the street. His feet stopped squarely when they made it to the PC Room, cementing themselves before the front door. Jeongin looked at Beomgyu and smiled.

“Are you coming in?”

It wasn’t that Beomgyu didn’t want to respond, he simply couldn’t. Sure, it may have seemed like a trivial thing to answer, the words just wouldn’t formulate coherent sentences – his mind didn’t have the capacity to make them. Her. That was the only thing it could manifest. Her. 

The pressure of a years-worth of his bottled emotions had finally blew it’s top – thoughts, images and memories which had been ingrained into his subconscious coming forth to hit him like a train.

“We’ll wait for you inside, then.”

31 December 2019, 22:00

Laughter ringing through the air, Hyunjin, Jeongin and Beomgyu pushed open the door to the PC Room. Beomgyu stopped at the door while the other two signed in, arms rubbing away the remnants of snow on the arms of his black coat. Removing his mask, he smiled into the warmth of the heated building. Their schedules after debut had left no space for any recreation, so it was liberating to spend New Years Eve with his friends, doing what he does best.

“Ready to have your butts kicked?” Beomgyu cackled, with his whole chest, as they took their seats next to one another in the isle, earning him much-deserved glares. As soon as he’s logged on and the headset is donned however, his usually playful demeanour is replaced by one of a much calmer nature – studying the map, observing enemy tactics and carefully directing his support as his fingers glide skilfully across the keyboard.

Hyunjin groaned after the umpteenth attempt to beat him, dropping the headset onto the desk as Jeongin whined into his hands. A smirk rolled onto Beomgyu’s lips as he leaned back into the swivel chair, flashing his brows at them. “I refuse to believe this is possible, it’s got to be rigged!”

“Ah, after all this time I’ve still got it,” Beomgyu retorted, chuffed with himself for doing as well as he knew he would. Hyunjin rolled his eyes. “I mean, I wouldn’t be surprised if I ranked first with the amount of times I kicked ass on this server.”

Jeongin, who had taken it upon himself to do the fact-checking, smirked at the screen before calling the two of them over. “Actually–”

Beomgyu screamed in frustration, tossing the headset onto the desk before pushing against it, sending him flying across the floor in the chair. No matter how hard he tried, no matter the strategy he just couldn’t beat the player in first place. The commotion startled the other two, who had fallen asleep waiting for Beomgyu to finish up, the satisfaction of witnessing his losses long past.

“Just one more game, I swear!” he whined as they dragged him away from the PC screen.

Hyunjin seethed, “that’s what you said three hours ago! No, we’re leaving. Jeongin’s parents have been waiting up for us.”

Beomgyu huffed at the front counter. While the older took care of the bill, he found that the room was completely empty – almost. The light emanating from a desk directly across from where he stood, lit up the face of a young-looking girl. She seemed to be in high school (that’s what the uniform she wore indicated atleast) and the big, round, metal-framed glasses settled on the bridge of her nose, mirrored the computer screen. The sight pacified Beomgyu, for a reason he couldn’t quite explain, a smile stretching across his face.

He sauntered closer, eyes searching around for nothing in particular, trying not to look like a creep as he approached you. His smile only grew when he found her eyebrows knitted together, teeth biting down on her bottom lip in concentration. And then he saw it. The graphics reflecting from her glasses seeming all to familiar to him, he rushed around the desk, eyes darting to the top corner of the screen.

ID: winter996

12 January 2020, 22:30

Beomgyu’s foot tapped impatiently as he waited at the desk closest to the entrance, checking his watch every few minutes, before running a frustrated hand through his soft silvery locks. He had finally gotten the chance to visit the PC room again, most of his time having gone into practice and rehearsals for award show season, and he wasn’t leaving until he saw you again.

He ran out of the practice room as soon as he heard that they would have the following day off; he was exhausted and had been waiting for almost two hours – but he refused to leave until he saw you again.

The owner noticed the boy sitting at the desk he usually reserved for you, lips curling at the sight of the fidgety youth. He had visited on three prior occasions; once with his friends, and the remaining times himself, sitting in exactly the same spot he was now sitting. Instead of chasing him away as he did everyone else, he simply waited to see how this turn of events would unfold.

You pushed open the glass doors with a huff, adjusting the strap of your backpack on your shoulder before blowing the stray hairs from your face. Keeping your eyes fixed on the ground beneath you, you nod to the owner and he returns the gesture with a smile, although he knows you won’t see it.

Beomgyu, who had almost surrendered himself to the fatigue, sat up straight when you pulled back the chair next to him. He watched as you scrunched up your nose in attempt to push your glasses up the bridge of your nose before putting the headset on, and chuckled softly.

He watched in awe as you cleared level after level, climbing the ranks as you went along, with seemingly no effort whatsoever. You kept the mic off and communicated with your group though the chat, which was probably why he never realised you were a girl. Your strategy seemed way too complex for him to understand, and his amazement never faltered for even a second, as you dominated each and every position you played.

It was a little over an hour before you decided to take a break, wondering where the owner was since he usually brought your snacks around that time. Pushing the headset around your neck, you stretched upward to see where he was, only to find yourself roughly pushed back down and turned toward a strange boy whom you’ve never seen before.

His eyes, sparkling with absolute wonder, coaxed your surprise and made your heart race with a feeling as unfamiliar as he was.

“You have to tell me how you do that! Teach me, please, Winter996!”

25 January 2020, 22:30

“Aren’t you supposed to be at practice?” you voice rang from the speaker of Beomgyu’s phone. He never questioned your reasons for not turning your mic on during the game, but insisted that you speak directly to him instead. “On your left, be careful.”

“I know, I see them. And yes, but I have some time before the next session starts.” After much pestering, about something having to do with ‘senseis’ and ‘disciples’, you agreed to let Beomgyu play with you. He was rather beside himself when you told him you never really used any strategy, though; you ‘just did what felt right’.

An adorable smile had tugged at your lips during his three hundred-and-fifty paged slideshow about the importance of strategy and observation, one he would not soon forget.

“You could just wait until Itaewon.”

“Is it my fault you only go when your rank drops?”

Soobin’s dark head of hair popped into the studio, and he glared upon finding Beomgyu tapping away at his laptop on the sofa. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you! The break as been over ages ago–”

“(Y/n), (Y/n), go, go! I’ll cover you!”

“Beomgyu, I think–”

“You’re playing again?! With a girl?!”

5 February 2020, 22:00

You’re quieter than usual and Beomgyu noticed right away. Over the phone, you never had any qualms in conversating with him– when you were playing the game, atleast. The thought that it was because of him does cross his mind, but he catches the frown you’re desperately trying to hide, by biting the inside of your cheek.

A thick scarf is wrapped around your neck, your chin buried into the red woolly folds, and your hair frames your face,  but he sees the light swelling on the side of your face and around your eyes that you’re trying to hide. The feeling in the pit of his stomach makes his nails press crescents into the palms of his hands, but he fights the urge to ask.

“Beomgyu! What are you doing! They’re coming!” you yell, pulling him back to reality, hearing the sound of your voice at long last calming him a tad.

“Right, sorry.”

You played together straight through into the early hours of the morning, sharing victory after victory, with him right by your side. You froze up when he instinctively pulled you into a hug upon your last win, gulping as he slowly removed his arms, laughing it off as his adrenaline high peaked higher.

The van’s horn blared outside, catching you both off guard. Beomgyu quickly grabbed his coat before making his way back up the way he came, but paused before he opened the door. Craning his head back to look at you once more, he smiled.

“I’ll text you later.”

12 February 2020, 23:30

Beomgyu’s hands move quickly across the controls, your voice shouting orders to him through the headset as the current game hit it’s climax. Playing with Beomgyu all the time had made you a lot more comfortable with engaging with the other members of your group, so although you were still pretty anxious at first, you made the decision to turn on your mic.

“We did it!” Beomgyu cheered as your team cleared yet another level.

Gaming was something mundane to you and winning was easy; but sneaking out to the PC Room from time to time helped alleviate the pressures of your personal life. The life which you would rather die than share with Beomgyu. But after being swayed by his nonsensical attempts at convincing you, logging onto the server had become your favorite thing to do.

Every victory felt extraordinary when shared with him, and you could have sworn that at that very moment, you could see the way the ends of his eyes creased as the edges of his lips pushed up his cheeks. The way his arms would be stretched up in happiness, as his intoxicating laugher filled the air.

On the other end, Beomgyu leaned back into his desk chair, smiling into the darkness, envisioning the way you’d be pretending it was no big deal whilst your eyes sparkled with happiness and a smile dug into your rosey cheeks.

“Hey, (Y/n)?”

You hummed into the mic, your head rested on the desk and your eyes closed, just listening to his voice, savoring every second of it.

“Do you...have a Valentine or something?”

14 February 2020, 18:00

From the moment the car pulled up down the street, Beomgyu was unable to take his eyes off from you. His eyes travelled up from the scuffed white sneakers which tapped against the pavement nervously, to the washed out jeans, to the oversized cardigan, which bunched up around the wrists of your hands, which shifted between nervously tucking your hair behind your ears, to pushing your glasses up the bridge of your nose, to straightening out your outfit.

You were going to be the death of him.

He hurried toward you as soon as he saw you shiver. The sound of his soles against the wet concrete caught your attention and you turned in his direction, the look in your eyes nearly resulting in a fatal blow – the way they bewitched nearly had him hitting his head against the sidewalk.

Your hands tightened around the strap of the bag slung around your shoulder as you watched the dark-haired boy make his way down the street to you, a stupidly giddy-looking expression plastered across his face. You couldn’t stop yourself from feeling the way you did about Beomgyu – even though you knew you shouldn’t.

You were never really interested in fan culture, but some of the girls in your cram school were very invested. When you heard them gushing about a group called ‘Tomorrow X Together’ and it’s members the previous afternoon, a knot formed in your stomach. The first thing you did when you got home, was do research. You decided to listen to all of their albums and watch all of their music videos, interviews and content videos. Unsure what to do with all the new-found information and conflicting emotions, you pulled the covers over your head and tried to sleep instead. But you couldn’t.

Beomgyu flicked the side of your head, bringing you back to the present, and your cheeks flushed upon realization of his proximity. He smirked, wrapping his brown scarf around your neck. “It’s still winter you know, Winter. You should dress warmly.”

You clicked your tongue and pouted at his teasing use of your in-game alias, and marched off without him. He trailed behind you, laughing and relieved that you were no longer frowning as you were before. You froze when he caught up with you, feeling the warmth of his hand as it slipped into yours, tucking it into his coat pocket. Burying your face into his scarf, which smelled just like him, you smiled giddily, letting him pull you along with him.

He took you to dinner and the amusement park after that. He was thrilled to know you liked rollercoasters as much as he did and embarrassed to know he couldn’t even beat you at the kid’s games. He ended up going home with a truckload of new plushies, and you, with ever-increasing feelings that you had no idea what to do with.

28 February 2020, 23:42

Beomgyu burst through the doors of the PC Room no longer than 10 minutes after receiving a call from the owner. He still wore his sleepwear, over which his coat was thrown, his hair was disheveled and his bare left foot was stuffed halfway into a sneaker, while his sock-wearing right foot was slipped into a black slipper.

The owner, with worry painted across his features, cocked his head to the desk where the two of you usually sat. His heart ached at the sight of your curled up figure beneath it. Your bloodshot eyes widened when you realized his presence, the surprise enabling him a few seconds to examine you up and down before you turned away from him. Your bottom lip was cut and bruised, your cheek was swollen and bruises were littered across your face and the length of your arms and neck, your hair as messy as his was.

You insisted that you’re okay, even though he took you into his arms without asking anything at all. You insisted that you’re okay, but as his warmth enveloped you, tears began streaming down your face. He felt the way your body trembled in his arms, so he begins rocking you back and forth slowly, pressing soft kisses into your hair, whispering a single phrase over and over again.

“I’m here.”

4 March 2020, 19:00

Due to the pandemic, one of the award show ceremonies the boys were supposed to attend had been cancelled and moved to a later date. Worried that they’d feel disheartened about their performance, you decided to host a little award ceremony of your own. His friends were as welcoming as he was, so you quickly got along- even more so since Beomgyu stuck even closer to you since that day.

“The first award of the evening,” you announced, clearing your throat in the middle of the living room. The boys, who were cheering your on from their seats on the dorm sofa, quieted down as Yeonjun hushed them, gesturing for you to continue, “goes to a very versatile young man. The winner of the ‘Fourth Generation It Boy – In Everything Except Braincells’ Daesang, goes too, you guessed it, Choi Yeonjun!”

The rest erupted in laughter as an exasperated Yeonjun made his way to where you stood, empty wrappers crackling under his feet. He threw a glare at the boys before he bowed before you in the most formal way possible, and you handed him the pretty mediocre, handmade certificate, before enamored laughter spilled from his lips.

Soobin received an award for being the ‘Best Leader of the Greatest Global Shookies’, to which he sighed. Taehyun received the Grand Award ‘The Best Son, Our King, Vocalist Kang’, which the rest labelled unfair and favoritism. Kai received the ‘Gotta Hit That High Note Like-’ award, which he proudly accepted with absolutely no complaints, beaming at the poorly made certificate.

“And last, but not least,” you started, peaking at Beomgyu from the corner of you eyes, determination almost faltering at the sight of his anticipating countenance. Peering down at the clipboard in your hands, you frowned, “well, I guess that’s all we have for tonight, folks-”

The sound of their hearty laughter filled the dorm once again, Yeonjun nearly toppling over the armrest of the sofa. Beomgyu nodded, tongue in cheek, clearly bothered by the whole ordeal. You joined in on the laughter, before glancing back to the clipboard, your heart rate picking up a little.

“Oh, what’s this?” you feigned surprise, “We have two more awards left! To Choi Beomgyu,” you said, pausing to steady your breath, refusing to make eye contact with him, “goes the award for ‘The Most Annoying Amateur Gamer-” laughter once more, Beomgyu joining in this time, “Best Friend and Utterly Talented All-rounder’. And lastly, to Tomorrow X Together for ‘Best Group of All Time’!” you cheered, relieved that they all got up and cheered as well, without teasing you.

Beomgyu took your hand and slipped the certificate from the board. You may have been embarrassed at the self-proclaimed ‘lousy’ attempt at decorating his certificate, but within seconds, that sheet of colored board became the most important thing to him in the world - his most prized possession. He pulled you into a bone-crushing hug, and the rest all joined in without a second to spare, endlessly praising you and expressing their affection as you giggled in response.

Later on that evening, after you left and the others were fast asleep, he laid on his bed, limbs splayed across the comforter. He sighed dreamily up at the ceiling, bringing his hands up to cover the bashful grin playing on his lips. He turned his head ever-so slightly, and peeked through the spaces between his fingers at the certificate perched on his night-stand and sighed again.

What was he going to do with you.

13 March 2020, 20:00

You pushed aside everything that had been happening in your life to be happy on your best friend’s birthday. You were convinced it was the least you could do in return for everything he did for you. Deciding to host something small at the PC Room, the owner was pretty enthusiastic to make a contribution to the happiness of his ‘favourite patrons’, you invited his members and some of his closest friends.

Although Beomgyu would have loved to spend the day with just you, he was extremely grateful to know efforts you had made to make him enjoy his day. You had been chattering away with the owner at the front desk, but somewhere amidst conversation with Taehyun, he had lost sight of you. He frowned, apologizing to Taehyun before excusing himself.

Ready to grab his coat and leave, he stopped in his tracks when the lights were shut off. Slowly, the room was illuminated once more, by the flickering flames atop birthday candles, and the enormous smile across your face as you sang, “happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you,...”

The cake, in the shape of a bear and embellished with chocolate decorations of every variety, was placed on the table in front of where the rest had seated him. Eyes not once leaving you, absolutely entranced by your beauty, Beomgyu gulps, his heart racing a million miles an hour.

“Make a wish, before the wax gets onto the cake, Dummy.”

He pulls his lip between his teeth and flicks the top of your head gently, chuckling softly, before clasping his hands together and closing his eyes. For a reason unknown to him, Beomgyu couldn’t think of something to wish for. No, rather, he knew exactly why he had no idea what to wish for. He opened his eyes once more, and grinned at your anticipating face, the pining in his chest only running deeper and deeper.

He blew out the candles.

“What did you wish for-”

Beomgyu grabbed your hand and pulled you with him as he ran out onto the wet Itaewon streets. You didn’t run too far, before he pulled you into one of the alleyways. Completely lost for words and a little out of breath, you stood there, staring at him. The same puzzled look you had given him when you first met is etched into your face and his lips curl upward. Your breathing hitches as he takes a step closer to you and he pushes the rain-soaked hair from your face, eyes flitting to your lips before meeting your eyes again.

He pulled your chest flush against his and it was quiet for a moment. Quiet, save for the sound of the rain pitter-pattering across the rooftops and the alley floor; quiet, save for the sound of your thumping hearts.

“I love you.”

He feels you tense up, so he tightens his embrace. There is a silence again, and it is a lot less pleasant than the first. The sound of your sniffling alarms him, so he brings your face to meet his, his heart aching at the tears dripping down your face. You start making attempts to break free of his hold, shaking your head and him, whimpers escaping your lips every time you tried to speak.

Tears now streamed down his face too, a piece of him torn away each time you pushed him away. Beomgyu fought desperately to keep you in his arms, but before he knew it, you had slipped right through his fingers.

“I’m sorry.” was the last thing he heard you say through persisting sobs, before you disappeared down the street, without a trace.

30 June 2020

Beomgyu smiled before the cameras and press, laughing along with interviewers and staff members like it was the easiest thing in the world. 

You had been missing for over three months. You blocked his number. You didn’t log onto the game, someone else had long taken your position on the leader board. After composing himself that day, he had bolted after you, but it was as if you had vanished off the face of the earth. Beomgyu stopped by the PC Room as much as he could in the following days, his condition only worsening each time he did, but due to the growing numbers of positive cases and the increasing amount of work scheduled for him, the time he spent there was limited.

When he did go, he sat in your chair, staring at the front door until he had to leave. The owner, who had been watching him in sympathy, called him up to the desk one day before he left – the last day the owner saw him. He looked sleep-deprived and downcast, the same pained expression drawn into his features every time he left.

“She... came here a lot. I think her first visit was around the time she was in middle school. She never spoke much, and never seemed to have any friends,” The owner told him, looking out to the isles of computers in front of him, before turning back to Beomgyu. “The first time I saw her talk- no, the first time I saw her smile, was with you. She liked you...alot.”

Beomgyu sighed, with a short, hollow chuckle.

