#the lightings a bit too much but i think its neat

[luck-of-the-drawings]

[OLD ART ALERT] A COLLECTION OF SCENES FROM THE GILLIONS CATSCRATCH ARC THAT BROUGHT ME GREAT JOY. i love fishy chips especially when its just gillion being delirious and violent and hostile

[yrlocalghost]

they should invent planning to get a haircut that is not such a nightmare

[megamindsecretlair]

Make Me Weak, Part 1

Pairing: Sex Therapist!Terry Richmond x Sub!Black!Fem!/ Plus Size reader

Warnings: 18+, Minors DNI, You are in charge of your own reading experience. Intentional use of AAVE. Cursing, mentions of depression, anxiety, and description of sex acts and sexual issues. Power imbalance, Shy!reader. Dark!Terry. Dom!Terry, AU Terry, all consensual. Sorry if I missed some. I'm not a therapist and while I do not make light of therapy, this is purely for my own fun. Please seek real medical attention when necessary.

Summary: Desperately at your absolute limit, you decide to see one last therapist to try and help with your condition. After one session, Dr. Richmond manages to put you at ease, giving you enough tools to start you on your journey. As the exploration continues, your true hope is that you don’t get burned.

Word Count: 4,648k

AO3 Link | Part 2 | Part 3

A/N: Don't judge me for this chile. I saw that beautiful man in a black turtleneck with glasses and lost my marbles. I had TOO much fun writing this and you will not hurt my feelings if you don't want to read this one. However, I must tag to keep my taglist updated. Forgive me, my loves. Toss a coin to your blogger by leaving a comment, gif, or unhinged ask.

You

He came highly recommended. That was the only reason you were here. You���d stared at his pictures and read all of the available posts recommending him but you couldn’t get over the fact that he was so damn pretty. And intimidating. 

But after going through nine different therapists, most who ended up as creeps or couldn’t help you, you were at your wit’s end. It was already embarrassing enough starting over with a brand new therapist, but this had to take the cake. 

The hallway was quiet, with muted browns and reds. Supposedly academic, soothing colors. As if the darker the color, the less likely you were to think about anything sexual. You stared at the imposing brown door with his name embossed on a placard. Dr. Terry Richmond. 

You bit your lip and stared at the slip in your hand with the referral scrawled across it. He took on special cases. Pathetic cases. 

“Fuck this,” you said to yourself. You turned on your heel and stepped down the hallway. The door opened and the man himself looked down the hallway. 

“Are you my two o’clock?” He asked. His deep baritone was unexpected. Soothing. Calming. Unnerving. 

“Uh,” you sighed.

He continued to stare so you continued to stare back. He wore an all black outfit, right down to his black tennis shoes. He wore a long sleeved black T-shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his forearms. Black, form fitting pants that only highlighted how tall he was. He had to be 6’1. Hell, possibly 6’3. 

He cleared his throat, looking for an answer. Light refracted off of his frames, temporarily hiding his eyes. You gripped the straps of your purse and squared your shoulders. “Yes,” you said. 

Dr. Richmond nodded his head and waved you inside. You walked behind him, feeling like you were walking to your doom. Inside his office, it was just as drab as outside.

Bookshelves lined the walls, stuffed with medical texts and non-fictional books on powerful Black figures through history. The office was small, but clean, with a golden brown sofa pushed against a solid wall of taupe. He had a painting above the sofa, showing a serene ocean view with a boat out on the water. 

Natural light filtered into the room from a window showcasing the cityscape outside. His office was high up in the building, letting you look down on all the people living their normal lives. 

The door closed behind you and you jumped, whipping around to see Dr. Richmond leaning away from the door. He raised his hands. “I’m sorry, would you like it to remain open?” He asked. 

You shook your head. Closed was preferable. You watched Dr. Richmond take his seat behind a massive desk, everything in a neat stack and in its proper place. He rolled forward and then opened a black folder, picking up a pen.

“Please, have a seat. Tell me about yourself,” he said.

“My thick ass file didn’t give me away? Sorry, I shouldn’t say ass. Sorry,” you said and winced after cussing so much. You pointed to a thick file on his desk and you knew without a doubt that it was yours. 

It was crazy how you had a full record of your insanity, detailing how you started down this deep, dark path. Cataloged every doctor, every note, every nasty thought in your mind. Okay, you were being a little dramatic, but this was just so…embarrassing. And it didn’t help to have someone who looked like that hearing what you had to say. 

“There’s no rules here. You want to say ass, go for it,” he said and shrugged. 

You giggled, feeling more at ease. You nodded and took a seat on the sofa. There was a clear coffee table in front of it that held a zen garden complete with little trees, shiny rocks, and…were those Lego figures? You looked from it to him and he smirked, drawing your attention to his full, lush lips. 

 “Some people find it easier to occupy their hands during discussions. You can give it a try if you want,” he said.

You sat back on the sofa. Maybe later. You felt too awkward as is. Like you were some alien visitor testing out your disguise on the human population. You rubbed your sweaty palms on your leggings and shook your head. “What, uh, did my file say about me?” 

Dr. Richmond shrugged and leaned back in his seat, fixing his thin gold glasses on his face. “Those are words and opinions from other doctors. I’d rather hear what you have to say,” he said and leaned back in his seat.

He was so…disarming in a way that allowed you to release the ironclad control you held on to. You picked at your nails and focused on that, rather than his stormy eyes. “I think I’m broken. And I’m not entirely sure why I’m even entertaining this,” you said. 

“Why are you then?” He prompted.

You shrugged your shoulders. “Tired of feeling like a freak,” you said.

“A freak? Why would you use that term?” He asked. 

You snuck a glance at him. He no longer held the pen. He rested his hands against his stomach, clasped, and just looked at you. Even that was different from all your other therapists combined. 