“I know.”

12 March 2021, 23:55

The room was empty and dark when Beomgyu finally walked in, eyebrows knitted together as he tried to see through the darkness. He tried calling out for Hyunjin and Jeongin, but the only replies he received was the wind rattling the window-blinds.  

The flickering of candles illuminate the room, just like they did many months ago, and Beomgyu’s heart stopped. He tried to not look disappointed when it turned out to be his members with Hyunjin and Jeongin carrying the cake, singing happy birthday to him with the most excited expressions on their faces, but his throbbing chest betrayed him.

They brought the cake up until where he stood and Yeonjun arched a brow, a knowing smirk rolling onto his lips. “You really do have a wild imagination, don’t you? Ow!” he cried, when Beomgyu hit his arm. “Ugh, just make a wish already.”

Beomgyu clasped his hands tightly before him and squeezed his eyes shut, just as he did before. Only this time, he knew exactly what he wanted. The subject of his pining, worry, and love. Her. He would give anything to see her, just one last time.

And when he opened his eyes, that was exactly what he found in front of him.

“Happy Birthday, Choi Beomgyu.”

The lights went back on, and Beomgyu blinked repeatedly, making sure that it wasn’t just his mind playing tricks on him. But there you were, with tears brimming your eyes, in all your glory, the love of his life. 

He takes in all the little changes, like your trimmed hair, and that fact that you seemed to have lost weight – which made him frown. And then there was that smile, that dazzling smile, which only seemed to shine brighter now than it did before.

Your hands tremor a bit, the way he just stares at you making your heart leap. “I-I’m sor-”

The cake hit the floor with a plop, eliciting laughter from the others as he wraps his arms around your figure and he reels you into his arms in one swift movement. You feel his tears soak into your blouse, and you hold onto him tighter, your eyes already wet from your own tears. You were finally with him – you were finally home.

The owner gathered everyone together for a photo towards the end of the celebration, Beomgyu following suit wherever you went, refusing to let go of your hand for even a second. You offered him a loving smile when Hyunjin teased him for it, and placed a soft kiss to the back of his hand.

Beomgyu lead you up to the rooftop to see the sunrise, momentarily letting go of your hand to flush your back against his chest, before grabbing hold of it, and the other hand, again. The bright orange and yellow rays peeked from behind the mountain in the distance, and you had never felt more at peace.

You recalled the way your chest tightened and the way tears burned at the corners of your eyes upon receiving his confession a year ago. You had been so happy. So, so happy. But you knew you could not accept him. At the time, you knew that you were in no place to be with someone like him. He was, and is, too wonderful for someone as messed up as you are. You didn’t want burden him with your issues, not when his career had just taken off.

“Beomgyu?” he hummed from where his head against yours, “I love you.”

You stepped away from his embrace, giggling when you noticed the way he pouted. Your turned to face him properly, before attaching your arms around his waist. “Back then... I was in a really bad space. It’s not excuse, and I certainly shouldn’t have run away from you. I...have gotten help ever since, and I want to tell you my story. Would you like to hear it?”

He leaned back and thought for a moment. He then cupped the side of your face with his hand and ran his thumb across your cheek, before pulling you in to press a gentle, lingering kiss to your forehead.

“Whatever you’re willing to share, I will listen to and accept with open arms. I love you for who you are; and that includes everything that has shaped, and will shape you into the amazing person I already know you are.”

“That includes the way you absolutely kick my ass at gaming.”

[hopelesshawks]

Basic Instincts Part 25- Sacrifice

18+ Hawks x fem!pro hero reader

Summary: Hawks was your first friend, your first kiss, and your first love. You were the same for him. But you’re not little commission trainees anymore, you’re full fledged pro-heroes now with all the baggage and sacrifice that entails. Things are different now, and when the two of you end up accidentally mated, well… they’re about to get even more different.

Warnings for needles and graphic description of intense pain

Masterlist Help Lulu &lt;3

Your old dorm room is exactly how you remember it. Just as clinical and barren of personality as it was when you were a kid. It feels smaller somehow now that you’ve returned. Or perhaps it just feels claustrophobic.

“I hoped I’d never see your stupid face again,” a voice teases from behind you. In spite of everything you smile, hands already glowing red as you turn to face your old friend. “Well hello to you too Amelia,” you chuckle as you both come forward to embrace each other. You’re a little bit taller than her now and it feels strange that she’s still the same sixteen year old girl you left behind when you were finally introduced into the world as Scarlet. “You got old,” she jokes. “Watch it, I’m fragile right now.” “Why? What on earth could possibly make you come back here?”

The smile on your face twists into something sad and painful and Amelia picks up on it immediately, her demeanor sobering. It’s disconcerting seeing it on a teenage face but you have to remind yourself that had she not died she’d be at least in her late 30’s to early 40’s by now. “What did they do?” she asks. “It’s a long story,” you sigh, sitting down on the bed. “I’ve got nothing better to do than listen and all the big guns are in meetings for at least another couple hours so seems to me like you’ve got nothing better to do than tell me,” she points out, taking the spot next to you. “Can’t argue with that,” you huff, flopping back onto the bed.

You tell her everything.

At the start, in some ways you feel sixteen again, gushing to your girl friend about the boy you’re into. Amelia is into the melodrama of it all: waggles her eyebrows at you when you try to gloss over the actual mating part, gasps at all the dramatic bits, groans whenever you mention one of you being oblivious, listens with rapt attention and doe eyes when you get to you and Keigo actually getting back together again. You have to stop for a moment, tears gathering in your eyes as you get to explaining how you’ve ended up here now. Amelia reaches over to hold your hand, squeezing tightly in support as you choke down the heartache to explain your sacrifice. “I think I prefer stories with happy endings,” she admits. “Me too,” you croak.

A loud pounding at the door makes you both jump and you quickly move your hands to dematerialize Amelia so she’s once again invisible to everyone else. You move to the door and swing it open to reveal Noriko looking smug as she addresses you. She smirks when she takes in your appearance, the fact you’d been crying not long ago probably obvious from your red eyes. Still, you refuse to give her the satisfaction of seeing you down trodden, so you lift your head up high, chest puffing out slightly as you stare her down. “What do you want?” you bite out, making no effort to hide the venom in your tone. “The sooner we dissolve the mate bond the sooner I can ship you off to your new home so up and at ‘em,” she explains before whirling around with the expectation you’ll follow. Part of you wants to resist just to be petty but you’re also keenly aware there’s no point, so after a roll of your eyes you follow as she leads you deeper into the building.

Noriko takes you further and further down into the bowels of the building until you reach territory even you don’t recognize. The room she finally takes you into doesn’t just feel clinical it feels laboratoric with its cement flooring and metal walls. A metal chair complete with restraints sits ominously in the middle and you’ve got a sinking feeling it’s waiting for you. “Why do I feel like you’re about to turn me into a human lab rat?” you ask apprehensively. Noriko rolls her eyes. “We’re not experimenting on you,” she huffs. “That’s not what that chair and the creepy vibes of this room say.” “Experimentation implies we’re looking for something or trying to figure something out. I know exactly how to remove your bond I just need to make sure you sit still during the process.” “Sounds exactly like something someone who’s about to experiment on me would say.” “Just shut up and come sit down before I make sure Keigo has equipment issues on the job again,” Noriko grumbles with another roll of her eyes. “Don’t call him that,” you snap. She raises an eyebrow at you and you’ve never wanted to punch her in her stupid face more. You remind yourself why you’re doing this— who you’re doing this for— and swallow your pride. You sit down in the chair and immediately Noriko moves to strap your wrists firmly down to the arms of the chair and then fasten your ankles similarly to the legs of it. “Is this all really necessary? I’m not going to run,” you point out skeptically. “Trust me, It’s necessary,” she says before going over to a tray set up not far and returning with an alcohol pad, a strip of elastic fabric, and an ominous looking syringe. She pushes one sleeve of your shirt up to expose your forearm before tightly tying the elastic around your lower bicep so she can more easily identify a vein. “Hope you’re ready for this,” Noriko smirks, although you don’t dignify her comment with a response, before pushing the needle into one of your veins and slowly depressing the plunger.

At first you don’t feel anything. In fact you literally open your mouth to express as much when suddenly the words catch in your throat.

Your veins are on fire. You feel every vein whatever concoction Noriko had injected into you enters. It’s searing and you nearly bite your tongue in your haste to shut your mouth and grit your teeth against the pain. You don’t want to give her the satisfaction of seeing just how badly it burns but it’s damn near unbearable. Then, just as you’ve adjusted to the pain spreading up your arm, it reaches your chest, where you’ve always felt the bond the keenest, and suddenly your entire body erupts in agony. Every cell, no, every molecule in your entire being is burning like a supernova. There’s no thinking of better times to distract you or wondering how long it’ll last. Your every thought is entirely consumed by a pain unlike anything you’ve ever experienced. You’re not sure how long it lasts. By the time it finally stops it could’ve been hours or seconds and you’d never be able to tell. Your breath comes in ragged gasps as your lungs desperately try to take in air. Your throat is rough and sore and it occurs to you you must have been screaming, although you have no recollection of it. You’re covered in sweat, shirt clinging to your body because of it, and your cheeks are wet with your tears. Your vision swims but you just barely manage to focus on the feminine figure in front of you. It takes a minute to process that it’s Noriko watching you with unabashed curiosity.

“See you tomorrow Scarlet.”

It’s the last thing you hear before your body finally taps out and unconsciousness pulls you under.

A/N: Sorry 😬

Taglist: @oliviasslut @theycallme-becky @vibesdontlie @superhermit @thechroniclesofawriter

[sineala]

Captain America: The Great Gold Steal

I wrote this up last week because I did not have access to my usual comics files but I figured I could review something that was just a book. So here is a review of the 1968 Captain America novel Captain America: The Great Gold Steal by Ted White, with an introduction by Stan Lee. I really liked it, actually! It was surprisingly good!

This novel features: Cover art of Captain America holding his shield in one hand and a very large gun in the other! A scene where the villains dramatically unmask Captain America and have absolutely no idea who he is! Captain America being extremely, extremely depressed about being in the future! Captain America dropping acid!

(I'm not kidding about the last part. In this novel there is a lot of LSD use. By Captain America. Talk about something the Comics Code wouldn't ever let you put in a comic book. Thank you, 1968.)

Faithful readers may remember that some time ago I posted reviews of Marvel prose novels from the 1970s. There was a line of prose novels featuring everyone's favorite Marvel superheroes, published by Pocket Books in the late 70s; I have reviews of the Iron Man, Captain America, and Avengers entries in the series; I liked the Iron Man one best, and I also have a Doctor Strange one I have not yet read. They're all short and action-packed paperback reads, of varying quality; the only one by anyone you might have heard of is the Avengers one, which was written by David Michelinie, who was actually writing the Avengers run at the time. That one was, um. An experience. 

(Yes, it's "prose novel" because otherwise the assumption is "graphic novel.")

Marvel still publishes prose novels now, of course, also of varying quality; some are new plots and some are straight-up novelizations of comics arcs, which I guess is useful if you want to, say, read Civil War and not look at pictures at the same time. I also have a bunch of those that I could probably review if anyone wants. But, anyway, I personally am particularly intrigued by the older Marvel prose novels, both because the stories are all original and not retellings, and also because I often prefer the characterization found in older comics. And the older prose novels of course use the then-current characterization. So reading a Marvel prose novel from 1979 is like getting to read a brand-new comic from 1979, and that's a whole lot of fun for a nerd like me. Also do you know what's not subject to the Comics Code? Prose novels. So things can happen in these that definitely could not happen in comics of the same era.

This brings me to my current prose novel, which is something else entirely. I mean, okay, not really, it's still a Marvel prose novel. But it's not part of the same line. It's actually a lot older.

Bantam Books actually published Marvel prose novels in the late 60s. Yep, a full decade earlier. They published exactly two, so I'm going to go out on a limb here and say that they were probably not bestsellers. The first one, which I do not own and now sort of want to track down, was an Avengers novel in 1967, The Avengers Battle the Earth-Wrecker. And then in 1968 they published the novel I am currently holding in my hands, Captain America: The Great Gold Steal by Ted White.

(I am still not sure why no one involved in titling this book thought of the word "theft.")

Judging by the back copy, it appears to be about Captain America foiling the villains' dastardly plan to steal gold from the Federal Reserve. Oh boy. Fun.

So this book is from 1968. The modern Marvel universe had kicked off just a few short years ago! Captain America was just getting his own solo book after the end of Tales of Suspense! And here's a novel about him, back when certain elements of his characterization were perhaps a little more flexible than they are today, by which I mean that the cover art -- which the internet informs me was painted by Mitchell Hooks -- is a striking full-body portrait of Captain America, head held high, shield in one hand... and a very large gun in the other. Hell, yeah. Not gonna see that in today's Cap comics, are you? It's amazing and I love it.

(Okay, you might see that in Ults. I'm pretty sure I have seen that in Ults, actually. But this is still cool.)

So the cover art is a definite plus, and apparently it's one of the few reasons anyone has ever heard of this novel. The other reason -- and the reason this is more expensive than the later novels, I assume -- is that Stan Lee's name is slapped on the cover, because he wrote an introduction. (I think I paid about $30 for this. The others were definitely under $20.)

All right. Here we go.

The first page is actually a brief summary of Steve's origin story, but not a version I was familiar with. Steve was born July 9, 1917 (yes, I was surprised too), was orphaned at a young age, and was a student at Columbia University (!) before Rebirth, which in this version is a gradual process that is also extremely body-horror. Steel tubing was inserted into the marrows of his bones. He was fed "high-protein compounds." Then they gave him a chemical that "gave him complete control over every nerve, muscle, and cell in his now-magnificent body." Sweet. Where can I get some of that?

The blurb also confirms his control over his own metabolism as well as his healing factor ("wounds would heal in half the normal time"), which is nice, because sometimes I wonder if canon even remembers the healing factor.

(I don't know why Marvel has this kink for filling people's bones with metal, though. It's not actually empty in there, guys! You need your bone marrow! How else do you want people to make new blood cells?)

The book is dedicated to "Jack Kirby and Stan Lee, without whom there would be no Captain America." Hey, Marvel, Joe Simon would like a word with you. I'm just saying.

The Stan Lee introduction is three paragraphs written in Stan Lee's, um, inimitable, distinctive and extremely florid narrative style -- if you've read any of his work, you know what I mean -- and making the point that Captain America is incredible and you will like him. If you are just discovering him for the first time, you will definitely like him. Okay. Thanks. I guess.

Oddly, the writing style here is substantially different than any of the other Marvel prose novels I've read; it doesn't immediately front-load you with exposition and a cast of colorful superheroes. It opens with a sort of James Bond spy-novel feel, running through a series of unnamed villains and bystanders, and a man who wants nothing more than to talk to Captain America but is killed before he can. Steve comes in halfway through the chapter, and he seems to be written for a reader who doesn't necessarily know who he is, and he isn't introduced as Captain America with his shield flying ahead of him to smite evildoers, or anything like that. He's just a tall, handsome blond guy who is reading a bunch of novels and is unsatisfied by all of them because all he can think of is the past. It's definitely an attitude I would expect from Steve in this era -- he is very much a Man Out Of Time here -- but it's also not how I expected the book to introduce him. You wouldn't even know he was Captain America by the end of the opening chapter, which then ends with a digression about the history of NYC subway tunnels. It's like it wants to appeal to someone who has watched a bunch of Man from UNCLE and just wants to read a cool thriller. Which is not at all what I was expecting.

By the beginning of the second chapter, of course, we discover that Steve is Captain America, as he changes into his uniform. The narration refers to him as Rogers when it's in his POV, if anyone is curious. He apparently keeps the cowl off in the mansion, because the cowl annoys him.

It was not so much that he needed to conceal his identity these days, because for all intents and purposes he had no other identity. Steve Rogers was officially dead, and had been for almost twenty years. Captain America *was* his identity. It was only when he donned the tight-fitting blue uniform with its shield chest-emblem, the red snug-fitting leather boots, and the heavy, yet pressure-sensitive red-leather gauntlets, that he began to feel real -- a complete human being.

Steve? Buddy, are you okay there? You're really not okay, are you, huh?

You see what I mean? They're really hitting the early-canon angst. Hard.

(Also it sounds like his uniform is a few sizes too small.)

We then get an expanded version of the backstory from the beginning excerpt. In this version of canon, Steve actually has an older brother, Alan, who is handsome and athletic and basically amazing, and when they are orphaned they are raised by their aunt and uncle. Steve gets TB twice as a kid, nearly dies from it, and when the stock market crashes, ends up separated from his brother and in an orphanage after his uncle loses everything.

(Honestly if I were writing this book, his brother would be the secret villain. Chekhov's Gun!)

Steve has glasses, gets bullied, is a nerd and an honor student, and studies law at Columbia because he wants to help stop fraudulent business practices and also fight organized crime. Legally, I mean. In a manner relating to law. I guess he's sort of like Daredevil. The lawyer part of Daredevil.

And then he joins Rebirth, and this is the part where I had to put the book down for several minutes, because Erskine's secret chemical, the key to making super-soldiers... is LSD.

Oh my God. You should see my face right now. My expression is, I am sure, indescribable. I'm trying not to wake the dog up laughing.

I just. Holy shit. This book is from 1968 in a way I definitely was not expecting. What the fuck, Marvel?

This project was headed by the brilliant biochemist, Dr. Erskine. His work with the endocrine system, and chemical body control, was well beyond that of his contemporaries. Only he, of all his colleagues, had fathomed the secrets of the Swiss Dr. Hoffman's 1938 discovery -- the mind-controlling LSD-25.

Let's just pause here for a few minutes and contemplate this.

I will point out that Albert Hofmann (yes, the book spelled his name wrong) didn't actually discover that LSD was a hallucinogen until 1943 when he accidentally tried it, but I am positive that 1968 here was a time when Some People were convinced LSD was a wonder drug. I'm still laughing. As far as I can tell, legal manufacturing of it stopped in 1965 so I am pretty sure that the author did not just decide to name a drug that had an ostensible legal therapeutic use, because it wouldn't have still had one by '68.

Anyway, in this version of events, Rebirth is a month-long process that involves a lot of vitamins, physical conditioning and training, and, yes, putting metal in his bones like he's the next Wolverine. They're filling his bones with stainless steel rods to make him stronger. That doesn't seem like a great idea to me, but I am also not sure about dropping acid to gain superpowers. Clearly I am not a genius scientist. Also Erskine knows what DNA is, apparently, because he's just that great. Anyway. Other than the metal, those all seem like relatively normal interventions. So far.

Now Steve has become fairly big and strong (and I guess he still has metal in his bones? this concerns me!) but they need to make him superhuman, so, yes, really, it's time to drop acid. Several pages of this book are devoted to describing Steve's acid trip. His acid trip is amazing and he discovers that he has conscious control of his entire body down to the cellular level. He can control the adrenaline in his bloodstream! He can tighten his muscle fibers! And when he's done tripping he still remembers how to do this, if not exactly on a conscious level, but he can still access the abilities. And that is how you make a super-soldier. It's LSD. Remember, kids, drugs are awesome! Do drugs!

Let's maybe take a few more minutes to think about this.

I just. I have no words. How did anyone at Marvel agree to print this?

I think for the most part superhero origin stories tend not to involve real drugs because people are generally aware that drugs they've heard of won't make you into a superhero. I guess this is what it looks like when you invoke the names of real drugs. They probably wanted something that sounded more realistic but somehow I don't think this was the best way to go. (Radiation, of course, will definitely make you into a superhero but I feel like most people have accepted that as one of the conventions of the genre.)

Anyway, after that Erskine gets killed by Nazis, of course, and Steve goes to war, and for some reason this book contains footnotes by Stan Lee himself listing the comics you can read all of this in. Just like the actual comics do!

We are introduced to Bucky, who for some reason is also from the LES in this version, although not anyone Steve knew before the war, and there is of course a description of Bucky's tragic death and Steve's subsequent icing.

They are really, really stressing the Man Out Of Time thing here:

No other man could have survived so fantastic a voyage through time. And no other man could feel so displaced by time.

He was a man twenty years in his own future. By rights, he should be nearly fifty years old -- nearly twice the age of his fellow Avengers. Yet his mind and his body were not yet thirty.

When the Avengers had brought him back to New York with them and insisted that, as an honored hero of the past, he join them, he felt a sort of melancholy homesickness for his own time and world.

We then get a few paragraphs with the usual being sad that he let Bucky down and got him killed, and also that he misses his family, and that Steve Rogers doesn't exist anymore, and that nobody is alive who remembers him, and that war is hell.

Hey, Steve, maybe the drugs you should do are antidepressants. Just a thought.

Also, this book is 118 pages and we're not out of the origin story flashback until page 34. I think there are some pacing issues here.

Actually, I lied, the flashback keeps going, but now we're up to the Avengers finding him, and I have to say that the list of things Steve finds strange about the future is kind of charming when the future is 1968. Men have long hair! Women have shorter skirts! Everyone is kind of blasé about rocket launches because there have been so many space missions now. (Oh, come on, you haven't even landed on the moon yet, 1968! You're not that blasé.) Color TV! And, excitingly, LPs! You can now listen to 36 minutes of consecutive music. (I actually don't know what previous standard he's describing that is a ten-inch record that holds six minutes a side because I don't think 45s are that big. Yeah, no, I just checked and 45s are seven inches in diameter. Hmm. Oh, never mind. He means 78 rpm, doesn't he? In my defense, the record player my family had when I was a kid didn't play those.)

The description of Steve coming into New York for the first time is definitely written by someone who knows New York, which is fun. There is generally a lot of local flavor to the setting of this book. That’s one of the best parts.

There is a brief summary of Steve's feelings about all the Avengers -- he is most impressed by Thor, which, I mean, fair, he's an actual god -- and Hank telling him all about how he can live in Tony's mansion. With Jarvis. Who Hank says is actually from Flatbush. Apparently Steve spent a lot of time at the NYPL branch at 5th and 42nd trying to catch up on history. And then of course the Avengers ditched him and gave him the Kooky Quartet, and for some reason they're not here right now either so it's just Steve being sad and alone and dealing with this mysterious dead guy. I think probably the book is also done explaining fiat currency now. This is definitely the weirdest Marvel novel I've read.

Anyway, we have now returned to what is ostensibly the actual plot. Steve shows up at the New York Federal Reserve Bank (I guess the theft is happening here and not, like, at Fort Knox) with the gold bullion that the dead guy from the beginning of the book had on him -- I think I got distracted by the LSD bit and forgot to mention that part, but the dead guy was carrying some US government gold -- because the actual plot is that villains are trying to tunnel into the bank vault and steal gold. Steve discovers this after he gets the bank manager to give him a tour. The bank manager tries to refuse, citing security concerns -- Captain America could be anyone under that mask, after all! Steve just smiles and says, "If I removed my mask, would you have any better idea of who I am?" and I guess that's a flawless argument because he gets his tour.

(I'm sorry, all I can think of is that one gif from the JLA cartoon where Lex Luthor bodyswaps with the Flash, announces that now that he's in the Flash's body he's going to discover the Flash's secret identity, then pulls off his own mask, stares at himself in the mirror, and says, "I have no idea who this is.")

Given that the theme of Steve's interior life in this novel is "Steve Rogers died twenty years ago" it seems even more sad that Steve is just walking around basically saying, yeah, well, I'm nobody. And apparently that is being reaffirmed for him by the narrative.

So Steve goes down the tunnels, takes out some of the bad guys, and gets himself knocked out and buried in a collapsing tunnel. Don't worry, he's gonna be fine.

A lot of this book, by the way, is from the POV of random people, like this bank guard who went with Steve into the tunnels:

He had wondered, briefly, if a man like Captain America ever knew the pinch of too many bills, had ever felt desperate over the arrival of yet another mouth to feed. But, of course, Captain America had no family, and would hardly concern himself with such matters. It didn't occur to Thompson to wonder if this in itself might not be something for which to pity Captain America.

Rude. I mean, come on, do we really need random characters telling us Steve is a sad sack whom nobody loves? Steve's already got that covered!  (Also, how does this guy know Captain America has no family?)

Anyway, thanks to the power of LSD, Steve is going into a trance, amping up his metabolism (he loses "several pounds" in a few minutes), and making himself super-strong so he can dig himself out. Hooray. This is definitely how human bodies work. Also LSD. This is definitely how LSD works. Yes.

Steve then finds out that a couple of the guards who were with him in the tunnels died down there and he goes home and eats dinner while stewing in miserable guilt because he was responsible for their deaths. He's really not okay. I'm not sure the book actually understands how not okay they have made him. Then someone from SHIELD is on the phone for him and he is briefly cheered up by the thought that it might be Sharon although I think we should also note that the narrative makes it clear that at this point in canon Steve still doesn't know her name. Remember when that was a thing?

Alas, it is not Sharon; it's just a random SHIELD agent who happens to have information about the plot and asks to meet. Then, as Steve leaves to go to the meeting, we get two pages of exhaustive description about the mansion layout and how it's built relative to the surrounding buildings. It feels like this book was written by a frustrated city planner. But anyway, the meeting is a setup and the villains capture Steve.

They knock Steve out, drug him, take him to their hideout, and tie him to a chair. Except, once again thanks to the power of LSD, the tranquilizer they're using wears off way sooner than they expected and so Steve feigns unconsciousness and listens to them discuss their evil plans.

And then the villains unmask him and I swear it's exactly like that JLA gif:

Rogers heard footsteps scuffing across a thick carpet, and then Sparrow's voice again, almost directly over him. His ears still buzzed, but he fought to catch the elusive familiarity of the man's tone. He wished he dared open his eyes.

"This is a moment which I, personally, have long awaited," Sparrow said, his voice rising in triumph. "*The unmasking of Captain America!*"

Then, his nails scraping along Rogers' face, Sparrow dug his fingers under his cowl, and ripped it back. Rogers felt air strike his exposed cheeks and forehead. Then fingers clutched his blond hair and pulled his head back. "Behold!" Sparrow said.

Raven was first to speak. "Well, I dunno about you, Sparrow, but it rings no bells with me. I never seen him before."

Starling agreed. "His face means nothing to me."

"He could be anybody," said Robin. "What good does this do?"

Sparrow let Rogers' head fall back to his chest, and his voice when he spoke was defeated. "I don't know. Nothing, I guess. I always wondered. I felt, if these guys -- these costumed heroes -- wore masks, it must mean something."

"Captain America was missing for twenty years," Starling said. "That could mean the first one died, and this one took his place. He looks awfully young."

"Perhaps. It doesn't really matter. Let's get going."

(Yes, the villains all have bird-themed codenames. I have no idea why.)

This scene just makes my day. I love dramatic unmaskings. I bet they'd have been a lot happier unmasking Iron Man.

The villains then leave Steve and go to a power plant, where we switch POVs to one of the plant employees and get two entirely unnecessary paragraphs about his racist and anti-Semitic thoughts about his coworkers before the villains murder him. Great. Thanks.

Anyway, the villains cause a blackout, while meanwhile they've left Steve alone with the girl villain, and Steve is busy trying to persuade her that crime doesn't pay. He's moved from the "do you know what they'll do to you in prison?" theme onto "how exactly are you going to spend a billion dollars in gold bullion when it's illegal for civilians to possess? who are you going to do business with?" and then points out that gold is heavy and hard to transport, which is when she gets out a a knife.

The bad guys are off to steal the gold, and Steve has now successfully turned the girl they left him with, because she frees him. Of course, the first thing he does is put the cowl back on.

"Why do you wear that?" she asked.

"The mask?" He smiled. "It gives people something external to concentrate upon."

"But..."

"Without it, I'm just another ordinary-looking man. With it, I become a symbol. For some people it creates awe; for others, fear. Look at me. I'm different now, aren't I? With the mask on."

"Yes," she nodded. "You look -- bigger, somehow. Stronger. Fierce, implacable. You look a little scary."

"Exactly. You no longer see me as a person, but as a thing -- an Avenger. It can be a potent psychological weapon."

"They were so disappointed, when they took your mask off. As though underneath they'd find a famous person."

"Maybe that goes on TV -- handsome playboys, and all that. But I've been anonymous all my life. Even my real name would be meaningless to you, to them. No, the mask is part of the uniform, a psychological device. That's the whole story.

Now: let's get out of here. You have a good deal more to tell me yet, and we can't waste more time."

Bwahaha. In a few years, Steve's going to be pretty surprised about who superheroes are, I think.

STEVE, now: Superheroes definitely aren't secretly handsome playboys! That would be silly! STEVE, after Molecule Man: fuck fuck fuck FUCK FUCK I'm such an idiot

I'm definitely looking forward to that.

Also, not that the issue of Steve's psyche actually recurs after this, but he's once again having the narrative vindicate his belief that Steve Rogers is dead and whoever he is under the cowl doesn't matter. Steve, I don't think this is very healthy.

Steve then tracks down the villains stealing the gold, has some geopolitical thoughts about where the gold could be going (he thinks either South Africa or Russia for the best laundering potential) and then hides himself in the villains' trunk while they drive to Staten Island, which is where they're taking the gold out of the country from.

During the final confrontation, Steve finally gets to see the villains, and he discovers that the one in charge is in fact the director of the Federal Reserve Bank who Steve met at the beginning of this book. Gasp. But that's not all! He's also... the Red Skull!

Honestly, I was kind of surprised; I didn't think this was the kind of book where we'd get any known comic villains, but I guess it's always gotta be the Red Skull. I think he's the only one of Steve's big villains who likes to disguise himself; Zemo has obvious disguise issues and I imagine it's also hard to cover up Zola's Teletubby-esque television body.

Steve shoots one of the villains, because I guess that's what he does in this era of canon.

So the plot wraps up in, like, two pages, because for some reason all these early Marvel novels wrap up very fast. Red Skull, of course, attempts to escape and then disappears and his body is never found. The end.

Well.

That was definitely a book. That I read. Believe it or not, I actually think it was the best of these early Marvel prose novels that I've read so far, even if it was also the absolute weirdest; I thought the thriller-style plot was entertaining, I liked Steve and his Extremely Sad characterization, I obviously enjoy all the identity themes, I liked how very detailed the New York setting was, and I do like how they tried to treat it all seriously. I mean, sure, this did lead to LSD in the super-soldier serum in presumably the name of realism, but I felt like the book was trying to present superheroes in a way that didn't feel silly and also didn't really take for granted that the reader would automatically accept superheroes.

It felt like a book that was written hoping that people who weren't superhero fans would read it, if that makes any sense. And I thought that was interesting, because most modern superhero work that I can think of assumes they've got complete audience buy-in and everyone is willing to suspend their disbelief and we all know the genre conventions and are expecting people running around in brightly-colored spandex. Whereas this is more like a James Bond novel if for some reason James Bond were called upon to defend his decision to wear brightly-colored spandex instead of bespoke suits. But I assume no one read it, because Bantam never published a Marvel book after this one.

If you can actually find a copy of this one for a price you're willing to pay. I recommend it. It was delightful and way more solid than I thought it was going to be.

Also, come on, you know you want to read about Captain America's acid trip.

[olderthannetfic]

Do not even get me started on Wayne Family Adventures, building off that anon from a while ago.

So let me preface this by saying that I am the most tortured kind of Batman-verse fan, a Jason Todd fan. Every single issue is torture porn, so I'll be speaking on Jason Todd in WFA and more.

For those who don't know, Jason was the Robin after Dick became Nightwing, he's the stereotypical happy go lucky Robin everyone thinks of when Dick Grayson is mentioned. He was killed by the Joker and brought back some 30 ish years later (in our time not in the Batman time) as the Red Hood, the only Bat who kills. He's very angry with Batman because after Jason died, Batman used his moral justification to not kill the Joker and the Joker is still running around, breaking out of Arkham, causing chaos and torture and all the good stuff, and Batman has literally slit Jason's throat over killing the Joker.

Fun, I know

Anyway, WFA has turned the whole fiasco- which is still not resolved and probably never will be, mind you!!- into a joke. Like it's just the cherry on top after comics that already bastardized him like Batman Urban Legends. Completely turned into his fanon self, lost all of his character. Just all of it. Every single ounce of it. His death, which in the movie of Under The Red Hood graphically depicted him being beat with a crowbar with sound and everything, is turned into a joke. Not even a meme, a straight up joke. Meant for a haha not a dark humor moment. Like, "oh, you!'

For some reason he has no actual tension with the family at all even though supposedly he still kills, which literally got the shit beaten out of him in Red Hood And The Outlaws by Batman. When I say the shit I mean Batman beat him fucking bloody and then ripped the bat symbol off of Jason's chest, just so much drama and pain.

But in WFA it's never mentioned beyond again, hahaha. I do not find it funny. His entire character is reduced to the pouting pentulant child just told he can't have his ice cream. Literally all he talks about is his death except for like one episode, where another character was bastardized.

Which was Damian Wayne al Ghul. For some reason, Damian felt the need to make fun of Jason for reading Jane Austen because it is a "girl book" and it's like.... what? Like, same kid raised by Talia, who's main hero partners are two women, who's never shown any inclination to being sexist ever?

But hardy har har don't ruin the fun or whatever

--

My main annoyance with regards to Jason is that phone poll thing.

[cosmicbash]

One the angsty prompt ideas I’ve been thinking about is Kells practicing how to cook for weeks so he can surprise Em by cooking him dinner, maybe for an anniversary or something, and on the day Kells has planned to surprise him, Em is hours late, leaving Kells alone for the evening. If you’re interested maybe you could write something like this? 🥰

3 years together. One thousand and ninety five fucking days between him and this old dorky man.

It's insane. Downright impossible to believe but Colson knows it's as real and true as the 2 year sobriety chip he's got hung around his neck on the gold chain Marshall gifted him with it this morning.

Both their relationship and his sobriety are as intertwined as their lives are now. Marshall's like the glue that holds all of his pieces together. Picking Colson back up, time and time again whenever he shattered in the beginning and filling in the gaps with his own loose pieces until it was Colson's turn to do the same. Which, by then, it only made sense to combine their puzzles and broaden the picture.

Now Marshall swoops in for Casie's PTA meetings he can’t make during tour. Holding the phone and helping him FaceTime for soccer games and school conferences when flight delays or bad luck keeps him late.

Colson tags along to Whitney's first few dates out in LA, weaving through the public spaces Marshall never could without drawing attention just to make sure she's safe and respected.

They tag team any situation involving the girls, even though Alaina and Hailey both still snicker at him from time to time, and Casie rolls her eyes at Marshall's rules. They're more than just dating now.

They're family.

And even just thinking about that brings tears to Colson's eyes.

Or maybe it's the onions. Baze said chewing gum helped mitigate this fucking problem but goddammit does it burn-

"Fuck!"

He has no idea how he got it in his mind that he could actually cook a meal, let alone a full anniversary dinner for Marshall but here he is. A pot and pan already cooking on the stove and his fingers knicked a dozen times in his rush to cut up more veggies for the sauce. 

It's insane.

But Colson's following through with it anyway, because he fucking loves Marshall and that bastard cooks dinner for them every single holiday or occasion so it's about time he stepped up to the plate and did it himself. 

Plus he's been secretly practicing for weeks with Baze over both FaceTime and a few in person lessons. Perfecting his simmering styles and meat seasoning to make the tastiest meal he can manage all on his own.

So far the last three times he's made the dish his bassist had given stellar reviews so there's little chance he'll somehow fuck it up tonight knowing it's for Marshall…..at least, he hopes.

The minor setbacks his butchered fingers have brought aside though, so far everything was coming along perfectly. His noodles are boiling (never over the rim, thank you wooden spoon trick), his meats marinating, and as soon as he tosses these sliced onions in his sauce will be cooking down beautifully.

All in all the night is starting to look like it just might be perfect.

Until 6 o'clock passes by and Colson's ears never pick up the click of the front door knob, or the hum of Marshall's escalade pulling up front outside.

The food's still simmering, minutes away from being actually done so he doesn't worry too much. Sure he was hoping to have a sweet moment where his boyfriend comes home and catches him cooking at the stove like a traditional housewife, but seeing his face when the food's done and plated promises to be just as cute.

Besides, Marshall has always fit the housewife role so much better than him anyway. Even the apron Colson's wearing is one of the older rapper's, stolen from his small collection in the pantry to protect his designer sweater.

Colson doesn't start to worry at 6. Traffic can be a bitch.

7 though? And then 7:30 when his texts go unread and his calls ring all the way through to voice-mail? That's when the blonde starts to fret. 

He's luckily put off plating because some brief flash on uncertainty had run through him after the food finished so it's stayed warm and simmering on the stove. But even that had to come to an end before 7:30 because his sauce would singe or his noodles might squish, so now Colson's trying to keep busy by perfecting the presentation. Shaky fingers swiping around the edges of Marshall's plate to clean up a splatter of sauce. Every Chopped Judge rambling off feedback in his head until he has it looking like something he's certain even Gordon fucking Ramsey would ask for a bite of.