“Because that’s what it feels like. Like I’m in a freak show. I–,” you stopped and licked your lips. But you were here now. May as well rip the bandaid off. “I can’t cum! And I know, it’s normal. I know plenty of people experience it. I know that women especially have a hard time doing it. But no matter what I fuckin’ try, I just can’t. I feel it coming, I know it’s coming, but then it sort of…goes away? And then I’m sitting there embarrassed that I can’t and when I’m with a partner, they pretend that it’s cool, but then I never hear from them again.” 

You clicked your teeth shut as you realized you were rambling. You picked at a stiff hangnail, tugged at it until it started to hurt. You continued flicking at it, egged on by your awkwardness. And realizing you were being awkward was only making it worse. So you picked. And picked, until the hangnail tore and hurt worse. 

“Why is it important that you cum?” He asked. 

“What?” You asked. You looked at him, expecting to see pity. Disgust. Curiousness. Dr. Richmond held none of those things. His face was a pillar of stoicism, balancing the perfect mix of professionalism and empathy. 

“Why is it so important to you? If you know that it’s normal and plenty of people experience it, shouldn’t the journey matter more than the destination?” He asked. 

Your mouth fell open on a silent gasp as you looked at him. Your mind emptied of every single possible answer to that question. It was important because…it was. Because you never got anything else right either. You were always a step behind, slow on the uptick, feeling like you were taking up too much space in the world even after shrinking yourself to the smallest possible point.

Not easy to do considering your size. You loved your body and wouldn’t trade it for the world, but it wasn’t exactly easy to hide. You were unassuming, sweet, kind, and a great friend. But beneath all of that, you wanted desperately to fit in. This was a basic human release. It was part of the big three things that humans needed. Food, safety, sex. And you could only achieve one of those things.

But how did you word that without sounding like a pathetic kook? You pulled at the hangnail, felt the burn as it ripped, and shrugged your shoulders. Might as well tell the truth. “Because I feel like a freak when I can’t. Like I waited too long. To have sex, to experience life, to explore what I’m into,” you said. 

“Do you think there are goal posts for life?” He asked. He may as well have been a statue for how often he moved. He retained his position, chair turned slightly towards you, as he looked at you like you were a puzzle. 

“Isn’t there? That’s why we call them milestones? Reach your 18th birthday, yay you’re an adult. Find the love of your life, yay you’re married. Pop out some kids, yay, you’re continuing the bloodline. I feel like now, at my age, I should know what one fuckin’ orgasm feels like,” you said. 

“How do you know you haven’t had one already?” He asked.

“I know my body. There’s nothing. There’s the build up, there’s the excitement, there’s everything leading up to it. But I never get over that peak. It just…goes away,” you said. 

Dr. Richmond nodded and turned his attention to the pad. He wrote down a few sentences and it was so quiet in his office, you could hear a clock ticking nearby. You also heard his pen scratch against the paper. He must be using some fancy, fountain pen. He looked the type. 

“What do you hope to achieve through therapy?” He asked. 

You shrugged. “If I knew, you wouldn’t be my tenth therapist,” you said with a heavy sigh. When you first thought about going to therapy, you thought it wasn’t truly for you. There was nothing that really bothered you outside of life’s stress. Everybody had that. 

But you ended up finding some that encouraged you to dig deep and find the woman within. The one comfortable in her skin. Encouraged you to explore your sexuality and think about it in depth. You crawled through so many forums, so many health websites, so many articles that you had a great idea of what ailed you. 

“There has to be a reason you keep trying,” he said. 

You leaned back into the sofa with a huff. “You definitely ask the easy questions. What happened to the intake and whatever?” You asked.

Dr. Richmond chuckled. He tapped his pen against your folder. “You’ve done plenty of that, don’t you think?” 

Your lips twisted with a smile. Okay, maybe you were starting to see why he was so highly recommended. He was comforting without being condescending. Soothing without being smarmy. He treated you like an adult and for the first time, you had a little beacon of hope. 

“I keep trying because I want it. I don’t have the words right now to describe why I want it. I want to know the hype. I want the relief. I want to know what post nut clarity feels like,” you said. 

Dr. Richmond chuckled and you chuckled with him. It sounded funny, but you were so serious. It was exhausting at this point. Pretending like you knew what the fuck you were talking about when others asked you. Your group chat blew up with your equally single friends who were less discerning about who they took to bed.

Every other night, there were stories about dick sizes, oral, and a whole treatise on the lack of finesse these guys had. You almost snorted thinking about your best friend, Brooklyn, and how she said that no wonder men were trapping women in marriages in the past. It was the only way they could get women to be with them. It certainly wasn’t because of their pornographic sexual prowess. 

“What’s been your journey with sex so far?” He asked. 

You took a deep breath and told him all about it. The way that you picked up a book one day with sex in it and never looked back. In a lot of ways, that book probably shaped how you viewed sex and your sexual kinks. Before long, you were searching for more and more books with the exact same tropes. A sexy, semi-asshole alpha male that was too big to be real. 7’8, long dick, and a short attitude. Typically bad boy types with tattoos and “touch her and die” vibes. The kind to only be soft with the female main character.

You could wax poetic about why it appealed to you. Blah blah blah, you had a terrible childhood where you felt invisible. It was all there in the file if he wanted to take a gander. 

“I know I’m submissive, that I want to be dominated in bed. But, whew, the game out here is ridiculous,” you said. “The men I wouldn’t mind submitting to are too damn weak to take control. The men I would never submit to act like I’m their pet already and can speak to me however they want.” 

“Do you think you’re being too picky?” He asked. 

You were startled into a laugh. “What gave me away, Dr. Richmond?” You asked.

Dr. Richmond chuckled. “I have a process, bear with me,” he said. That ain’t all you wanted to do. He was fine as hell. You mentally shook your head. No, you could not go there. Not at all. 