By 8 the dinner table is set. His plate, Marshall's, the bucket of low alcoholic wine they both love chilling as a centerpiece. Colson even lights a few candles and adds some flowers from this mornings gift exchanges to keep himself from screaming.

There's a pit in his stomach that's steadily been growing though. Every passing minute and glance to his phone where he finds no change only carving it deeper. 

Marshall should be home. He never runs this late at the studio without a call, let alone without a message. He's treated his work like any other 9-5 job since before they ever even got together, always strict about his routine and careful to make up for over run hours by leaving earlier the next day. Usually Colson likes to bust his balls and insist he live a little more spontaneously but tonight isn't the one to pull that.

Especially not if it means Marshall's going to completely forget to check his fucking phone and leave him trying not to think the worst.

Colson only males it another 5 minutes before he caves and texts Paul. Fingers tapping fast across his screen to draft multiple desperate sounding messages before he finally settles on a "Em bust his phone again?" That feels just casual enough to not embarrass him in the off chance Marshall decides to burst through the front door seconds after it sends.

The door stays closed though and Paul doesn't open the message at all. 

Now Colson can't even start passive aggressively eating dinner on his own if he wanted too. The pit in his stomach has torn itself open wide into a nauseous chasm. Every scary possibility he wanted to avoid thinking about spilling forth from the dark trench like ghouls.

He's dead. Some crazy fan broke into the studio and shot the whole place up. No one's gotten around to tell him yet, that's all. They're too busy dealing with the fallout.

No, Em's security is beyond top tier, and with how close Colson and his current bodyguard are he knows the guy would call him immediately. Marshall's fine.

Unless… what if he was in a car accident? Or some road rage incident gone fatal? Colson's seen Marshall's short temper flare up while driving. They've made dozens of jokes about it in the past, so is it really that unreasonable to believe?

Colson's pacing in the front haul when he calls Porter. Phone tucked between his ear and shoulder while he fights his shoe laces, heart racing in his chest. Prepping to fly out of the house the second Denaun tells him what fucking hospital Marshall's staying in, praying it's at the ICU section and not some fucking morgue.

"Kelly?" The older man sounds confused when he finally answers. Voice high and tone light like he's expecting this to be a butt dial. "What's up man?"

The lack of rush or worry in Denaun's voice almost soothes Colson's panic right on the spot. Surely he wouldn't sound so casual if something had happened. 

It's enough to keep Colson from immediately pleading for Marshall's safety at the least. "H-hey, uh nothing really-" Maybe Marshall is even with him right now, realizing how fucking late its gotten and how shit of a boyfriend he's been and that's why Denaun sounds awkward too. "Just uh, waiting for Marsh to get his slow ass home ya know? Sorry, aheh, I'm probably sounding like a fucking needy girlfriend right now, calling his friends and shit-" the longer Colson rambles the more embarrassed he actually feels in the moment.

God he must sound pathetic right now. Panicking over Marshall being a few hours late.

"Waiting? Didn't Marshall head out like 2 hours ago?"

"W-what?"

Colson's blood feels like actual ice in his veins.

"He isn't home? I mean, I know he was gonna stop at- fuck is it already half past 8? Marshall seriously isn't home?" Denaun's sudden panic only heightens Colson's own, but he can't get any more words to come out. Not with how a rock feels like it's jumped up his throat. "Shit, Ryan are you getting through to him? Try Paul-"

Ryan's there too? 

"What? Paul's gotta fucking answer-"

They can't get ahold of Paul either?

"Kelly have you-"

Marshall's missing. Colson's been standing around making dinner for hours, worrying over the portion sizes and appearance of his plates and Marshall's been fucking missing. What kind of partner is he? What will he even tell Hailey? Alaina? And fuck Casie is supposed to be coming up this weekend so they can all go vacation together before his next tour-

The front door bumping into his shoe startles Colson out of his frozen panic. Denaun's angry shouting dropping from his ear, as he twists and meets a pair of sheepish blue eyes peeking around the hardwood.

"Hey." 

Marshall's…..

"Is that my apron?"

So fucking dead.

"Is this your--" Colson's fingers are curling around the edge of the door so fast he doesn't even care that it makes his phone fly to the floor. "That's what you want to fucking say to me!?" His anger is boiling fast, replacing the cold in his veins with lava. "You fucking piece of-"

Marshall stumbling inside with the yanked door is expected, but the flash of bandages and a sling douse Colson's flames like a bucket of water. "Ow, fuck just give me a second to explain-"

He's hurt.

Now with all of Marshall visible Colson's hyperaware of dry blood splattered on his white graphic tee and scratches partially hidden within the rapper's beard along his cheek. "I got in an accident out on the M-8, it was minor but-"

Colson really can't handle all these rapid mood switches Marshall is putting him through today.

“You fucking idiot-“ Tears are bubbling up in his eyes and it’s like his hands can’t reach his partner fast enough. Pulling Marshall into his arms for a tight hug despite the pained noises his actions inspire. “Stupid, old asshole-“ Marshall’s hurt, the cars probably wrecked, but he’s home and that’s enough of a relief to finally smother that pit weighing down his stomach. “Don’t ever scare me like that again!”

A moment passes before he’s hugged back, shock more than likely freezing his partner up but when Marshall does loop his good arm around Colson he pulls him close. So close Colson is the one who’s bones feel like they might ache. “Can’t make any promises about that,” The older rapper’s palm feels warm when it climbs to cup his neck, Marshall’s face turning to press a kiss into Colson’s throat. 

That brush of lips is the final crack to release the flood gates.

"I love you."

"I know."

"I really really fucking love you."

"I know baby."

"I don't care how old your ass is, you better hold out and fucking die after me like a proper goddamn boyfriend, you hear me Marshall?" He's getting snot all over the older rapper's shirt. Full on smearing it across his own cheek and the fabric with every pointless rub of his face. "I love you so fucking much. Can't do this without you."

"Told you I'm not dying after you unless you kill me first, and I'm chasing you into the afterlife once you do go too. Fuck all the marriage shit, death ain't parting us either you brat." Marshall's tone is light and his palm is doing wonders to comfort him by rubbing circles into his back. It's enough to slow his hiccupped breathing down a few notches. "I dunno if you noticed but, I'm a little obsessed with you."

That drags out a wet snort. "Y-yeah?" When Colson pulls back to meet Marshall's eyes he swears he can see a wet shimmer starting to glaze over his partner’s as well. "Prove it then."

There's a flicker of something in blue eyes, so fast that Colson almost thinks he hallucinates the emotion altogether. But then Marshall's wrapped up arm wiggles between their bodies. The dark blue of the sling catching and sliding so his scratched up fist can shimmy its way partially out. "Planned on it-" There's something clutched tight there, black peeking out from between Marshall's finger and thumb. It's got Colson's heart dropping down into his stomach all over again. "What do you think I was driving so late on the M-8 for?"

"Marshall-" It can't be.

"Colson." But his shithead of an accident victim boyfriend is pulling back, both his good arm and slung arm awkwardly flailing in the air for a moment as he drops down on one knee. The visible wince not hidden as well as Colson imagines the man wants it to be. But Marshall's eyes are softening, and the blonde feels completely cemented in place. The only part of him moving being the uncontrollable shaky quiver of his bottom lip. "I had a whole moment planned, there were flowers, balloons, and those stupidly expensive alcoholic chocolates you love, but they all got absolutely trashed in the crash. Like, half of Detroit is probably going to think the Macies Thanksgiving parade started early. Paul called to have it all replaced, and honestly some intern is probably going to come banging on the door in about 20 minutes but I don't want to wait-" There's a flash of genuine worry that's furrowing the skin between Marshall's brows as he continues. "So I'm sorry this isn't gonna be that fancy perfect proposal you've always dreamed of-"

"Shut up." Colson's voice can't go above a whisper. His tone quick and clipped from how anxious he is to hear the man finally finish. "Just- shut up, ask me. Ask me Marsh, please-"

"Fine, always need to rush me."The rapper's lip quirks at the corners. Hands transferring the small box between eachother with a bit of fumbling. "Will you, Colson Baker-" Until Marshall can finally get it open with an audible clunk. "Legally commit to being with my annoying old ass forever?" 

[amintyworld]

Nightmares - Dream SMP Drabble

A/N: Today’s drabble is inspired by @dreamsmpshitposts‘s idea that Phil has nightmares about killing Wilbur. Of course, I want to thank them for letting me use the idea, because this turned out pretty good. I hope you all enjoy! -Minty

TW: Drinking/alcohol use, self-blame, self-punishment, graphic blood and gore, graphic nightmares, slight cursing. (Tell me if I need to tag anything else!)

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

Phil may not look like it, but he had regrets. He had things he couldn’t take back, but he’d do anything to change. He wished, for example, he visited his sons sooner. He wished that he was a better father and was there for them more than he had been - he was always telling himself to give them space, they were old enough that he shouldn’t baby them anymore, but... but he should have said something, done something to help before things had gotten to that point, why didn’t he do anything-?!

Phil had dreams, nightmares were probably a better word for them. It was always the same one, the same twisted nightmare that made him remember everything, punish him for what he did. The thoughts, the memories stuck to him like glue and when the sky turned dark it dragged him down into the deep abyss and made sure the torture was painful. It was hard to call the dreams nightmares to Phil - part of him saw it as his eternal punishment that he deserved, he deserved to feel this pain for what he did to him. 

It was funny, almost - he’d been dealing with the dreams for so long he could practically explain every detail of it, every feeling.

He was running, a tight pain in his chest and his muscles sore and tired, but he didn’t stop. He heard crowds and cheering, but he didn’t stop moving as if his life depended on it. There was always a feeling of panic in those moments as he felt his mind racing like a rabbit, filled with so many thoughts it felt like static, like at any moment he’d drown in it all.

Then, he’d run into the room, and Wilbur would turn, his eyes wide and tone nervous. The static would quickly cease and he’d feel relieved, he’d found what he was looking for, he could still fix everything before it got worse. He remembered how rough Wilbur looked, the number of tears and holes in his clothes, the bruises and scratches on his skin...

“Have you heard the song, Phil? On the walls?”

Wilbur’s voice was always echoing loudly in his mind, any background noise of water dripping from the caves walls, or the cheering stopped as soon as he said those words. His eyes were full of a tight sadness Phil could never put his finger on. Wilbur’s hands and body shook nervously as he spoke, as if at any moment the slightest thing would set him off. Then, he’d slam his fist against the wall angrily, drawing blood that dripped into the floor, always three drops.

“I’m always SO CLOSE to pressing this button, Phil-!”

His mouth would feel so dry he could barely speak, but after he’d flinch at Wilbur’s violent hit on the wall, stepping back slightly, he’d find some words to say. 

One drop of blood would fall. Two drops. Three.

What he’d say would always differ from dream to dream, but tonight he found himself saying: “Why can’t you just win, Wilbur?”

Wilbur would turn, his eyes filled with genuine rage as his eyes turned pitch black and Phil, on instinct, would draw his sword. Then, he’d stare down at a boy in his place, a boy he knew too well. The boy wore a yellow sweater that complimented his brown curls, and he held a teddy bear tightly in his arms. His brown eyes looked up at him with fear, holding his teddy closer. His body would shake as his eyes glistened with tears threatening to spill. 

“Dad...?”

He couldn’t speak, he couldn’t move no matter how hard he tried. Then, he’d begin to move closer, slowly, as he backed the boy into a corner. The boy was paralyzed with fear as he hid behind his teddy bear, closing his eyes. The strike was always too fast as he heard the boy’s scream die on his lips as he struggled to breathe, his sword though his body. He remembered the way the blood dripped from the boy’s lips as the teddybear dropped to the floor. He remembered vividly how his eyes slowly turned dull as his breathing slowed, how he took him into his arms and felt the warmth leave the child’s body. He slowly went limp in his arms as Phil practically begged for him to live, let him live, please-!

Phil sat up quickly in his bed as he tried to slow his panicked breaths, looking around the room. His hat was still on his nightstand, the time on the clock reading 2:30 AM. Though he knew it was only a dream, he still felt the stickiness of the crimson blood between his fingers as Wilbur’s dying breaths would not leave his mind. He quickly rushed to the bathroom, scrubbing his soapy hands together under the water to get rid of the feeling, the static feeling so loud...

After his hands were rubbed raw, he’d take a few breaths as he gripped the bathroom sink, trying to clear his head, the dream..nightmare not leaving his mind. He looked in the mirror, seeing himself falling apart - his hair messy, eyes red... was he crying? He didn’t even notice he was mumbling something... what was he mumbling?! Whatever it was, it was so soft he couldn’t make out any words. 

This was the fourth time this week. They’re getting worse.

Okay, Phil. Calm yourself. It was just a nightmare, it’s not real... at least, most of it wasn’t... 

Just breathe...

Phil took a deep breath as he stared down at the sink, slowly beginning to realize how hard his hands gripped it to steady himself. Slowly, he calmed as he moved to sit on the toilet and let his head fall into his hands, still filled with so much... stuff... so much that was so...

Phil closed his eyes for a moment, everything being too much, it was all so much...

Damn, he needed a drink.

He opened up his fridge that had a few beers and grabbed one before heading up to the balcony, looking up at the stars, sitting so his legs dangled off it as he rested his head against the cool railings, trying to focus on breathing. Why was it so hard to just relax? It’s not like he was a kid anymore, it was just a stupid nightmare. He took a swig of booze as he looked out over L’manburg, the Chinese lanterns providing a soft light in the dark sky. 

Phil used to enjoy when he remembered how things were like before all this - he liked remembering how simple things used to be when all of them were younger, when there wasn’t a nation to run or revenge needed to be had or blood that needed to be shed. When it was just him, Techno, Wilbur, Tommy, and Tubbo. When they didn’t need to be anything else but a family. 

Phil took another sip of beer as his arm rested on the railing.

“Okay, you just gotta fold them like this, Wil.” Phil said, holding his son’s smaller hands in his own as he guided him in folding the paper, Wilbur looking down in childlike awe. “Glue a bit here, and... ta-da!” Wilbur held the paper lantern in his hands as he smiled brightly, looking up to his father who smiled back. 

“It’s so pretty!”

“It’s very pretty, Wilby. let’s make a few more, huh?”

“Yeah!” Wilbur smiled as he eagerly took another piece of paper and began folding. Wilbur looked up at him in curiosity. “Phil?” 

“Yeah?” Phil looked over to him as his heart dropped - blood dripped from his mouth, his skin was pale... was that a hole in his stomach? Phil could see through it to the other side, which almost made him throw up. Wilbur smiled at him as his eyes became dull.

“Why’d you kill me?”

Phil opened his eyes, his grip tightening on the beer can. Memories weren’t comforting anymore, only reminders of what he did, how he failed. All of it was painful, he wanted to forget - he wanted the static to stop, it was driving him mad. He threw his head back as he downed most of what was left, wincing at the pain of the booze as it went down his throat. 

Maybe Ghostbur had the right idea. Not that it mattered much anyway.

The static in his mind calmed. He breathed a sigh of relief as he turned back inside, crushing the can in his hand and going over to the bin. He noticed a picture frame of him and the boys from a few years ago - smiling, happy. After a few moments of hesitation, he pushed the frame down on the table, throwing the can away and climbing back into bed. 

No more. Not tonight.

[strawberrystarcake]

I posted 83 times in 2021

15 posts created (18%)

68 posts reblogged (82%)

For every post I created, I reblogged 4.5 posts.

I added 70 tags in 2021

#art that is not mine - 29 posts

#strawberrie speaks - 14 posts

#zuriii - 7 posts

#🔔💙 - 5 posts

#eret - 3 posts

#eret fanart - 3 posts

#a million possible outcomes - 3 posts

#tom holland - 2 posts

#art - 2 posts

#strawberrie's stories (and other related things) - 2 posts

Longest Tag: 104 characters

#reblogging this again so that if people go on my blog they don't have to scroll down too much to find it

My Top Posts in 2021

#5

my animal crossing villager just gave me a pair of cute pants, looked me in the eye, and said "you deserve nice things." i love you marina

6 notes • Posted 2021-11-13 09:31:09 GMT

#4

something i love about the world

We’re all connected. 

You know someone, that someone knows someone, that someone knows someone too. Maybe that last someone knows you, and maybe you’ll go your entire life without realizing that your friends have other groups comprised of other people you somehow, some way, know. You know someone and you will never truly be alone.

Perhaps one day you’ll bump into someone on the street and not think anything of it. Perhaps later that same day you’ll log onto tumblr and text your favourite mutual about the experience and they will hesitate. They will tell you that they had the exact same experience but in the opposite direction, and you will realize then that you just met your best friend for the first time through pure coincidence. You are connected.

Perhaps one day you’ll go abroad and meet a nice person some years older than you. Perhaps they will tell you a story about someone they know. But what’s this? You’ve heard this story before. You know you have. You mention it offhandedly to your mother in one of your phone calls, and she will tell you that the comedic main character of the anecdote is one of her friends. She told you the story one night. It turns out you’ve befriended your mother’s high school classmate’s sister. You are connected.

Perhaps you will marry someone, one day. Perhaps you will look through old pictures together and you find that you’re in one that was taken years and years and years ago. And finally, it makes sense. Why they’re so familiar, why you feel as if you’ve known them forever. You have! You married your childhood best friend, that sweet kid who moved away when you were both three! You were connected then and you are connected now, by the rings on your fingers and the love in your hearts, and you know that you will be connected to them forever.

The world is terrifyingly big, but I think it’s so much smaller than we realize. 

7 notes • Posted 2021-11-03 07:30:12 GMT

#3

the feminine urge to live inside a tree with a couple sheep and a beautiful partner and do nothing but bake and embroider and sketch and write love letters to each other and wake up at dawn to go on adventures in the very pretty woods and blow glass and

10 notes • Posted 2021-11-01 05:03:42 GMT

#2

the children of the forgotten chest

Summary: The Sawamura Estate has many secrets.

Warnings: death (it's not too graphic but it probably deserves to be mentioned here)

Author's Note: i wanted a haikyuu dark academia au so i made a haikyuu dark academia au. sugawara's genderbent here because it's set in some past era when gay marriage was definitely not legal. credits to @lazycherri for the lovely banner!

A chest lay, unmoved and unopened, in a darkened room that was more dust than air.

Inside it were five items.

A stiff lace collar full of painted stars.

White shoes stained with chemical.

Cardstock filled with indecipherable equations.

A thin stack of scribbled poems.

A pair of thick spectacles.

The things of children long dead, whose bodies were never found, and whose memories are preserved by the things that in life were so very insignificant to them.

.

.

Once upon a time, these children roamed the expansive gardens of the Sawamura estate. Before the mistress of the house allegedly went mad, before the master became a recluse, before everything, the five children of the dark dusty room and the forgotten chest were alive.

The charges of Koushi and Daichi Sawamura were barely older than two when they arrived, they were hardly twelve when they left, and to an outlier, their ten years with the Sawamuras were spent only in pursuit of academics. This was not an entirely incorrect conclusion, of course. By the time they were seven, Koushi, a renowned schoolmarm, had turned them into relatively successful scholars in their respective fields. But the hypothetical outlier would not know the extent of the couple’s affection for their charges- affection that easily equaled that of parents toward their children. It is no wonder they too disappeared after the tragedy.

The children’s names were Hitoka, Shouyou, Tobio, Tadashi and Kei.

Hitoka, the artist. The sweet, demure little girl who wore aprons and lacy dresses, who understood colour and patience better than most adults. She thought, I believe, that she was too good for the world, or that the world was too good for her, so she wanted to create her own world with pencils and paints where she could have lived in without guilt. She was soft and slow with it; Rome, after all, wasn't built in a day.

Shouyou, the scientist. The boundless ball of boundless energy, who fought with the world, armed with chemicals and sheer willpower, and who did not believe in boundaries at all. He was fast and bright and constantly changing, chaotic in the best way. He believed everything was possible, so he pushed everything to the utter limit in an attempt to break free and soar.

Tobio, the mathematician. The stoic, self-important one with a one-track mind that filled sheet after sheet of paper with numbers and clean lines. He was as precise and quick as a machine, and as brilliant as one. It's a race to the finish line, math, and he had expected to win by a margin.

Tadashi, the poet. The blushing sweetheart who could not speak, and who communicated through his quill and ink. He wanted to put down the feelings he couldn’t convey aloud on paper. He wanted to make people understand, because so few ever have. He was used to being judged from a distance and hoped that his words have the ability to endear him to people without them ever having met him at all.

Kei, the historian. The boy with a poker face behind heavy spectacles, who was forced to grow up quicker than anyone would have liked. He never could let go of the past and- wise child- he decided to embrace that. He was cold and pretentious and factual, always seeming like he knew something you don't. His world was made up of things long-dead, beautiful only in his eyes. Rather ironic that he joined them in the end, is it not?

...Well, once upon a time, they were children and not corpses, memories. They were scholars and siblings and students and beamed unknowingly upon the cruel world.

Once upon a time, the children of the dark room and the forgotten chest existed.

Author's Note; The Sequel: whoo! i've wanted to post that for a bit now. i do hope you like it, dear reader! remember that reblogs and likes are much much appreciated!!

25 notes • Posted 2021-11-04 10:02:00 GMT

#1

timmy and tommy

42 notes • Posted 2021-11-04 04:41:37 GMT

Get your Tumblr 2021 Year in Review →

[descendantofthesparrow]

Multipart Commission - Harry Hook x reader - Prince Behind the Pirate - part 15 - revenge

*mild cursing*

=

….a secret marriage huh? You glared down at the written document defining the arranged marriage between you and Jordan.

Leah wanted the main wedding to be secret as to not attract the attention of your parents or anyone who knew about you and Harry.

Then she had sent you a detailed letter about how you and Jordan would start dating and within the next two years, do the grand wedding in front of everyone.

And the secret wedding was in two.days.

You were still in a depression over breaking the news to Harry, which was only last night.

You groaned and face planted in your arms, mentally cursing Leah to hell. You replayed Harry's screams in your head, begging for you to come back.

God, this was going to be hard, and you had to keep up the act of “happy perfect princess” when the secret wedding came along to not arise suspicion about it.

You jumped as your phone buzzed, picking it up and glaring down at the screen. -we will go dress shopping tomorrow, be ready by 3:30- you let out a small huff of frustration and turned off your phone, chucking it on your bed, causing it to bounce off the mattress and clatter on the floor.

“go-fu-AHH!” you screamed, standing from your desk and throwing your chair to the ground, kicking your standing mirror down, punching and shattering a photo of you and your grandmother. “I HATE YOU” you let out a guttural scream, grabbing the photo and chucking it out the window.

You sighed through your teeth, rubbing your face as you calmed down, “fuuuuuuuu” you groaned, turning and sitting on your bed “how am I going to do this” you whispered to yourself.

=

Audrey stomped through her parent's castle, death grip on her phone, if her parents admitted to knowing Leah's plan she would hesitate to rip them a new one. She slammed open their office door, causing the two adults to jump from their desks.

“Audrey whats?” her mother started, her eyes widening as Audrey shoved her phone in her face.

“did you know?! That grammie is forcing (y/n) to marry Jordan?!” Aorua stood and grabbed Audreys phone, looking over the texts.

“WHAT?” Phillip yelled, standing from his desk and walking over to the two girls, glaring at the phone “how dare she, she-what the- Aurora she- what about Harry?!” Phillip looked to Audrey, a horrified look on his face.

“grammie blackmailed her! She said if (y/n) didn’t marry Jordan she would never sign the document allowing more vks!” Aurora turned red, almost breaking Audreys phone in her grip.

“the bitch” she muttered, pressing Audreys phone into the teen's chest and pushing past her.

“Mom what are you-?” Audrey stuttered, running after her mom.

“im going to have a talk with King Ben, I want my mother taken off the council right now, her time has long been over” the usually sunny princess growled, her mother had held a grip on her kingdom of Auroia for long enough, now she would remove her grip on Auradon.

=

Luis brows rose as he stepped out of his limo to see Aurora, Phillip, and Audrey stomping up the steps of King Bens castle.

“my what is going on?” he asked aloud, Phillip turned to him, raising his brow.

“what are you doing here Luis?” he asked, waiting for the older man to catch up.

“Im here to tell the king about your mother in laws horrid plan, I should have told him as soon as I heard it but it is difficult to get an audience with him during such a busy time” Luis hummed, smiling as Phillip nodded along.

“same here, Audrey just showed us the texts (y/n) has received from Leah” Luis and Phillip quickly followed the pissed off Aurora who was swiftly making her way to Ben's office.

Aurora slammed his door open, the teen king jumped in fright, scrambling to catch the empty coffee he had tossed in the air in reaction. “A-Aurora?! What-“

“my mother has decided to go behind my back, AND YOURS, blackmailing my daughter to marry Ariels son in exchange for signing the new vks document, or else she would force my daughter to leave Harry and his friends on the isle to rot, and I demand you remove her from the council” Ben’s jaw dropped and he slammed the coffee cup on his desk.

“WHAT?! How long has this been going on?!” Ben gasped, walking around his desk and digging into a cabinet.

“almost two weeks” Luis sighed, rubbing his chin “there was a secret council meeting and almost all of them agreed with her plan, I tried to tell you sooner but you’ve been booked” Ben winced and bowed his head to Luis.

“im sorry about that, I wish I could have spoken to you sooner, thank you for telling me now though, I’ll be removing her from her seat. Oh, and Aurora?” the blonde princess rose her brow “will you take her place?” her jaw dropped slightly before she shook her head.

“(y/n) shou-“ Ben smiled and shrugged.

“as the ambassador of the isle, she already has a position on the council” he turned to Luis “If you could, please give me all the names of those who agreed to her plan, I want them removed immediately”

Luis smiled and nodded, going over to the cabinet and digging into the files, taking out the other rotten apples of the council.

Aurora hummed for a moment, thinking, before she smiled “Ben, if Im going to be one of the new council members, may I have the new vks document?” Ben grinned and nodded, running to his desk and quickly grabbing the document and a pen.

“here you go” Ben chirped, going back to removing the council members with a scribble of his own pen and a red-stained stamp.

Aurora motioned for Phillip to turn around, and he did, letting Aurora use his back as a writing table. She wrote her name with a flourish and smiled, setting the document and pen on Bens's desk.

Audrey stared at her grammies council document and the other rotten council members, her eyes narrowed and she looked up at Ben, who shivered and looked up at her, his eyes curious. “Aud-“

“We need to make them pay, they need to know what the kids on the isle go through” she snarled, making her parents look at her in shock.

Ben tilted his head at her, raising his brow “….only a few months ago you were saying Mal, Evie, Carlos, and Jay didn’t deserve to be here, what changed?” Aurora gasped at that, going to reprimand her when Phillip stopped her.

“my sister and her stories of the isle, I still don’t like Mal but she, nor any of the kids on the isle deserved what they went and are going through, my sister has been so sad without Harry because of my grandmother and the other idiots of the council, I want revenge for my sister” Audrey and Ben stared at each other, the fire in her eyes surprising him.

He smiled and nodded, “I think I know a way to do that, would you mind going to get fairy godmother? And tell her to get her wand, we have some council members to spell” Audrey gave a nasty grin and nodded, bolting out of Ben's office with her parents following close behind.

Aurora stopped, looking back at Ben, a smile on her face “thank you, Ben”

“thank you Aurora, (y/n) is my best friend, I can't have her happiness ripped from her” he smiled back, nodding at Luis and calling Lumiere to his office.

Ben stopped, humming to himself before taking his phone out and texting Audrey

-tell FG to spell my father as well, he needs to learn his own lesson about the isle-

-copy that >:)-

=

Leah hummed to herself as she ran her fingers through (y/n)s wedding gown, the modest dress was fit for a princess.

“soon I will have my hands on my own kingdom again” she muttered, a grin spreading on her face.

She stopped, a huge wave of dizziness overtaking her “oh my” she muttered, stumbling back to her bed and falling back into it, “wha?”

Her eyes drifted close and she fell into a nightmare.

=

Leah stumbled around the rotten smelling streets of the isle, eyes watering at the putrid stench of rotten food and…something else, she couldn't tell though.

She looked to her left, gasping in fear as she locked eyes with eh sunken ones of a tiny three-year-old, the child's cheeks thin and gaunt, her eyes drained of life, her body covered in blood and bruises, her ankles and hands dark and bloody.

“oh my-ah!” a large man bumped into her, clicking his tongue at her and whistling. Leah ran, tripping over loose stones and rusty nails. She tripped over a large fallen pillar, screaming as someone grabbed her.

= (yall can imagine the rest of the council and beasts tourture~…can be as graphic as you want~)=

Harry sighed, unable to move from his bed, his eyes hurt, unable to shed another but trying to. “Harry?” Umas muffled voice sounded from the other side of the door “Harry are you okay? You’ve been in your room for almost two days”

Harry sniffed, his throat was too sore to talk “Harry I’m coming in” Uma opened the door and gasped at Harry's curled up form on his messy bed “harry” she cooed, walking over and kneeling next to him, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder “what-“

“(y/n)s bitch of a gra’ma is forcin’ her ta marry someon’ else ta get ‘er ta sign the document for us” he croaked, wincing as Uma shrieked in anger.

“WHAT! HOW CAN-AH!!?” she stood from beside his bed, walking around while ranting, waving her hands about wildly. “she can't fucking do that?! Its actually illegal she-WHAT!?!” Gil softly knocked on Harry's open door, a bright yet confused look on his face.

“um, there's some of Bens guard messenger dudes outside….along with Ben and Mal?” Uma looked to Harry confused and pushed past Gil, going to meet with the king and Lady of the court.

Harry sniffed and rubbed his cheek, groggily sitting up and looked at gil blankly “did they yell yeh what they wanted” he croaked, sighing as Gil shrugged.

“no, they just wanted to talk to uma-“ Gil jumped as uma leaped into the room, a huge grin on her face.

“pack your bags boys! We’re going to Auradon!” Harry's jaw dropped and he stood quickly, walking over to Uma and gripping her shoulders.

“did-“ Uma’s bright grin turned nasty and she chuckled.

“nope~ beasty boy fired most of the council, including (y/n)s grandma, and the new vk document has been signed! You! Are gonna go get your princess back!” Harry's heart sprung to life and he let out a bout of laughter, picking Uma up in a hug, spinning her around for a moment before setting her down and grabbing his duffle bag, starting to pack.

Uma giggled and pushed Gil's shoulder “come one, we need to go pack, the sooner Harry gets his girl the better” the two teen pirates ran out of Harry's room and to their own to pack.

=

You glared at the long-sleeved white dress hanging from your temporary rooms closet door.

….you were getting married in 10 hours.

You also hadn’t heard from Leah in a day, after she had texted you yesterday about the dress, and all the other crap.

Your phone buzzed and you groaned “speak of the devil” you muttered, hesitantly picking up your phone to look at the text.

-from Leah >:C-

-im sorry-

That…surprised you? Your furrowed your brows in confusion, what? She was sorry all of a sudden, well it didn’t matter, she was fucking ruining your life at the moment, and you couldn’t forgive her.

Your phone buzzed again.

You gasped and stood from your seat, squealing as you jumped around in joy

-from Jordan-

-WEDDINGS OFF!!!:D:D:D-

-YEEES- you texted back -what happened!!! How??!-

- i don’t even know,…i…did come out to them? They were completely supportive btw, so maybe that’s why?…. hey btw, whose the new blonde dude, hes cute-

-that’s amazing im so proud of you! And happy for you!!....what new blonde dude?-

Your phone buzzed again, but this time with a text from your sister.

-hey, ur at the Atlantic hotel right?-

You furrowed your brows and texted her back

-yeah? Why OH DID YOU HEAR?!-

-I KNOW!! :D but you need to come outside, im here to pick you up-

You nodded and messaged her back -okay- and rushed to grab your bags, sliding on your jacket and running out of the room. you didn’t bother to take the elevator, it would take to long.

You slammed open the stairwell doors and ran out the building, giggling as you spotted your sister. “Audrey!!” you screeched, dropping your bags and leaping into her arms “hi!”

“hi!” she screeched back, catching you and swaying you in her arms “ohhhh you have no idea what a crazy two days its been!”

“Are you kidding!?! I was supposed to get married in 10 hours!” you cackled, picking your bags up and tossing them into the back of her Cadillac and hopping in her passenger seat.

Audrey giggled and leaped into the driver's seat, putting her seat belt back on and driving towards the school “ooh I know, there's a surprise for you back at the dorms by the way”

You grinned and poked her shoulder “ohhh what is it~?”

“you gotta find out for yourself~” Audrey teased, pushing off your hand.

“Okay okay,” you sighed happily, letting your head fall back against the seat and looking up at the clear blue sky.

The day that was going to be your doom was saved.

What would make it even better was Harry.

But, that probably wouldn’t be for another couple months at best with your grandmother still on the council.

“oh by the way grammie was kicked off the council” you popped back up, staring wide-eyed at Audrey.

“what?!?! Wait does that-holy shit” you muttered, laughter bubbling beneath your words.

Audrey laughed with you, telling you about how mom and dad found out about Leah's plan and foiling it, telling Ariel and Eric that she had gone behind their backs and didn’t know about the arranged marriage.

They were pissed, immediately calling off the wedding and apologizing to your parents and Jordan.

About an hour later you arrived back at the dorms, you raised your brow at the limo out front, multiple bags being emptied from the trunk “Aud whats- HOLY FUCK” you screamed, unbuckling your seat belt and leaping out of the car, running towards the tall Scottish pirate “HARRY!” he looked up, a huge grin spreading across his face.

“(Y/N)!” he yelled, running towards you and catching you mid-air, spinning you around in his arms “my love holy shit I missed yeh” he sobbed in your ear, happy tears running down his face and soaking your top.

“Harry Harry Harry” you muttered over and over again, pulling back and peppering kissing all over his face, making him giggle.

“dawww” Audrey and Uma cooed, Audrey snapping a photo of the reunion. Harry shook off your kisses and grinned at you, yelping adorably as you pouted and grabbed his face, forcing more kisses on his nose and cheeks. “let.me.love.you” you kissed between each word, ignoring your parents and sister in the background, cooing and snapping photos of the two of you.

“lass, lass, love, (y/n)-ah~!” he squealed, setting you down and grabbing your hands and peeling them from his neck “love I’m ticklish please”

“you must be Harry” Harry perked up, straightening as he locked eyes with your dad.

“uh-aye, yes! Yes, sir tha’s me” he said nervously, blinking surprised as Phillip held out his hand.

“thank you for making my daughter happy and keeping her safe when she was on the isle with you” Harry smiled and took his hand, yelping as Phillip pulled him in for a hug and Aurora joined in, greeting Harry with a chirp.

“hello~ (y/n) has told us all about you!” she squealed, ruffling Harry's hair.

“uh really?” Harry murmured, peeking at you through the gap between Aurora's head and Phillip’s arm

You gave him a bright smile and walked over, pulling him from your parent's arms “lass-mmf!?” you pulled him down and pressed your lips to his, humming into it.

Harry's eyes fluttered closed, shoulders dropping and arms wrapping around your waist.

“Okay okay” Phillip chuckled, patting your shoulder “that’s enough, now why don’t we help these four move in”

You turned, gasping as you spotted Uma, Gil, and Dizzy standing at the entrance, Dizzy squealing, and bouncing around.

“Yeah!” you grinned, grabbing Harry's hand and pulling him into the dorm building, harry intertwining his fingers with yours.

You finally had your pirate prince back.

 -the end, thank you for reading! Also, told you it was a happy end~-

 permtaglist

@queer-cosette​

@sephiralorange​

@lunanight2012​

@musicarose​

@daughter-of-the-stars11​

@rintheemolion​

@random-thoughts-003​

@amorathegamingkitsune​ 

taglist

@thecaptainsgingersnap​

@thebookwormfairy​ 

[serenasoutherlyns]

Full of Surprises ch. 1-3

casey/alex, past alex/olivia. semi-au & fuzzy timeline, set post season 9. cross-posted from ao3 so the first three chapters are coming at ya all at once. TW for series-typical violence, SA, and discussions of mental illness. less graphic than the show. Fluff, romance, angst! First three chapters are totally SFW.

And yet, as she scanned the place, she caught someone she recognized. Sitting at the bar, bent over a notebook, was Casey Novak; her deep red hair tied back in a casual ponytail, an empty highball glass in front of her, chewing on the end of a click pen.

1 .

This wasn’t where Alex would usually find herself. Or at least, it didn’t used to be. Maybe it was now.

Emily had spent her evenings sat at a booth in the back of the local pub, watching and sketching. The books she’d filled, she kept them safely tucked in a box in the back of her closet, initialed “EC.” Alex couldn’t find it in her to draw much anymore.