You continued to discuss how you led to certain conclusions. Yes, you were picky. But why shouldn’t you be? You weren’t seeking perfection. You just wanted something normal. Something healthy. Something toe curling, mind numbing, sickeningly disgusting and sweet. Was that too much to ask for? 

Dr. Richmond asked more questions and you relaxed fraction by fraction, getting right to the core of why you were seeking professional help. You told him about some of the partners you had. Some who were sweet and really tried. You had a long term boyfriend at one point who was attentive and caring. But he fell short of making you cum. 

He ate you out long enough to get you wet and going and then jumped straight to sex just so he could cum. You often lied about cumming until it got too exhausting to keep up with. He promptly got mad, hurt that you lied, and possibly embarrassed that he wasn’t God’s gift to sex. His loss. 

It was awkward at first to discuss such intimate details with Dr. Richmond but you often forgot he was even there. Until he asked you to expand on something you said or ask a clarifying question. Even the scratch of his pen faded into the background as you spoke about how you arrived in his office. 

Dr. Richmond finally finished and leaned back in his seat once more, squaring his broad shoulders against the high back of his chair. He crossed his leg and looked at you and you briefly wondered what he’d look like without the glasses. 

“We’re nearing the end of our session but I think I’m getting a clearer picture of why you’re here. After hearing from you and looking through your file, it seems like your perception of what sex really is has been skewed. Either through these books, these movies, or even porn. It’s perfectly okay to consider what you like in bed or what you prefer in a partner. But most people’s foray into their sexual journey starts with themselves. What’s your relationship like with your body?” 

“I love my body,” you said, immediately. Why wouldn’t you love your body? You were gorgeous. Sure, you struggled with your weight, but you didn’t want to be thin anyway. You just wanted to roll out of bed without being out of breath sometimes. Or cut your toenails without having to stop every few minutes for air. 

Dr. Richmond licked his lips and your eyes dropped immediately to it. He rubbed the corner of his mouth with his thumb and it drew your attention to his big hands. Too damn bad you hadn’t met him under better circumstances. You bet he could make you cum. Often.

“What else?” He asked. 

“What else is there?” You asked, clearing your throat, and drawing your attention away from how drop dead gorgeous he was. Your thoughts ran wild still, picturing him in all sorts of nasty scenarios. If nothing else, your imagination was always there to show you a good time. Your own perfect world where you experienced back to back orgasms. 

“What has your personal sexual journey encompassed besides you loving your body? Do you touch yourself?” He asked. 

You fought every urge you had to squeeze your thighs together. How the hell did this man end up in this profession? He missed his calling as a phone sex operator. Or an erotic audio content creator. Good lord, he could have people eating out of the palm of his hand if he so wished. Swimming in a tub full of money earned from hundreds of thousands of horny bitches who could cum to his voice alone. Lucky bitches.

You shrugged. “Of course I touch myself. I can’t cum that way either,” you said. 

Dr. Richmond chuckled. “This only works if you lower them walls you try so hard to hide behind,” he said.

You kissed your teeth and rolled your eyes to the ceiling. The hell did he know. So what if he had fancy doctor diplomas behind his chair. So what if he had a MD in this field. What the hell did he know?

After cursing him out two ways from Sunday in your mind, you deflated. “I know I’m not relaxed when I masterbate. I lock my door, I put on headphones, and I still feel like I’m…”

“Like you’re…?” Dr. Richmond prompted. 

“Being watched? Being judged? You can probably guess I grew up religious. It’s not like I had enough time or space to explore my body. My room was directly next to my parents’. If I so much as sighed too loud, my mom was banging on my wall telling me to fix my attitude,” you admitted. That had been oodles of fun. Growing up, you couldn’t even roll your eyes without someone telling you to fix your face. 

“What does relax you then?” He asked.

“When I find out, I’ll tell you,” you said.

Dr. Richmond smiled, showing off a dazzling, mega-watt movie star smile that made your knees weak. If you weren’t already sitting down, you’d fall flat on your face. 

“I believe I can help you, but you have to be willing to do the work. I need total, focused commitment from you. Do you think you can do that?” He asked.

“Yes,” you said instantly. There wasn’t even a question. You wanted this more than breathing, more than eating. And that was saying something because you would happily drive far and wide for a good meal. 

Dr. Richmond nodded. “Good. I’m giving you homework. I want you to spend the next week exploring your body. Nothing sexual. Spend time in your body and with your body. Touch yourself, but no masterbating. When you shower, acknowledge your body. When you lotion up, pay attention to every mole, every scar. This is the only body you’ll ever have so it’s time to think beyond simple body maintenance. Admire your body. I also want you to keep a journal. You won’t share it with me unless you want to, but this exercise is to get you in tune with your body. Rewire how you perceive sex and sexual completion. Does that sound doable?” 

You nodded, not trusting your voice at the moment. He must not know the effect he had on those around him. He had to be completely clueless. Batshit fucking oblivious. The wreck he was having on your libido was absolutely insane. 

Joking aside, you were taking this seriously. In just one session, Dr. Richmond managed to give you a tiny spark of hope. That maybe you weren’t a lost cause. You immediately tempered your thoughts. Hope hurt. You’d been hopeful so many times in the past, with different therapists, who seemed like they had a plan to help you.

Only for them to diagnose some other problem. You had anxiety, duh. You had depression, shocker. You had a laundry list of diagnoses from doctors and therapists who just thought you were obsessed with sex. That was like saying the sky was blue. Who wasn’t obsessed with sex? Besides asexual people. 

“I’ll do it,” you said.

“Good,” he said. He went over your schedule, working out a time to see him once a week until you would eventually graduate to fewer sessions. That bummed you out. Not seeing his gorgeous face ever again? Could you fake another issue and continue seeing him? 

Dr. Richmond dismissed you and you left his office feeling a smidgen lighter than when you entered. Maybe this would actually work out. Maybe. 