Anne was alone more than not, spent long evenings reading philosophy, went running early mornings, yoga classes, taught herself guitar, filled hours on hours with ideas and exhaustion. Alex didn’t spend much time poring over The Republic these days, her guitar was long covered in dust.

In law school, her friends had a favorite table in the window of a little cafe, they would go from morning coffee to afternoon study to sharing bottles of red wine, coming and going as they pleased, debating with hopeful glimmers in their bright eyes. Late into the night, arm wrapped around Sylvia’s waist, listening to her classmates carry on, she’d watch the candles burn down. Sylvia had called her Lexi, whispered in her ear on night walks in the cold Cambridge air to their little apartment, gentle hands soothing her most anxious times. Alex hadn’t felt like that in years.

College weekends were spent at punk shows in basements, though she knows now nobody would believe it, young Alex Cabot (the nickname had been coined in those years, sharper edged than the elaborate Alexandra) knew how to have some fun, at least back then. She’d dyed her hair black and worn studs on her collar, had a reputation for being a player, and it seemed like the back of her right hand was constantly stained with marker residue. Sticky floors and lipgloss on her neck, so many firsts all at once.

Her evenings during her years in the DA’s office were usually full of work, except the odd night when she’d meet the detectives for a drink at their haunt or head out with the other ADAs to some upscale cocktail bar. Two different crowds with two different mentalities, the detectives were dedicated to a fault, while the prosecutors were insufferably full of themselves. The detectives would tire her out by 11:30, but she’d find an excuse to leave the ADA excursions before 9. Far more special were the many evenings spent in Olivia’s apartment drinking two beers each and filling the quiet air with soft laughter and conversation.

But a little library themed speakeasy? Not her typical place. Well. No time like the present to change one’s habits. She’d been recommended it by an old law school friend a couple weeks ago, bumped into him on a whim in a coffee shop, was surprised she wasn’t dead, had been there last night, said it was right up her alley. Its illicit vibe wasn’t exactly to ADA Cabot’s tastes, no. But it scratched something in Alex, that hadn’t been satisfied since those basement nights and cozy cafe afternoons. From the place’s shelves she’d pulled a book of Pre-Raphaelite poetry and sat in a comfy chair with a scotch and a San Pelligrino, pleased, at least, to be out of the apartment for the evening.

She didn’t need the money, but she’d been copyediting textbooks freelance, filling up her time with grammar and word choice. She’d been reading a lot of fiction. She adopted two extremely fluffy cats. It was a pleasant, if mundane, life. It turned out, Alex had realized, that there were plenty of eager and capable young attorneys who could do her former job as well as she ever had. She felt, finally, like she deserved a bit of a rest. Needed one, really. Someone would do the prosecuting. The thought of stepping back in the courtroom, looking at the bench, examining witnesses, made her feel sick to her stomach, though she had once loved that life. It wasn’t her anymore— maybe it never really had been. She decided this was her kind of place after all. This iteration of Alexandra Cabot would drink bubbly water in secluded speakeasies while reading poetry.

Alex didn’t expect to see anybody she knew, not somewhere you needed a password to get into, where the music was indie folk and old jazz from a vintage record player, the drinks had names like the “Lady Brett” and the “Daisy Buchanan,” and most of the patrons were dressed in flannel with their noses buried in old books. And yet, as she scanned the place, she caught someone she recognized. Sitting at the bar, bent over a notebook, was Casey Novak; her deep red hair tied back in a casual ponytail, a half-empty highball glass in front of her, chewing on the end of a click pen.

This was surprising. Alex, though she hadn’t ever known Casey well, before her first brief return to life as Alex Cabot, only as one of the white collar ADAs (they ran in a bit of a pack, didn’t shy away from imitating the lifestyles of those they prosecuted). After knowing her as a prosecutor, Alex would expect to see Casey in a sports bar watching a game, or in some chrome-gilded bar with high ceilings drinking designer cocktails and cheering on a verbal showdown between her colleagues. Or in the center of a showdown like that. Not alone, writing in a moleskine, wearing a red flannel over a simple black dress. Casey was striking, Alex realized, before she realized she’d been looking a little longer than was considered normal. She hoped she didn’t seem like a creep watching from afar. She considered getting up, saying hello, but felt that Casey may not even remember her, may not want to be disturbed as she wrote, may not even recognize her anymore. She’d changed her appearance when she’d gone back to being Alex Cabot, cut her hair in a short bob, dyed it dark brown, wore thick rimmed glasses and simple clothing, too painful to be the formal blonde she used to be. Barely the same woman who’s once-murderer Casey had put behind bars those years ago.

Alex didn’t have to consider talking to Casey, however, because almost as soon as she returned to her book, she heard the sound of rubber soled sneakers against the old hardwood floors and a voice beside her.

“Hey stranger,” she said.

“Hi Casey,” Alex said as she slid her bookmark into place and looked up at the familiar face with a smile. “Care to join me?”

2 .

“I almost didn’t recognize you,” Casey said as she sat down. “I’m allowed to, uh, talk to you right? Though I guess if I wasn’t you wouldn’t acknowledge me, which would be fine, by the way.” There was the Casey Alex remembered, her words getting ahead of her.

“It’s fine, I’m me again,” Alex said calmly, “It’s really good to see you, though I wouldn’t have imagined you to be the writing type, or the underground-library-bar type” Alex gestured to the leather notebook in Casey’s left hand.

“I’m full of surprises, Alexandra Cabot.” Casey said in a tone that suggested she was sarcastic, yet convinced Alex she was telling the truth. Alex sipped her water.

“What were you working on?” She asked, not wanting to pry, but very eager to catch up, to know why she was alone in a place like this.

“Oh, nothing, nothing interesting. Just some little bits and pieces.” Casey replied.

“Not argument notes on a Saturday night, I hope?” Alex asked, though she knew that she would’ve done the same thing back when she was in the DA’s office. Casey looked pale, uncomfortable for a moment. “I’m sorry,” Alex said, trying to soothe any pain she may have caused, though she couldn’t fathom why. “I don’t mean to bring up work when you’re trying to relax.” At this, Casey just looked confused.

“Alex, have you not heard?” Casey said, searching for signs of recognition in the woman’s eyes, but finding only further confusion continuing, her voice low, “I was censured a few months ago. I can’t practice law for at least three years.” Alex’s eyes opened wide and she set her glass down on the table between them. “I’m surprised the rumor hasn’t reached your circles yet, though I admit I’m glad I get to be the one to tell someone for a change.” Alex noticed Casey cross her arms together over her chest, closing herself up, making herself seem smaller.

It was quiet for a while, the sounds of Ella Fitzgerald on the speakers, quiet conversations, and pages turning filling it. “I’m sorry, no, I hadn’t heard. That’s too bad. Do you want to talk about it?” Casey grinned at the suggestion, oddly intimate for the two women who, while they hardly knew each other, had shared some of the most intense moments either of them had experienced in a courtroom.

“I think I’ve gone over it enough in my head, but uh, thank you.” Casey said, her voice wobbling on the thanks, “You know, you’re the first person so far to actually ask me that?”

“I’m sorry.” Was Alex’s reply. Surely Casey had people who were interested in her feelings?

“The circumstances were,” Casey trailed off as she looked for the right wording, “I was at fault, for sure. But I was just trying to do the right thing, and I made a mistake.”

“Nothing shocking, I hope?” Asked Alex, still trying to ascertain the nature of the censure, wondering about what the woman sitting across from her could’ve done.

“I violated due process, technically.” Casey replied, attempting to gauge Alex’s reaction, but seeing that it continued to be contemplative rather than condemning, continued, “I shouldn’t’ve, but I think all of us have done worse in our time. But I was not in Donnelly’s good graces, so…” instead of ending her sentence, Casey sipped the last of her drink and looked up at Alex nervously, hoping the woman wouldn’t judge her too harshly.

“Oh man, Casey. That’s really tough. I’m sorry.” Casey searched for any sign of disapprobation in Alex’s tone, but finding only genuine concern, relaxed.

“So I’ve been doing other stuff for a little while. Using my undergrad,” she said, truly sarcastic this time. “What about you Cabot? What’s keeping you from your old haunt? And what’s with the brunette look?”

Alex wanted to answer, but wasn’t going to let Casey get away completely with deflecting. “You didn’t answer my question, Novak. What’s in the notebook?”

Casey laughed. “You really are relentless.” Alex just raised an eyebrow smugly while sipping her drink, as if to say, go on. “It’s a poetry journal. I’ve kept one since college.”

This admission broke the unflappable Alex Cabot’s reserve and she couldn’t keep herself from a few giggles. “I apologize,” she said, “for laughing at you. Just, the idea of Casey Novak the poet would not have occurred to me.”

“Like I said,” Casey started, “I’m full of surprises. And nobody has laughed at me in a long time,” she continued, beginning to laugh herself. “Believe it or not, I have an English degree.”

“Ok, ok, stop. I’m not sure I can take many more shocks tonight,” teased Alex.

“And you, didn’t answer my question. What’s with the brunette? You look beautiful,” Casey said before realizing what she was saying, shutting herself up before she said anything embarrassing.

“I needed a change,” Alex said, “Something to distance myself from my old selves. I never dyed my hair before, or switched up my look at all really. Just, a change.”

“I get that.” Casey said, and Alex felt like she really did get it, somehow more than anybody else had to this point. She’d seen a few old colleagues and friends, and they all had looked at her with this mixture of fear and pity that made her wish she was invisible. But Casey seemed to say something deeper in just three words.

They talked together late into the night, about books and drinks (Casey had been a bartender in college, her knowledge on pairings was unparalleled) and everything but law. It was close to 2:00 am when Casey started to yawn.

“I’m really glad I ran into you, Alex,” she said as they left the bar, her voice scratchy from talking quietly, a subtle accent that Alex couldn’t quite place showing through under the influence of sleepiness and her light buzz. It was adorable, Alex found herself thinking.

“Me too, Casey,” Alex replied, and before she could turn to start walking towards her apartment, only a block or so away, she was met with a hug. It was brief, but Alex took in the scent of Casey’s coconut shampoo, sweet and pleasing.

“I wouldn’t have expected you to be much of a hugger either,” Alex said as she pulled away, brushing her hands on Casey’s elbows.

“I guess you have a lot to figure out,” she said, playfully, as Alex handed her into a cab.

As Alex walked up the stairs to her apartment (she could afford a bigger place, but this one, this one felt right), Alex replayed the evening and regretted not asking for Casey’s phone number before she left. When she pulled her keys out of her pocket to unlock the door, she found a piece of paper, with a number and a note:

text me, so I can learn some of your surprises.

3 .

Alex was awake.

The same old dreams kept her restless. It had been a bad night, she’d slept less than 3 hours before she woke, startled, as the sun just began to rise, 5 am on a Saturday in September.

Foggily, she attempted to reconstruct the details of her pieced together dreams, her therapist, Julia, had convinced her to keep a journal. She said the nightmares of being shot, of nobody recognizing her, those made perfect sense, classic PTSD symptoms. With what happened to her it would’ve been stranger to not suffer it. But these hadn’t been those dreams.

Clare Cartwright, age 15 stood in line at the coffee shop. Her face was pink with tears but nobody saw anything out of the ordinary except for Alex, watching her from a table. Clare’s cheeks were wet and covered in running mascara but the barista didn’t bat an eye as she ordered an iced chai and sat down alone with her laptop. Tears turned to sobs turned to screams, thrashing, but she just kept typing, sipping her tea, nobody did a damn thing. Alex tried to rise from her seat, go to the girl, hold her and scratch her back while she cried, but the heavy weight of her own body kept her seated, powerless to do anything. She tried to yell across the room, tell her that it was going to be ok, she was going to put whoever hurt her behind bars, protect her from them forever. But when she opened her mouth all breath was sucked out of her lungs, she collapsed. Clare’s cries echoed ceaselessly.

Trevor Hamilton, a 20 something pro, had been turning tricks all night but one guy had taken it a little too far. He was sure his neck, hips would be covered in nasty bruises the next day. Oh well. Nobody believed a pro who cried rape. He stuffed his cash in his briefs and made his way towards the van he slept in with three other guys but before he could get there, he fell, body bloody. Nobody heard a sound but Trevor must have been shot. His blood was cold as it poured out of him onto the sidewalk but he stood up. He wasn’t dead. In the morgue, Melinda Warner ruled the cause of death a fatal gunshot wound to his back, probably a stray bullet, but he’d had sex the night he died, maybe an angry John. Alex told everyone that he wasn’t dead. Trevor whispered in her ear, asked her how could she let them say he was dead, how could she let them get away with saying such a thing like that, how could she let them call what had happened to him sex. Alex repeated herself over and over but all she got in return from the detectives were sympathetic looks of confusion as they sent her home for the day. She must’ve been too tired, Alex heard Olivia tell Elliot, maybe her mind was acting up again, sleep deprivation can kickstart psychosis. Someone would check in on her that night, make sure she wasn’t relapsing. Alex knew she wasn’t hallucinating, because Trevor had spoken to her in the clearest voice she’d heard in months. Alex wept for Trevor the whole way home and then some but nobody seemed to notice.

Annabelle Lamm wore a fuzzy pink nightgown when her grandmother brought her into the precinct one snowy night. Olivia called Alex to come to the precinct, they needed a warrant for the apartment, they found fluids in the girl’s hair of all places, grandma handed them an envelope full of pictures of Annie that nobody in the family admitted to taking. It was a no brainer warrant, Alex didn’t even mind waking up a judge for it if it meant getting whoever had been hurting this little girl as soon as possible. When Alex arrived to the building, Olivia wasn’t there and all the lights were off. Alex clicked on a lamp, wondered if Liv had found another ADA and rushed off without telling her anything. But the room was unfamiliar, empty, concrete. In the center of the room standing perfectly still was a 5 year old girl in a pink fuzzy nightgown. Alex ran to her but couldn’t get any closer. The little girl had a hollow expression and didn’t move an inch. Alex kept running and running but her feet stayed in the same spot, powerless.

Yeah. Powerless. As she awoke she felt like she was still running, head still spinning, still heard screams.

She wrote it all down in her journal. Julia had said that it was unusual for people whose jobs involved consistently levels of high stress and disturbance to have the severity of symptoms she had; that there was usually a tolerance that was built up to being horrified. Alex had either never had that tolerance or it had been washed away during the years she’d spent in WITSEC because her very brief return to the practice of law had nearly broken her.

“Sleep deprivation can kickstart psychosis,” Olivia had told her once when they first worked together, ostensibly referring to a case of statutory rape where the perp didn’t recall a single piece of the event; but Alex knew the comment was pointed at her, not the perp. Olivia could tell that Alex’s patience was growing thin, her mind unfocused; she must’ve deduced that Alex wasn’t sleeping much. But Alex already knew the warning signs.

Alexandra Cabot, age 16, sat shaking in a hospital room. It was almost finals week, she’d pulled a few all nighters, it was nothing serious, she’d told her school counselor a week prior when her friends had noticed her speech patterns growing muddled. She stayed up another 24 hours and the last thing she remembered was her roommates grabbing her wrists and pulling her inside off the balcony. After that, the school had installed locks on all the windows. Alexandra was freezing in her hospital gown, brain numbed out from the IV antipsychotics she was attached to. A few days in the hospital to take care of her injuries (she was informed that she had thrown herself against the wall while school officials took her to the ER), then a summer of residential treatment, hopefully she would be able to return to boarding school in the fall. Her father looked at her with a shattered expression, her mother treated her with cold indifference, her friends didn’t talk to her. Major depression with psychotic features.

Alex knew the consequences of not sleeping enough. She considered taking her cup of mint tea and heading back to bed, cuddling up to her cats, reading a book maybe, just trying to screw her head on right. Her body fought her though, nervous energy ran through her veins, so she elected to have a walk instead. Besides, it had been years since she’d had any serious episode. Anxiety, sure, and the occasional month or so of depression, a few close calls, but regular therapy and medication kept her more or less in the clear since college. Her family, her therapists, had suggested she go into a different kind of law, something stimulating but less distressing like, intellectual property, but she had refused, felt called to prosecuting. But her experience was what made her a great prosecutor, and it was why she had been so adamant about the proper handling of cases involving those suffering from mental illness, especially victims, but perps as well. She knew how it felt, more than she admitted to almost anybody, but she also knew there were paths through it.

The same old nightmares, but Alex was a different person. The old Alex would’ve thrown herself even harder into work than usual, won her cases even more viciously, assuaged her feelings of powerlessness by asserting control. This Alex knew that complete control was unattainable.

The September air was cold this early in the morning, but bracing. The contrast between her thermos full of hot tea pleased her, she pretended she was a dragon as she breathed steam. She smiled to herself at the thought and at the bright orange sun rising through the treetops in the park by her apartment. This had been the right choice, sunrises were her favorite magic. Content covered her like a well fitting dress, shaking off the nerves slowly. The most dedicated joggers and newsstand operators were the only other people out this early, the quietest time in the city. Alex’s phone buzzed.

Casey: Nice coat, Cabot.

Alex looked up from her phone, confused. What? Maybe it was delivered late. She’d seen Casey two days ago for coffee— they’d developed a friendship. Texts, coffee, nothing too deep; but then it had only been a couple weeks since they’d run into each other at the library bar. Alex liked Casey. She was funny and a good listener, and she always had something to say. She didn’t walk on eggshells around Alex either, making Casey unique among her friends. She’d tried to meet up with Liv right when she’d gotten back to the city the second time, but the way she looked at her cut way too deep, like she was a hero, like she was a victim. Both of those she may well be, but she needed to be treated as a friend. Casey did that for her, down to playfully teasing her over her eccentric habits. Another text:

Casey: Turn around, Clueless.

Not many people had ever called Alexandra Cabot clueless. Alex turned around, and Casey waved at her excitedly from the jogging path and without waiting for Alex’s reaction began to run up to where she was sitting. Alex was surprised to see her, happily so. She knew Casey was athletic, but didn’t take her to be the 5:30 running type. She wore tight leggings and a running jacket, and the biggest smile Alex had seen from her. She looked beautiful in the soft early light, Alex thought, then immediately blushed at that thought.

She’d never been one to shy away from her sexuality, especially when she realized the destructive role repression had played in her life before she came out. Alex had been out since college, but she tried very hard not to crush on straight women. She knew she couldn’t control who she was attracted to, but it always made her feel a bit dejected, so. Nip that in the bud.

Alex didn’t have much time to consider the ethics of her thoughts, because Casey was right in front of her, grabbing her hands.

“It’s so good to see you! A second surprise encounter, must be fate, Cabot,” Casey said in a quiet voice, a wink in her words.