Terry

Terry finished with his last client of the day and went over his notes, inputting his clearer thoughts into the patient portal on his laptop. When he ran across your file, he paused and opened it once more.

Your case fascinated him. He couldn’t stop pouring over your files, doctor’s notes, direct quotes. There had been plenty of therapists before him, all trying to help the beautiful woman who entered his office earlier in the afternoon. 

He wasn’t immune to his patients. Some were beautiful and charming and all tried to flirt their way into his bed. He never crossed that line. Never. Yet…when you discussed your story, the rawness of it captivated him. He held onto your every word like you were a theater production right before his eyes. 

He hardly took notes because he was so fascinated with the dichotomy of you. On the outside, you were a bit shy. Perhaps too self-aware which led you to shrink, hide who you really were. He got the sense that there was an entire universe wrapped up in your mind and he began asking deeper questions than he ever had on a first session. 

The hour had gone by too fast for his tastes. He wanted to hear more. Learn more. Know more. He hated to admit it, he even got semi-erect as you told your tale. He was understandably disgusted and it wasn’t the first time; occupational hazard. But it was the first time he’d ever cursed his medical degree. 

You were perfect. Absolutely perfect. When you admitted to being submissive, his dick even twitched. Ached. Why couldn’t he have met you somewhere else? Surely, fate hadn’t been so cruel as to put the perfect sub within reach and then ensure that he could never have you? Never touch you? 

Describing your previous lovers actually made his chest boil. You had been subjected to ignorant men who wouldn’t know what to do with a woman like you. And they had you believing that you were the problem. It was laughable. It was maddening. It was cruel. 

He frowned at your file. He had gone over it so many times in preparation for the session. He didn’t know what would walk through the door. A file this thick? He thought he’d have a sex-obsessed, delusional fiend on his hands that he’d have to contend with.

Your wish of cumming was almost cute. Terry sighed. He shouldn’t be thinking it was cute. If anything, he should be passing your case off to his colleague down the hall. Dr. Crawford was as capable as Terry was, their ideas often aligning in regards to treatment.

He preferred a holistic approach. Most problems could be resolved within a few months, once people began to shift their idea of sex and their role in it. 

“Everything is about sex, except sex. Sex is about power.” That was one of his favorite quotes, said so many times that no one truly knew where it originated. 

It was a quote he often repeated to his patients at the right moment. When they were beginning to discover a part of themselves previously unexplored. He wondered how long it would take for your moment? That dawning realization. 

He was only sad he couldn’t see it in real time. That moment when you let yourself feel. Let yourself relax and sink into that subspace you so desperately needed. Terry grunted and closed your file. 

He was about to crack you open like an egg and watch a brand new woman emerge. He was about to hand you off to the first man who pretended to understand your needs. He took out his fresh notepad, every patient got one, and scribbled some more notes. He’d have to make sure you understood the difference between a real dom and a little boy playing dress up. 

His eyes scanned across his earlier notes, little things he jotted down while you spoke. Areas you skipped over, areas you expanded on. They were only a sentence or two long, something to kickstart his memory. Because at the time, his eyes were focused on you. On your face, your voice, your mannerisms. 

It was both a curse and a blessing to notice so much. See so much. Understand so much. But it worked when necessary. You deflected about your sexual partners, retreated when he tried to push further about how you reached these conclusions. What methods you tried.

Usually, Terry did a whole song and dance to ease patients into talking about sex. Sex was taboo until it was time to have it. Now everything was awkward, unbalanced, and led to too many instances of abuse. 

But between your file and how skittish but determined you seemed, you didn’t need a song and dance. You needed someone to give you guideposts. You didn’t truly need therapists. You just needed a nudge in the right direction. A nudge to someone else.

Terry pursed his lips and looked at your name on the file. He had to be careful. If he wasn’t, you would end up being trouble in more ways than one. 

He finished up the last of his notes and then scanned through for anything he might have missed. He wrote down what your homework assignment was. He hadn’t truly known where that came from. 

Perhaps it was the look in your eyes. Perhaps it was the helpless, frantic twist to your mouth that had him going from zero to one hundred where you were concerned. But the more he described it, the lower your eyes went. The way your mouth slackened just a bit. As if you were caught in some picture in your mind that he couldn’t see. 

Terry leaned away from his desk and looked outside of his window. The tinted glass showed the sun in the distance, sinking lower towards the horizon. A bird flew, twisting and turning with the hot currents it found. 

He ought to do the right thing. There was no way to remain objective in this manner. Not when he was strangely drawn to you, drawn to your file, and drawn to the unique challenge it presented. 

You could very well end up a case study in some medical textbook or journal, name changed, but the presentation exactly the same. He didn’t relish the thought of being the one to put you there. But your case could end up helping someone else. It was the way the world worked.

He only hoped that he had enough self-restraint to walk away if he found himself compromised. If he couldn’t reign in his personal tastes and habits to help you. If he found himself looking at your lips as you spoke, your smile as you made self-deprecating jokes, or the shy way you licked your lips. 

“Shit.” He took his phone out of his bag and hit up his on again, off again submissive play partner, Tasia. Perhaps it’d been too long since he took care of his own needs. Perhaps what he needed was to release the pent up tension he carried around all the time. 

How long had it been? He didn’t know. But even as he set up the details with Tasia, he couldn’t help wondering if you were following his directions to the letter.

I said don't judge me! LOL. Thank you for reading, truly.

The Secret Terry Richmond Files | Part 2 | Part 3

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[mygnolia]

JUST ANOTHER LOVE SONG ୨୧ l. heeseung

୨୧ -› he's your high school sweetheart; something that was meant to be, written in the stars.

pair -› (student body) secretary!heeseung x vice pres! reader | wc -› 1k | cw -› just lots of kisses! | for @jlheon 's entopia event!! proud of u for 1k!

highschool is for growth, youth, and naivety. but highschool is where you meet lee heeseung, which makes all those other factors insignificant. 

highschool relationships aren’t easy; if everything in your lives is tumultuous and ever changing, how can you expect your love with lee heeseung to stay the same? it’s like a field of flowers- and as much as you wished its beauty to be forever, it wilts, and sprouts with the seasons. 

and things are never perfect, but you two make it work, through the good and bad, and that’s what makes it worth fighting for. and you love heeseung, enveloping him in all of those ‘disgusting, couply’ feelings that make life more memorable. 

you bump into student body secretary heeseung one time in the hallway, and he helps you carry one of the many bags you had prepared for decorations headed to the student body classroom. it’s tidy, as your president and friend jungwon likes the classroom to be, with one of your favorite kind-hearted teachers looking over your meetings every week. 

and you’ve known of lee heeseung. you’ve heard his singing as you pack up after long and tedious days full of planning. you’ve done student body bondings with him not quite by your side- but with you nonetheless. but this is the first time you’ve seen him in a more romantic light- and you like it more than you expect. 

as heeseung still carries your bags, you tell him about how stressful planning winter formal is, considering how the venue was secured with immense luck. usually, in october, there’s nothing left for schools who procrastinate, but your principal didn’t make it easy to be proactive in the first place. 

your love blossoms here, where he opens the door for you and laughs at your little jokes- where lee heeseung is in his element with park jongseong as treasurer and jungwon helping you all. it blossoms easily, when you two snicker in the back of the classroom and poke lighthearted fun at jay when he talks about his emails and responses. it’s fleeting- almost impossible to catch, but there’s a shift in the air after he really meets you. he helps you plan a bit more after hearing your struggles, and you make neat folders for his documents and reach out about government in hopes of starting conversations, even if it was about school. you two sit near each other, buy food for each other after stressful finals, and to be honest, it all goes by fast. it’s scary to know you’ve developed solid feelings by his birthday where you write him a sweet note with a meaningful gift, or by winter when you kiss him for the first time. 

your love is young, and full of recklessness- but you two work through all the problems that comes with being so hopelessly in love in a time like highschool. 

and within moments where you cry to him on the phone, or times where either of you mess up and have to apologize, there are moments that make your heart swell, too. like, when he tells you he loves you for the first time as perhaps a slip of the tongue, apologizing. “i always say it to my mom before i hang up.” he explains, picking at his nails from nervousness as he waits for your response on the other line. “but it’s not like i don’t mean it.” 

and you giggle before repeating the words, stuffing your face into your pillow before you hang up and dream of heeseung. 

or, that time where he blasted a song from his car and sang along to the lyrics as he asked you out for prom, his trunk propped open with flowers, and a huge smile on his face. and heeseung’s not afraid to love you in public, in a way that displays his grad gestures without the privacy of your intimacy behind closed doors. 

and you think about it; the kisses you two share when impossibly close, with lovesick grins and warm, sweaty palms as heeseung would reach out to tuck your hair behind your ear and scrunch your shirt in his other hand to pull you close. and you are assured by him that you are loved with how he looks at you, with his gentle gazes and warm embraces that calm your bubbling feelings. 

it is in the quiet moments where you two are most vulnerable. where you cry and tell him he’s hurt you (seldomly!), or when he kisses your temple and whispers his words of affirmation. 

even still, even three years later when your friends marvel at how your relationship still holds true despite the distance and longing, you’re at a loss of words as to how to explain it. heeseung loves and loves, like he was born to reassure your worries and comb his fingers through your hair. how do you explain a feeling so invigorating yet serene at the same time? and your friends tell you that heeseung would do anything for you, and they tell you he would turn back an entire train just to hold your face in his hands and seal your lips with his just once more before the end of the day. 

and your love with him continues to grow and change over time. like how flowers leave all of their fate to the sun and storm, you two try not to overthink the little things and let your relation run its path. and it’s been three years from highschool ever since junior year when you two got together, so you’re not the same snickering duo in the back of your classroom. but sometimes, heeseung presses a searing kiss to your lips after having not seen you for a while, and it makes you feel the very same as you did those days in october, hands intertwined under the desks with looks of longing. 

and with how easy it is to talk about how heeseung loves you wholly, you think, you could write one, or maybe even two lovesongs about him. 

REN SAYS... this was a little messy but full of love nonetheless. i heart lee heeseung

© all rights are reserved to mygnolia 2024. republished, translated, and/or heavily referenced work will be reported and removed immediately.

[bitter-me]

My first time requesting but I need a part 2 of Kilmer where aventurine adopts the reader (somehow) or gets the reader away from that awful man 🤕 angst with comfort and a bit of fluff in the end if its possible, Thank you!! :) (P.S. I love your works!!)

Shama

Aventurine | Child M. Reader (Platonic)

Part One | Part Two (You're here)

----------

"It's an all-or-nothing surrender!"

----------

No matter how many days, weeks, months have passed. The sight of that serial number on the neck of a young child has sear itself into Aventurine's mind. Images of his own past flashes before his eyes. Those times, those things he went through.. the thought of someone else going through the same thing at such a young age. Sends a chill down his spine.

Every time he ever met the man for business, his gaze would linger on the child much longer than the man he was having business with. That blank expression, those expensive and luxurious clothing on him. Like a little trophy. Just for show. A way for his caretaker--no.. owner to say "Hey! Look at this shiny new toy I got! Isn't he pretty?" Put in a glass box, a collection, a doll being stored on a shelf.

Every time he has to meet up with the man, Aventurine makes sure that he brings gifts. He doesn't mind buying gifts for clients. It's nothing really. Anything to make [Name]'s life more bearable... but his main concern, his main target is the trophy, the doll, the child, [Name]. And evert time he gave [Name] a gift, it's always met by complete silence and subtle glances directed to his owner. As if asking permission to take it.