“Something like that,” Alex replied, “What are you doing out so early?”

“I could ask the same of you; I’m just finishing up my run. You are wearing a fancy coat and looking deep in thought, in fact, you are being far more suspicious than I am, look at how many people are out here jogging, I mean,”

“Oh my god,” Alex cut her off with an eye roll, “Ok, stop cross-examining me.”

Casey gave Alex a genuine laugh, “Old habits die hard.” She paused for a second. “You look pale, did you sleep?”

“Thanks, Casey.” Alex gave her a playful glare. “If three nightmares in three hours counts, then yes, I slept.”

“Oh you poor thing. I’d hug you but,” She gestured to her sweaty figure. “You wanna get breakfast? I’ll pop back to my apartment, shower, and meet you at yours in say, half an hour?”

Alex started slightly at the familiarity, but responded, “Yeah, sure, sounds fun. Uh, here I’ll text you my address.”

Did Casey blush? Alex couldn’t be sure due to her post-run glow and the chill in the air. “Sorry if that’s too familiar, I know we usually plan these things out, and I guess I just assumed you didn’t have plans, it’s totally fine if you don’t want to, you know, runner’s high and all,” but Alex cut her off again with a raise of her eyebrows.

“Are you retracting the offer, Novak?” Alex couldn’t resist the urge to tease the woman in front of her. “Because if I recall correctly, I said yes.”

Casey grew more flustered, replied with a quick, “Nope, still happening, see you in half an hour,” and took off running, leaving Alex behind as she laughed in disbelief.

[snarkwrites]

14.12, all I want for Christmas is you, tim speedle

Title: all i want for christmas is you

Theme: songs/music.. i swear to god, this relates to it.

Fandom / Character(s):CSI Miami / Tim Speedle x OFC, ‘blondie’ is the nickname.

Warnings: Uhhh... Fluff to the max?

Word Count: uhh.. 1k-ish?, roughly.

NOTE: I think I tried 3 times to make this work. Then it finally did. This wasn’t even remotely close to the original idea I had for it? But like.. It’s cute and I’m happy, although I apologize if it feels rushed. This is meant to be a one shot type thing, but.. Doesn’t mean I didn’t catch the ‘must write more for CSI’ bug whilst writing it, so we shall see. This is my second story for bae @champbucks​ 12 Days Of Christmas challenge, fyi. I made the graphics thing so do NOT steal it / repost... Do ya’ll know how damn HARD it is to find good ‘beachy christmas’ blue themed christmas photos? because if you didn’t, take me at my word... Anyway. Enough rambling. Enjoy, hopefully?

TAGGING:

@chasingeverybreakingwave​ is the only person on my CSI Miami tag list at the moment. However.. if you’d like to be tagged in my CSI writings, add yourself to the doc linked below or shoot me a message / dm on my main on here. :)

[ about my writing | masterlist | multifandom tag doc ]

9:00 PM [ Blondie ] Hey, Tim?

9:15 PM [ Blondie ] How would you feel about spending Christmas with me? Well, me spending Christmas with you… because I’m kind of standing in Miami International…

I sent the texts and took a few seconds to stop and pull myself together. To locate some kind of map or information center for the airport while I collected myself because if I were being totally honest with myself, this was a spur of the moment decision brought on by a recent wave of nostalgia and longing. I hadn’t actually… Stopped to consider that Tim might be involved with someone or have plans already. Or any of the thousand other possibilities that chose just that exact moment to actually occur to me.

Taking a few shaky breaths, I tried to shove all these sudden doubts and worries out of my head. If I found out he was happy and with someone else, I’d simply shelve what I came all this way to actually tell him at last. I’d just catch up with my best friend and spend a few days away from the freezing cold of New York.

With an exit strategy in place, I felt better. A little more confident. I spotted a kiosk that had a map of the airport in it’s entirety and I wandered over, locating where I was and where I needed to go and as I did that, my stomach fluttered a little. I was nervous and excited, all in the same time. This was.. Huge for me.

And sadly, this was something I should’ve done before he left New York a few years ago, I just hadn’t been able to bring myself to do it then. I knew Tim too well. If he felt the same, he never would’ve gotten away. He’d have stayed. Kept working hours he didn’t like, in a field he didn’t care for. Or he’d have wound up shelving his own dream entirely and simply done as his father suggested and taken over the family business.

I couldn’t let it happen.

As I wandered down to baggage claim, I walked myself through my half-formed plan. And I glanced at my phone every few seconds. By the time I was standing in the back of a long line at baggage claim, tapping my foot and staring at the baggage carousel impatiently for my bags, I’d sort of started to convince myself that what I was about to do was a dumb idea. And that I shouldn’t have come all this way without making contact first.

And lastly, that Tim Speedle wasn’t going to text me back.

So when my cell phone went off in my hand, I jumped a little and nearly dropped it on the tile flooring. I half expected the text to be from my own mother, the driving force behind my spontaneous decision, but to my surprise, it wasn’t.

XXX

“Hey, Speed?”

Tim Speed looked up from the evidence he’d been looking over for the better part of two hours now. Eric nodded to the desk, where Tim’s phone sat, screen lit up. “You got a text, man.” Eric stepped into the room as he said it, grabbing the phone off the desk, intending to take it over to the part of the lab Tim was standing in.

His eyes caught on the name and he wiggled his brows at his best friend in teasing. “Who’s Blondie, Speed?’

Tim’s head snapped up and he hurried over, practically snatching the phone from Eric’s hand as he answered with a shrug, “A friend from home. I wonder why she’s textin now? We haven’t talked in a long time, it’s been years..” Tim trailed off, unlocking his phone, brown eyes darting over the texts as a soft smirk played at his mouth, tugging the corners upward. 

Eric leaned against the wall, arms folded over his chest. “Friends don’t make you smile like a goofball. Start talkin, Speed.”

Tim shrugged and explained the whole thing, adding at the end, “That one time we were talking about missed chances and regrets.. That’s her.”

“The blonde from that picture on your fridge? Damn.” Eric let out a low whistle. “Still say I don’t see why you didn’t just come clean and tell her how you really felt before you left town.”

“I tried, Delko. Everybody’s not smooth like you.”

“Literally all you had to do, Speed, was open your damn mouth. It’s bullshit, you just copped out.” Eric shrugged and smirked at Tim as he said it, especially when he saw that his words had actually gotten a rise out of his best friend. He eyed the phone in Tim’s hand and nodded to it. “Well? You answerin?”

“Hell yeah, when you remove your nosy ass from my lab, Delko.”

“Damn grouch. Hey, Tim?. Don’t think. Just act. Do somethin about this, yeah? You should’ve a long time ago. You’re getting a chance here, man.. take it.” Eric advised before finally leaving the lab, chuckling to himself as he went.

Tim shut the door behind his friend and laughed, leaning himself against the closed door as he spent the next five and a half minutes trying to figure out exactly how the hell to respond.

His heart was racing. One, he’d never thought she’d come to Miami and he found himself wondering why she had now. Two, just seeing her name show up on his phone bought it all rushing back. With more urgency.

10:30 PM [ Speed ] You’re in Miami.. Right now?

10:35 PM [ Speed ] I’m on my way. I just came by the lab to look over some stuff. Stay at the airport, okay? I’ll pick you up. We’ll grab some food or something.

He debated heavily on sending a third text, telling her he missed her, among other things, but he put it off. After all, he didn’t even know if she was here alone… Or why she was here to begin with.

,, but she’s here man. That really should be all that matters. Especially when you were just thinking about her, not even two days ago.” he thought to himself as he slipped on the oversized leather jacket he’d discarded upon entering the lab earlier. After shutting off the lights and locking the door behind him, he hurried out to the parking garage to where he’d parked the Ducati hours before. And the entire time, he couldn’t stop the happy smirk that came.

Nothing mattered but getting to her. Seeing her again.

XXX

My cell phone went off again. By this point, I’d had enough time to wrap my head around Tim being on his way to pick me up. Seeing him again after all this time. I was just coming back up the escalator to the waiting area to find a seat. I stopped a few feet away from the escalator and dug around, finding my phone.

11:00 PM [ Speed ] I think I see you.

11:03 PM [ Speed ] Turn around.

I was just finishing the last text as All I Want For Christmas Is You began to play over the speakers throughout the airport terminal and I felt his hand on my shoulder, turning me around to face him.

And seeing him again after all this time, something in me just snapped. As opposed to a friendly hug hello, I was climbing into his arms, my legs wrapping around his waist. Those calloused hands settled on my lower back, squeezing as he chuckled. My fingers carded through his hair and the wrapping around the roses in his hands crinkled. The roses settled on the floor and when my body rubbed against his, a quiet groan escaped in the slim margin of space that remained between our mouths for the moment. “Missed you so damn much.” we both mumbled the words at the same time as his mouth connected with mine, his lips latching onto my lower lip, nipping at it. My tongue slipped past his lips and his fingertips dug into my lower back as he chuckled into the kiss.

The current Christmas song playing, the crowd as it rushed past, everything pretty much fell away as the kiss deepened and one of his hands left it’s resting place against my lower back to tangle in my hair. Neither one of us wanted the kiss to break. Honestly, I think I may have been in a little shock that I’d just… Reacted to seeing him like that, without a seconds thought or hesitation. But the kiss had to break so that we could catch our breaths and when it did, I climbed out of his arms, dragging the back of my hand over kiss swollen lips as Tim bent, retrieving the fallen bouquet of roses off of the tiled floor. “I,uhh..” he held them out and I gave a soft laugh, raising to tiptoe and clutching at the front of his leather jacket as I pressed my lips against his. “They’re beautiful… Any reason?” I questioned, only half in teasing because my breath caught in my throat as I wondered if he’d answer.

“Because I should’ve done.. Something.. About the way I feel a long time ago. Before I left, princess.”

My jaw dropped and he shifted his feet around, staring down at me nervously for a few seconds. “Funny you should mention it, Speed.. That’s kind of what bought me all the way here…” I gave him a soft and slightly teasing smile as I watched his jaw drop. 

“Wait.. Just to be clear… you’re saying you feel the same way, yeah?” his voice was husky against my mouth as he leaned down, pulling me against him for another kiss as I mumbled quietly, “Mhm. All I wanted for Christmas was you. So here I am, Tim.”

He scooped me up and started to hurry towards the doors of the airport after grabbing my rolling suitcase and I laughed. “You in a hurry?”

“Yeah, see.. I kind of have this real hot date.” Tim teased as we stepped out into the cool Miami breeze...

[talesfromlissom]

Teeth

  A/N: Hey everybody, Omens here. This series is part of my series for the (Y/N)’s. These works are here to establish the backgrounds, personalities, and such of each of my (Y/N)’s, as they’re all separate characters and not a blank slate. 

So far, I’m doing my three most popular requested ones which are; Hanzo, Mcree, and Genji. This is Mcree’s. I’m sure these works will have about 3-4 chapters each, with the first being the beginning of their life, to the last being present time. That being said, you don’t have to default to these (Y/N)’s either. If you have a request that’s specific like 

‘Mcree with an S/O who has a body like Genji?’. I will easily do that. These (Y/N)’s are just the default if you request something vague such as ‘Mcree goes on a date with (Y/N).’ and such. 

However, I do have placeholder names for each of these characters. If you would like a request with this specific (Y/N) you can use (Y/N)!Ambrose. Sorry if this was confusing but :)

                            |  Chapter 2 -  Dirty Shoes|

Chapter Summary: They say your childhood flies by faster than your adulthood. That is true. They say that you should do the things you enjoy while your young. That is also true. 

They also say that there’s no such thing as monsters under your bed. That’s not true. 

!WARNING! This work contains graphic depictions of violence, foul language, and other sensitive topics. Reader discretion is advised. 

                                              ──•~❉+❉~•──

Rules

Overwatch Masterlist 

Ninjago Masterlist

The Arcana Masterlist

Ask Box (Requests are CLOSED!) 

Wattpad Version

                     “They broke my wings, but forgot I had claws.”

                                                               ~💮~

Your entire life, you had spent it being common. You had a 'common' sob story of losing your parents in the omnic crisis. You had the 'common' new blood mark. You wanted to be special, you wanted people to notice you. You didn't know that this wish would cost your humanity, however.

!WARNING! This chapter contains blood, violence, and death. Please proceed with caution. 

Song: Dancing with the devil - Set it off

                                                      +-+

It was 9:30 at night when you had received the call from Holland. You had just gotten home to your small apartment which you shared with your (crappy) roommate. The familiar made you pull the phone from your pocket immediately.

"Yeah?"

"Hey (Y/N)! It's been a while, huh?"

You chuckle, twirling your car keys on your ring finger. "Yeah." You began, leaning against the door. "College has been busy, how have you been?" You ask, recognizing the voice immediately, your day improving instantly from this call.

"Ah, I've been better," Holland says. "I've been so busy, so I figured I wanted to go down to a bar to loosen up a little. Wanna come?"

"Sure, which one?"

"Lilac Gardens."

"The one that opened up two months ago?"

"Hell yeah, a lot of people are saying their food is good, and apparently most of their staff are nice to look at too."

You roll your eyes, turning around and grabbing the door handle.

You're halfway out the door when you ask; "I'm guessing you want to go now?"

"Hell yeah I do, I wanna pick up some chicks."

You fake a gagging noise, locking the door behind you. "Don't ever say that again, please."

"So, you want me to meet you there?"

"I bet I can beat you." You say.

Holland laughs.

"You're forgetting I can walk really fast."

"And you're forgetting that I own a car." You retort as Holland sputters over the phone before hanging up.

                                                                _

Just as you expected, you showed up at the bar before Holland did. Not that he minded, of course, it would be fun to tease Holland for being late.

Soon, you see a bus roll up across the street, various passengers coming off. There, you see Holland in all his glory, just as you expected.

Same pale skin, with freckles littering his face, same round eyes, flushed cheeks, and bright cyan hair. He's wearing a nice jean jacket, a white and black striped shirt, with jeans and Adidas. His face immediately brightens as he crosses the street and sees you.

"Since when did you drive?" He asks as he wraps an arm around your shoulders.

"Since I got my driver's license back sophomore year of college." You reply, rustling his hair.

You two enter the rustic bar, taking a seat as Holland orders two drinks.

"So, has college been pummeling you into the ground?" Holland asks.

You shrug. "Well...kinda. Speaking in front of the class still makes me nervous...but I'm gonna have to do it if I wanna be an art history teacher."

Holland leans back in the chair, sighing.

"Hm, the exact opposite of me then," He muses. "I've been buried in work, might as well dig my own grave with the papers I still have to finish."

You shake your head as the glasses are passed to you two.

You down the drink in one gulp, as Holland, mimics you. The two of you slam your glasses on the counter, as Holland chuckles.

"So, other than college kicking us in the ass, how have you been?"

You shrug.

"Pretty good I guess. Roommate's nice."

Holland frowns.

"Okay, he sucks ass, but he helps pay rent so, y'know. He stays."

"Thank god he does. If he didn't I would've hauled his ass into the nearest dumpster."

You snort.

"He's three times your size."

"So? No man is safe from a kick in the balls."

This time, you laugh, throwing your head back in the process.

"Have you called your moms yet?"

Holland scoffs. "Have I? No, have they? Yes, every day."

Holland shakes his head.

"I love them really, it's mainly just them showing me their dog doing stupid stuff like barking at the wall." Holland pauses. "What about yours?"

There's hesitance. Holland raises an eyebrow.

"(Y/N)?"

Your face contorts. "It's just...Mrs.Parkiston is in the hospital."

Holland's eyes widen. "Oh god. I'm sorry (Y/N). Why didn't you tell me?"

You shrug. "Didn't wanna bother you. She'll be fine, she's tough as nails."

Holland frowns. "Are you sure...you don't wanna talk about it?"

You nod slightly, swirl your drink around in your hand, watching the ice swim in circles.

Holland nods his head slowly and asks for a refill.

"Woah there, don't wanna make yourself drunk, Holls."

"Hey now, I'm a grown man. I can handle a drink or two."

This time, it's you who shakes your head.

                                                          _

"Damn, it's almost midnight," Holland mutters, gesturing to his watch. "Think we should call it a night?"

"Depends. Do you have classes tomorrow?"

"Only one, but it's at 5ish."

"Ha! I have no classes, so why don't we go somewhere else?"

"Like a movie?"

"With you and your loud mouth? We'd get kicked out during the movie trailers." You tease, and Holland huffs. You place your card on the counter, and spin around, surveying the rest of the bar. It's mostly empty, minus the small frail woman on the couch in the far corner of the room.

You raise an eyebrow, upon seeing the woman being approached by a man. Your nose crinkles as the man practically forces the woman to her feet and begins to walk out the door with the man.

\You pause, as the man turns to you, and for a second you feel your heart drop to your stomach, your skin turning cold. The man's eyes are wide, the lighting surely makes them red, and the blood veins are bright as ever. The minute this man looks away, that feeling is gone.

"Hey Holland, are you done yet?" You ask, trying to not stumble over your words, as you take your card back from the barista.

Holland turns to you. "Yeah, why?"

"Did that woman enter the bar with anyone?"

Holland pauses, as you gesture to the woman who's giggling and nearly falling to her feet, just outside the door.

"Uh...No?"

The woman is pulled away and the two begin to walk down the street, past the window. Holland turns to you.

"I know that look (Y/N)."

You're already out the door as Holland races to catch up with you, as you walk down the street, eyes peeled.

"(Y/N), she probably called someone to pick her up-"

"I don't know, Holland. That guy looked at me, and his eyes were all...all bloodshot! I felt so cold, you don't get like that looking at somebody-"

"(Y/N), you're probably just a bit tipsy-"

"I had two drinks-"

The two of you pause before you hear a shout escape through the air. Holland freezes, exchanging a look with you.

"Don't you dare-!"

Before he finishes you take off running towards the sound of the scream. Holland is shouting behind you, but you don't hear it as you slide to a stop on the outside of the alleyway.

You feel your jaw become slacked, your gaze fixated on the black heels on a woman's legs. The legs twitch once. The figure above the body making smacking noises as they lay hunched over her upper body.

"H-hey!" You shout.

The man turns around, and your eyes go wide. Red drips down the man's mouth, and you know damn well that the man's teeth is much longer than normal. His eyes are beet red, pupils blown wide, and his skin is so pale, it's practically white and glittering off of the flickering street light above you.

You slowly peer down at the woman's face, your heart pounding in your chest. Two holes are in the woman's neck, more blood pooling down the wounds and onto the concrete below. Her eyes are wide and glossed over.

"W-what the hell did you do!" You shout, the man doesn't move.