"See this? This is a limited type of confectionery that everyone in the galaxy simply adores. There are only sixteen slices sold every day. Here, why don't you have a taste?" Aventurine says, his hand gestures towards a plate of slice cake. A very popular, very delicious dessert. One that he hopes the child would take it. [Name] glances over to his master, as if he's silently asking if he could, which earned him a firm nod. "Go ahead, it's rude to not accept gifts."

After contemplating over it, [Name] took a seat next to Aventurine, his hand reaching out towards the dessert plate, with his other hand the child use the utensil to eat his dessert. It was simply divine. It's no wonder this cake is a favorite of the people in the galaxy. [Name] had never tried anything this wonderful before.

The subtle light in the child's dull eyes make Aventurine smile widens.

Anything to make [Name]'s life more bearable.

----------

But even so, these gifts could only do so much.. he needs a plan. A permanent one. But it seems... he doesn't need to think of that anymore...

The "lifeless doll" had taken care of it.

Aventurine merely stare with widen eyes as the boy stood there in front of all of them with handcuffs on his wrist, the usually clean and tidy suit he wore is now messy with wrinkles and splashes of fresh blood, his neat hair now in shambles as he look at them through his hair strands with dull eyes.

As if what he had done didn't face him one bit.

It was a banquet, a normal banquet, nothing special, another day, another business. The waiters and waitresses handing drinks and foods to every patron. A normal business event.

And yet..

It had end in a massacre.

The trial went on and on. the trial took way too long for comfort, for every evidence and every alibi... the child is proven innocent. It took what felt like an eternity to finally gathered enough proof for him to be proven guilty. And yet..

The IPC showed him mercy. Finding it to be such a shame to lose such an asset. The length this boy went through, not breaking character as he slowly make his plan come into fruition.

This "lifeless doll" isn't as lifeless as he make himself to be.

For someone as young as him.. to be able to make elaborate plans and following it through till the end.. and creating evidence and alibies to prove himself innocent, whether if it's fabricated or not...

He's a mastermind.

And the IPC can't simply let such a valuable asset to simply.. cease to exist.

.

.

.

At a vacant room, [Name] sat on the edge of the bed looking blankly at the wall in front of him, his gaze sometimes shifted between the wall and his still blood stained hands, along with the handcuffs on his wrists. The sight of it could make anyone feel uneasy and squeamish. But to him.. it brought a sense of satisfaction as a ghost of a smile made it's way onto his face. For his plan had come to fruition.

Giving him a sense of comfort he never thought he could ever feel.

But that smile soon disappears once he heard the sound of someone entering the room, a man that he's well familiar with. There's no mistaken those eyes. He then approached [Name] before kneeling down in front of him.

"The IPC has pardon your crimes, but of course that still didn't erase the fact you had slaughtered a whole banquet of people... I'm afraid you have to work hard in order to clear your name.."

A soft and warm smile adorn on his expression as he stretch out a hand towards the younger. "In the meantime, you'll be under my care.."

"...Malachite."

[blushstories]

you hide an injury from joel after your patrol shift | hurt/comfort, slight angst

i had two versions for this and they will be split with a —— so please enjoy either or both!

five runners. five bullets. the run down store’s only light came from broken windows and missing roof tiles, and you’ve backed yourself into a corner so that nothing can sneak up on you. your torch casts shadows behind them and they approach in a line. you send a bullet through a head, a kneecap and its head, a neck. you duck one clawing at you and shoot up once from the floor. the screeching doesn’t end, and you pull the trigger again to hear an empty click. your heart stutters, your breath hitches, and you kick at the runner’s leg to send it to the floor, and aim another at its head as you scramble to your feet. you holster your gun and reach for your flipknife. but your pocket is empty. you dig into it a bit more, stepping backwards as the runner recovers, but it’s not there.

you want to scream. not in fear, in fury. a glint catches your eye and your torch has caught the blade of your knife on the floor. the runner charges, and you launch yourself next to your knife, slamming into the floor at full force. you grab it, roll onto your back and catch the incoming infected as it jumps on top of you. gripping it at its shoulder, you stab the knife into its chest, its neck, its temple, until it ceases its movements. its blood seeps through your fingers, dripping onto your chest. with a cry of relief you shove it off of you and wipe your knife on your jeans before pocketing it. its only when you try to sit up that you feel it. a sharp, hot pain in your side, forcing you to lie back again. you glance at the lifeless runner next to you, a distant pang entering your heart at the person they used to be.

you wince as you try to sit up again, inhaling sharply as you peel your shirt away from your side. and there it was, a neat shard of glass wedged into your skin.

—————— track 1 starts here ———————

“oh, fuck.” you sniff, blinking up at the sky. deep breath. removing it might make you bleed out, and you know maria could help you. not tommy; he’d blab to joel, who’s already not keen about you going on patrol on your own. but he has things to do in jackson, you couldn’t let him risk his life out here. it only takes one wrong move.

you lie back, and gently roll over until you’re on your knees, trying to keep your torso as straight as possible. using a nearby shelf, you pull yourself up. it’s fine. it’s not bleeding too much, just leaking here and there. you check again and swipe it up with your thumb. you’re not too far from jackson, you think as you reach your horse. riding on horseback would definitely fuck up your insides, so you decided on a gentle walk. you don’t have much daylight left though, so you try to get a move on.

the sun is kissing the horizon by the time you see jackson again, and the doors open as you approach, as if they had been waiting for you. your feet feel numb, and you’re trying to stand up as straight as you can without wincing. the intruder in your side causing a deep, aching throb. you let go of the reins and let your horse run off towards the stables, right before you hear your name echoing across the courtyard. tommy slips down the ladder from the watchtower like it’s slick with grease, his boots barely touching one rung before it’s met the other.

he bounds towards you, forehead glistening, and slams into your good side with his arms around you. you bite your tongue at the force, feeling the glass slicing into you more. but you mustve let some sound out, becaus tommy pulls away and holds you at arms length.

he breathes your name, eyes assessing you. “jesus. you look— joel’s been about to send a search party for you.”

“it’s not my blood,” you lie. then you sniff, briefly breaking eye contact. “not all of it. where’s maria?”

tommy freezes for a nanosecond, eyes boring into yours. he knows, but he doesn’t ask, using two fingers against your forearm to nudge you into following him. he doesn’t pay any extra attention, as you walk past jesse, dina, and ellie, he probably doesn’t want any sort of rumour to find its way back to joel. and for that, you’re grateful. you smile at ellie on your way past, hand hovering over your wound to hide the bloodstain that was yours. she smiles back, you think. you’ve turned the corner before you and tommy are alone.

“you can’t tell joel.” you say. just then, your foot lands in a hole of land a lot deeper than you’re expecting, sending a painful jolt through your right side, exploding into the wound. you catch yourself on a nearby porch as your knees respond poorly to the shockwave through your body.

“woah,” tommy grips your arms carefully, avoiding your wound. “you’re kidding. he’ll find out when you tell him.” he helps you walk the little bit further to his house.

“no way. he’ll never let me patrol solo again!” tommy looks at you, eyebrows raised.

“is that such a bad thing?” he pushes the door open and shouts for maria to clear the table for an emergency. you hear a clattering and tommy shifts beside you. “sorry, darlin’,” he murmurs, swooping beneath your knees to pick you up and place you on the table. you wince and swallow your cries of pain, hearing his whispers of “i know, i know. shh.” in your ear.

you feel a soft towel beneath you and maria’s supplies are spread on a small table nearby. she’s quick to business, slowly pulling up your shirt just enough to reveal the glass, which to your horror has dug itself deeper into you.

“it’s not that big, right?” you breathe lightly. but you eye tommy in the doorway, whose hand is covering his mouth, raking through his scruff.

“christ.” he says into his palm.

“i need your shirt off,” maria says calmly, and with that tommy spins on his heel and leaves, the door closing quietly behind him. you hold your arms up and allow maria to pull your bloodsoaked shirt off of you, before you hear a flannel being wrung into a bowl of water. it’s warm against your skin, the blood and dirt disappearing. but she’s delaying the inevitable.

she has a pillow under your head, and passes you a dry flannel.

“put it in your mouth,” she says. “i don’t have painkillers.” you do as she says as she readies two pairs of medium tweezers, a lot of gauze and some thread. you feel sick at the sight of it and prefer not to look. so you watch the ceiling as maria counts down, and on two, your skin feels as if it’s being ripped through by a chainsaw. you have to bite your scream into the cloth in your mouth, slapping a hand on top to muffle the sound even more. you’re gripping your own face with such force that you know you’ve left marks behind when maria pauses. she wipes at your forehead with the wet flannel and says she’s giving you a break. you shake your head as a tear slides down your temple and dissolves into your hairline.

“just do it, don’t care. hurts enough,” you mumble, head feeling as if it’s floating away.

“you could pass out. i am not having joel at my ankles for that,” she says, with care. she strokes your head lovingly, and purses her lips. she asks you if you’re ready and you nod.

“the whole thing,” you say, not daring to glance down. maria doesn’t reply, but she readies the tweezers. she takes a breath. and the pain returns. your body shakes as maria tries her best to steadily extract the glass, and you feel something dislodge. maria swears, and somewhere far away, you hear an argument.

the door slams open. the jolt in the room sends a searing pain through to your head, and your throat feels shredded.

“shit, joel!” maria shouts. he’d heard your screams due to the open kitchen window, and fought tommy while he was standing guard at the door.

“what the fuck happened?” joel shouts, stalking towards the table. tommy slips in front of him, hands on his chest shoving him back.

“wait; let her finish. you don’t want this to be worse. trust me.” there’s something serious in his tone that would even make you shut up. joel freezes, and watches maria dump the shard onto the table before starting on plugging the gushing of blood that’s just left your body.

with a deep throbbing ache remaining, you’re too tired to keep your arm up, dropping the cloth away from your mouth as you try to catch your breath. you consciousness is floating away, your eyes unfocused, breaths fractured. joel bats tommy’s arm away and he’s on his knees next to your head, smoothing the hairs away from your sticky forehead. you hold your breath as maria increases pressure on your wound, and joel takes your hand in his.

“that’s it, sweetheart, take it out on me,” joel mumbles into your temple. you squeeze his hand and groan in pain, feeling nausea creep into your throat.

maria’s recruited tommy. he opens a bottle of alcohol and douses a clean rag in it, muttering an apology as he sets your wound alight. joel watches in horror as your body convulses, sees the oozing wound and hoping the blood is only making it seem worse. your forehead is slick with sweat, and you’re only half conscious, murmuring his name while existing on a different planet.

“oh, baby,” he whispers, shoulders hitched high. you’ve started breathing heavily, and he doesn’t relax until maria begins stitching, then eventually wrapping your body. joel helps to hold you up enough, cradling your head and keeping your shoulders up. when maria cleans you up as much as she can, joel whisks you from the table to the couch, pulling up a blanket to your chin to protect your dignity.

when you come to, he’s on the floor, back to the coffee table. he’s kept his head up with his arm braced on his knees as he dozes. you stir, and he snaps to attention. your breath catches in your throat, and you can’t stop yourself blabbing, “joel, it was an accident, ‘m fine, please don’t worry.”

he wants to be mad, he really does. he wants to hit you with a “what were you thinkin’?” but you’re so tired, and your voice is all pebbly, and he doesn’t have it in him. he’s soft on you.

so all he says is, “i know. but i will. and we gotta talk about this soon.” you swallow the rocks in your throat, but you nod. maybe it’s time to stop being a lone wolf. an extra gun could save your life, after all.