You hear footsteps behind you.

"(Y/N)? Seriously, just-Holy shit!"

Holland stumbles at the scene before you. As the man slowly stands up.

He's muttering under his breath as Holland grips your shoulder.

"Y-Y/N, we should...we should get outta here-!"

The man screeches before launching at you two. One hand coming forward to grasp your plaid shirt, and the other grabbing Holland by his hair. The two of you are thrown into the alleyway, and Holland screeches as he lands on the woman's body.

He scrambles, practically on top of you.

"Oh god, we're gonna die...(Y/N) we're gonna die-" Holland trembled.

"We're not gonna die, Holland." You hiss.

The man, who has blood dripping onto his t-shirt, hisses.

You shove Holland to the side, and the man slams face-first into the dumpster. There are two holes where his teeth were, and you look around the area.

Your hands dart across the ground, scrambling to find something of use, and your fingertips brush against something. You pull out a....bag...from under the dumpster?

"Look out-!"

The man screeches and dives at Holland this time, Holland cries out as he's wrestled onto the floor. His legs kick out, and all over the place, trying to kick the man off. Holland has his arms on the man's shoulders, who lashes out and snaps at him like a dog.

"Call the cops (Y/N) holy shit!"

You reach into your pocket, but don't feel your phone nor your car keys. "They're gone!"

"What-"

Holland screams as the man snaps at his face.

"Then just do something!" Holland yells.

You tear open the bag and with that, your eyes widen.

"What the hell..." You mutter, grabbing the piece of wood and grasping it in your hand. There's a strange symbol on the top of it. You don't recognize any of it.

The man stops, snapping his head towards you so harshly that you hear it. You make eye contact with the man, but this time you don't freeze. The wood feels hot in your hand, almost driving away the cold, and your entire body seems to get a rush from this.

The man jumps at you, your eyes flicker to the wood.

You're slammed into the wall by the man, who shouts when you plunge the wood directly into his shoulder. You pull it out again as he staggers back. His eyes go fully red, and you hear cracking noises.

"Holl-"

The man- no, this thing attacks you again, grabbing your wrist and twisting.

You shout out as the wood drops from your hands, and the man wrestles you to the ground. Jaw snapping.

"Ah! Holland do something!"

There isn't a response from Holland at first, but the man pauses for a second, sputtering. You cry out as you see the pierced end of the stake go through the man's chest, forcing blood onto your clothes.

You shove the man's body off of you. This thing sputters, his eyes slowly meeting your own.

He reaches a frail hand out before you hear the blood drip onto the concrete, and his bloody hands smear finger marks on your cheek. The man collapses onto the ground.

Holland breathes out heavily.

"Holy...did...did I just kill that guy!"

"You...You didn't mean to! Right?"

"Of-of course not! He kept moving too much and I just went for it I-" Holland grabs fistfuls of his hair. "Holy fuck (Y/N)! Now we're screwed, we're so screwed!"

For a moment, you're stunned. There's blood on you, you know there's blood on you.

"We...We should call someone." You quavered, feeling your body tremble as you step back into the wall.

"And tell them what? 'Hey my friend and I just got back from a bar and killed a guy who killed a woman! Ooh! And we also killed him with a fucking stake from Home Depot!"

You make a face at Holland, who gestures wildly at the wood.

"I don't know (Y/N)! I could go to jail for this, we're ruined-! So ruined-"

"Holland calm down."

"Calm down!" Holland roars. "Don't you dare tell me to calm down-!"

Holland pauses, the anger turning to shock, eyes going wide.

"(Y/N)?"

You raise an eyebrow and slowly turn towards the bodies. The man's body slowly becomes bright, before it fades to dust, leaving his destroyed clothes behind. Just as the man's body disappears, the woman does as well. Not leaving any trace of evidence behind. The concrete is clean of any blood.

"What. the. Fuck." Holland mutters. "This is some supernatural type shit."

There's a tense silence shared between you two. You grab the stake, and the bag, and swing it over your shoulder.

"C'mon."

"What-"

"We're leaving, now."

Holland's eyes widen.

"Holland, let's go!"

You harshly grab his wrist as you two run down the street, you see Holland's gaze never leave the alleyway as you two run. Before he faces the ground, his lower lip is bitten. If you didn't know any better, you'd say he was on the verge of tears.

                                                       _

You slam the front door to your apartment, and let out heavy breaths.

"Now...now what." Holland whispers. "Are we going insane or something? Maybe...Maybe we had too much to drink?"

While Holland tries to rationalize what just happened, you sigh and shut your eyes.

You softly guide Holland to the couch right to the door. He sits down, hands over his mouth, eyes flicking left and right.

You place the bag on the coffee table before you.

Holland puts his head in his hands as you turn to the bag. Curiosity gets the better of you, and you slowly unzip the bag.

"Jesus, what the hell is all of this?" You ask, slowly grabbing the large wooden cross with your left hand, and a smaller stake with your right.

Holland slowly uncovers his face.

Holland shoves past you, whilst you shout out a 'Hey!'. You reach into the bag and pull out a white bottle, as well as a rolled-up piece of paper.

"Holy water?" Holland mutters, as he places it on the coffee table and unravels the paper.

He snickers. "Jeez, d&d nerd much?"

He nudges you in the side, as you raise an eyebrow.

"Why is that guy on a wanted poster."

You crinkle your nose. "Jeez, they really did him wrong. Look at his nose."

Holland smiles. "look...his teeth too."

"Cain Soloman." Holland reads. "Vampire lord....19 grand for live...capture..."

Holland tosses the paper onto the coffee table.

"I'd say that was a load o' bull, but...you know I'd be lying."

You place the stake and the cross down.

"Is there anything else in there?" Holland began. You shrug, opening the bag wide.

"Nope, that's it."

Holland shakes his head.

"Who would leave a backpack with all of this stuff under a dumpster anyways though?"

"It's not a backpack."

"Then why does it look like one?"

You let out an exasperated sigh.

"Do you...really think that thing was a vampire?" You ask, hesitantly.

"Probably." Holland leans back, head aimed towards the ceiling. "Makes sense. The eyes, teeth, super strength, dead woman with the two holes in her neck."

"But Holland-"

"He turned into dust after you stabbed him, that woman disappeared too, blood and all!" Holland adds. "Holy crap we're in deep!"

"I always wanted to be a sorcerer when I was a kid and fight monsters, but I didn't think that'd actually happen," Holland mutters.

Holland groans and puts his hands on his face again, as you turn to the bag. You pick it up and zip it up again, fingers lightly brushing the stitched symbol on the top.

"Hey, Holland. Recognize this?"

Holland sits up and stares at the golden stitch and shrugs. "I'm a doctor (Y/N). Isn't this up to your alley?"

You scoff.

"I was just asking for a second opinion," You reply. "It's not Egyptian. I can tell you that. Definitely not kanji either."

"Then what the hell is it?"

You analyze for a moment, your eyes going wide.

"Latin maybe?"

"It looks like a really straight 'M'."

You pout as Holland throws his hands in front of his chest.

"What! It does?"

You shake your head, opening the bag again.

"C'mon, let's put this stuff away."

"And then what?"

"I'll just toss it in the trash tomorrow."

"Alright." Holland whispers. "Then what?"

You sigh.

"I...we should just pretend it didn't happen?"

There's a silence shared between the two of you, as Holland fidgets, but slowly nods his head.

"yeah...I...I guess so."

Silence again.

"You uh...wanna stay over?" You ask, hesitantly.

"Yeah, I...I'd like that. Don't wanna get attacked by any uh..vengeful vampires right?"

"...right..."

"Right."

                                                          _

It's about 6:50 in the morning, and you still haven't gotten any sleep. You hear Holland tossing and turning in the sleeping bag on the floor next to your bed. You aren't sure if he's asleep or not, but don't want to bother him and risk waking him up if you do ask.

Instead, you stare at the ceiling, eyes never leaving the fan that blows a soft, cool breeze onto your face.

You put a hand over your eyes as the sun peaks through the cracks of your curtains. It seems that sleep is escaping you tonight. So, you sit up, stretch and swear you hear your back crack as you do so.

You carefully roll out of bed, tip-toeing over Holland. Making your way towards the bathroom, you turn the light on.

You make eye contact with yourself in the mirror before letting out a shout and stumbling backward.

Holland bursts upright as you make contact with the floor.

"Wh-what! I'm up!"

"Why do I have a tattoo?"

"What are you talking about-HOLY SHIT!"

Holland makes eye contact with your chest, seeing the three large, black rings plastered on your left pec.

"Uh, okay then," Holland mutters. "Did you have...have that last night?"

"No." You cry out, sitting up and turning to him. "And I- oh Jesus you have one too-!"

"I'm sorry wh-holy hell I do-!"

You gesture to the very large eye tattoo on Holland's shoulder.

"Did-did you feel anything strange before you went to bed?" Holland mutters.

"No! No I didn't...did you?"

"No! I fell right asleep!"

Your fingers softly trace the eye on Holland's shoulder.

"This...could this be from last night?"

"Unless there's a boogeyman who likes to give random strangers weird tattoos while they're sleeping, I-"

The two of you freeze as you hear the doorbell ring. You make eye contact as you scramble to get to your feet. You pull on a pair of sweatpants and an undershirt, while Holland looks out the window.

"Oh shit, are those the cops."

Your eyes widen.

"Oh fuck me! Those are the cops!" Holland yells. "Well, it's been nice knowing you, pal. Hopefully, we'll be roommates in prison!"

You roll your eyes as you open the bedroom door, and make your way down the stairs. You hear another set of footsteps behind you.

However, as your hand ghosts over the doorknob, you see Holland in the hallway, hands over his mouth. He motions for you to go forward as he hides behind the wall further.

You scoff, muttering 'pussy' under your breath before you open the door.

The man and the woman turn to you, eyes widen.

"You're (Y/N) Parkinston? Correct?"

You nod. "Yes, I am."

"Good...Good. Can we come in?"

You step aside, letting the two enter the apartment.

The woman smiles.

"Ah! There's your bag!" She chippers as she races towards the bag and lifts it up.

She then pauses.

"Who opened this?"

You freeze, as the two people turn to you.

"I...uh...I-"

"I did it!" Holland calls out. "He-he had nothing to do with it I swear!"

The man and woman pause. The woman opens the bag and immediately pulls out the stake, eyes widening at the dried blood on the tip.

"You did this?"

Holland hesitantly nods, before the man narrows his gaze at Holland.

The woman turns to the man. "I can't find the contract."

"Means it's been completed. By civilians nonetheless."

The woman scoffs. "This is gonna be a tone of paperwork, Jason."

Jason grins.

The woman frowns.

"Jason. No."

"What? He's got a marking anyways."

The woman pauses, turning to Holland, and nearly drops the bag in shock. She shoves past you, rather rudely at that, and you narrow your gaze at this.

She grabs Holland by the arms and examines the eye tattoo.

"This is! This is the eye! Oh my gosh, it's been so long since I've seen a new blood with one of these!"

Holland raises an eyebrow.

The woman turns to you.

"Did you...get one by any chance?"

You hesitantly nod, pulling your undershirt down to show the rings. However, the woman frowns.

"Aw." But her grin comes back again.

"New bloods! It's been so long since there have been new bloods?"

Holland raises an eyebrow as you fidget.

"New...bloods?"

The woman giggles. "You see, we are monster hunters!"

Silence goes through the apartment.

"And...?"

Jason groans. "And, whenever a new monster hunter or hunters, in this case, is chosen, they are given a marking that explains their best abilities."

He gestures to Holland. "You, have the eye symbol. It means your powerful, confident, independent. It's rare to see a new blood be gifted one of those."

He then turns to you. You fidget slightly.y

"You have the rings. Fairly common, typically means teamwork, marriage, and all that jazz."

"Wait wait wait. Backup a minute." You interrupt. "So, monsters are real?"

"Yes," Tassy said.

"And we just killed one. So that makes us monster hunters."

Jason nods.

"Holy crap." You mutter.

"Congratulations! Pack your stuff boys, and make sure to travel lightly, because it's safer for you to stay on base!"

"Why's that?"

"You could get mauled by a werewolf...sacrificed to a vengeful god by an evil cult...made into a thrall by a vampire, the list goes on and on," Tassy says.

"Jesus Christ," Holland mutters.

[writingdayandnight]

Coincidences- Aaron Hotchner Imagine

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Reader; SVU crossover (kinda) 

Word Count: 1.3k

WARNINGS:��Basic mentions of death, murder, the likes. Nothing graphic!

A/N: This is just something I’ve been thinking about recently, much like Hotch and his dreamy eyes. It’s a crossover with SVU in theory, but honestly you don’t need to watch the show to read. Let me know if I should make a part two or not!! I love your feedback 💗

You had been working with the BAU team for over a year now. Even within that short period of time, you had grown to love them like family. They reminded you of the slightly-more functional version of the team you left behind in New York. 

When you left New York, you made a promise to your friends and family that you would make an effort to take better care of your mental health. Now that’s a little challenging when you’re catching serial killers on a daily basis. Although, these cases tended to have a more satisfying conclusion than the ones you worked on with Special Victims Unit. Neither were ideal, of course. 

Garcia had just announced that there was a case, summoning you all to the conference room. You straggled behind the rest of the group, finishing up an email that needed to be sent. You weren’t the only one falling behind the pack, though. 

You had noticed that Hotch was in no particular rush to get to the conference room. He looked spaced out, as if his mind was in another place. Aaron Hotchner was no easy man to read, so for you to pick up on his behavior, he must really be distracted. 

“After you,” you said, meeting Hotch at the door. He gave you a simply nod and take his seat. 

Garcia dispersed the case files and presented what information was available. Three women from Eugene, Oregon had been killed in their homes, while their significant others had been on business trips. 

“That can’t be a coincidence,” Morgan remarked. 

“There’s no such thing as coincidences. Wheels up in 30,” Hotch sternly spoke, rising from his chair and leaving the room in a hurry. 

You looked at Rossi for an explanation. While you prided yourself on being able to communicate openly with your boss, nobody could read Hotch like Rossi.

“It’s been five years since Haley passed.”

“Oh, I didn’t know.”

“Well, he’s not one to share. Take it easy on him this week. No heroics,” Rossi lectured, wagging his finger at you, as had been known to take a few risks. 

“I can’t believe you’re saying this to me when Derek is right outside.” 

The plane ride to Eugene was pretty typical. Although, you found your eyes fixed on Hotch. You couldn’t help but to sympathize with his pain. It was never easy to lose a loved one, let alone your significant other. 

As the case progressed, you recognized the unsub’s patterns and habits. He was a predatory stalker; you just needed to lure him out. Rossi proposed that Prentiss and Morgan play husband and wife for a day or two, just to see if he would attempt to break in. 

Reid stayed behind, narrowing down the suspect list, while you, Hotch, Rossi, and JJ staked out the place. You had been partnered with Hotch, which was a relatively common occurrence. There was chemistry between the two of you, a natural bond that with undiscovered origins. You were calm, collected, and logical much like Hotch. You were a little more adventurous, but nowhere near the same level as the rest of the team. 

The car was silent, except for the sound of rain pattering against the roof. You were in the driver’s seat, watching the house to see if there was any sign of the unsub. Hotch sat beside you, keeping an eye on the surroundings, a tense grip on his binoculars. One of you would reach for coffee, while the other would take a deep breath and regroup. You repeated this cycle for what felt like an eternity. 

At one point you noticed Hotch staring at his phone. You tried to catch a glimpse of what he was looking at without obviously violating his privacy. Finally, you decided it was time to break the silence. 

“How are you holding up?”

“I could use another cup of coffee,” he said, tucking is phone back into his suit pocket. 

“No, that’s not what I meant. Rossi told me what this week means to you. How are you holding up in that regard?”

He remained silent, staring out at the rainy street. He couldn’t produce an answer no matter how he tried. 

“Wanna hear my sob story?” You asked, ready to tell him your biggest secret since joining the BAU.

He simply nodded. 

“I lost my fiancé two years ago. Shot in the line of duty. It was his last day before transferring units. A month before our wedding.” 

You took a deep breath, mentally preparing to continue with the story. Hotch was quiet, allowing you to finish. 

“His name was Mike. Sergeant Mike Dodds,” you mused, “he was the sweetest guy, a big softie, but God, did he know how to play the bad guy. He transferred to SVU because his father wanted him to. Everyone hated him, but I saw something in him. There was this light in his eyes, this fire. It’s what I miss most about him.” 

You didn’t realize that you had a tear streaming down your cheek, until Hotch offered you a tissue. You wiped your tears, cursing yourself for being so dramatic. Hotch just reached over and placed his hand on yours, gently reassuring you that he was there. 

“I’d tell you it gets easier, but honestly? It just gets...different. You learned to live without them, but those feelings are still there,” his voice was barely audible. 

“I came to terms with it a long time ago. He wouldn’t want me wallowing in pity all of the time; he would want me to have a fresh start. Date new people, move to another city, take all the risks- within reason- that I never took before.” Now the rain had captivated you. “I always joked that we should have leave Manhattan and get a big log cabin in the Pacific Northwest. Have a bunch of dogs, maybe a boat, and live amongst the wilderness.” You wiped another tear from your rosy cheek, letting out a giggle, “But instead, I chose to move to humid D.C. and catch serial killers for a living.”

Hotch laughed, taking a sip of his cold coffee. You swore you saw a tear slid down his cheek as well, but you didn’t mention anything. Instead, you two just laughed cathartically for a moment. In that moment, you had forgotten all the pain you suffered before coming to the BAU. There was plenty in your life worth sticking around for. You liked to think Hotch felt the same. 

“Y/N,” he broke the laughter, “thank you. Thank you for always bringing your genuine self to every situation, for everything you do for this team...for everything you do for me.”

“It’s a coincidence that we found each other, almost like the universe brought us together.”

“There is no such thing as coincidences,” he replied, shifting in his seat. 

You were facing each other now. He had beautiful, brown eyes, you noticed. Even when they were glossy from crying, they were still beautiful. You recognized a light his eyes, one you thought was stolen from you two years ago. For the first time, you saw Hotch as someone other than your stoic boss who needed solved like a puzzle. You saw him as Aaron. Vulnerable, broken, and empathetic Aaron. 

If Rossi hadn’t ruined the moment with a radio call, saying they had caught the unsub, then you swore you could’ve kissed him. Your heart was beating out of your chest. You brushed it off as heightened emotions, but you couldn’t shake the feeling. What if the universe did put you and Aaron together? What if it was a sign that you were meant to be each other’s fresh starts?