———————— track 2 starts here ————————

you stare at it for a few moments in disbelief. heat pools behind your eyes and you take a sharp inhale. the runner twitches next to you and your heart flies into your mouth. you think your wound isn’t hurting as much as it should do, but you’re putting it down to adrenaline.

“fuck me, i guess,” you mutter to yourself shakily, pulling yourself onto your knees and hauling yourself up. should you pull it out? maybe it will fall out itself, it doesn’t seem lodged too deep. you wince with each step you take, and consider using your walkie talkie to call for backup. but you want to deal with this yourself.

the route back has a noticeable lack of infected, which you’re grateful for. your horse, gale, nudges at your shoulder when you seem to slow down, but the pins and needles in your feet can’t be reasoned with.

“‘s fine, gale. we’re almost there,” you say blearily, watching jackson appear dead ahead.

your feet drag against the ground, and your hand is slick holding onto gale’s reins. there’s a strange smell in your nose. pain. it’s metallic and stale, and your eyes feel too heavy for midday.

you don’t know how you find the strength to shout for the gate to open, but you do, and you slide in — they only open it a crack for patrols. you jolt slightly, thinking you’ve nicked the shard on the side of the gate, and with your next step you realise you have. your smile turns wonky, and instead of greeting tommy as usual, you settle on a wave.

you leave gale with the rest of the horses and stumble towards your house, where joel is working in the front yard. his muscles flex underneath his flannel as he moves a bucket of something to one side. he catches a glimpse of you approaching as he sets it down, and you try straightening up. heat rushes from the wound to your face, and you sniff away any cry of pain.

“hey, sweetheart,” he says, voice dripping with honey. he pulls off some heavy gloves and turns around with a smile, wiping his forearm across his forehead. it drops as soon as he sees you. his eyebrows set and his eyes narrow.

“what happened?” he asks, the words stale. you shuffle forwards, aming to dodge him.

“a successful patrol, if you must know. ganked a bunch of infected. i want a shower though,” you say, a little too fast. joel chucks the gloves to one side and doesn’t break eye contact.

“you’re standin’ funny,” he says. you try to play it off.

“you think i stand funny?” you feign hurt.

“knock it off. are you hurt? i need to know, baby,” his mask cracks. there’s a stab in your heart, and your side.

“i’ll get back to you on that,” you begin, sliding past him and climbing the stairs of the porch, using your arm more than your legs to pull you up. but you’ve crunched your side too hard, and you feel the shard begin to pop out. you’re glad you’re facing away from joel as your face crumples in agony, the electric hot wound sending prickles through your entire body. “but right now—“ you wince halfway, “i need a shower.”

the toe of your shoe catches the tip of the last step and you fly forwards, onto your hands and knees. you hear your name behind you and then you feel him. hands. on your shoulders, on your hips. you’ve frozen as the pain rockets through you, stealing your breath and your composure.

“fuck. jesus, fuck.” he’s turned you over and has spotted an angry red patch on your shirt. and it’s growing. he’s so mad. but your eyes are drooping and your eyebrows are all creased. so he bites the inside of his cheek in panic. he taps your cheek with his fingers. “stay with me, now. hold on sweetheart,” he says. you’re whimpering because you need to bite your tongue in case you scream. “you gotta—“ he sniffs harshly through his nose, “you gotta let me help you.”

his hand grasps your shirt and pulls it up. with wide eyes, he whips his head around to scan the immediate area, spotting ellie and jesse emerging nearby. he shouts for help even though his tongue feels numb. he can’t put pressure on the wound — for obvious reasons — but blood’s pooling onto the porch and he feels sick because if you don’t pull through, and the wood is stained forever…

footsteps thunder through your head, and there’s a murmuring that buzzes through your consciousness and you’re falling from joel, further and further.

you wake up in your bed. the sheets are soft and you feel clean. even though joel sleeps next to you routinely, he’s now slumped in a chair, arms folded tightly across his chest and chin falling into his neck. you lift up the sheet covering your body and eye the neat bandage around you, with only a faint patch of red seeping through. your throat is dry, and you feel so tired; a dry crackling at the back of your throat sends you into a coughing fit. the action jerks your wound which in turn remixes your coughs into cries of pain.

joel stirs, then, and his head snaps up. his eyes are bleary until he realises that you’re awake, so he reaches for a glass of water on the side and stumbles over to you. he slowly tips it into your mouth and the cool liquid tastes like gold. you tap his wrist twice so that he doesn’t accidentally waterboard you, and he listens. your coughs die down and you put pressure on your wound in case it makes it hurt less. and then he settles next to you.

“how’re ya feeling?” he says. you nod.

“‘M alive.” you aren’t sure what to say. there’s an elephant in the room, and you’re too scared to address it. joel isn’t, though.

“i don’t know why you’re so reckless. why you try to hide it from me.” he averts his gaze, but it’s clearly planets away. “i’m not putting you on patrol again,” he says. your jaw falls.

“what? but it’s the only job i’m good at!” you insist. “i didn’t say anything because i knew you’d say that.”

joel runs his hand down his scruff. “you could’ve died. hell, you almost did and it wasn’t even a fuckin’ infected.” you know he’s reliving something that you can’t remember.

“exactly, it was an accident. c’mon joel. next time—“

“there won’t be a next time. don’t you get it? next time, a clicker eats your throat. next time, runners take you down. next time, a bloater rips your jaw open—“

“joel, stop—“ you cringe at his graphic monologue.

“no, i won’t stop. you’re a smart girl; why aren’t you acting like it? i’m not letting you out of my sight,” his voice cracks imperceptibly, “m not gonna lose you.”

oh. that’s why he’s lashing out.

“you won’t. okay? you won’t. can we please work this out later? i’m very good at compromising,” you say, your hand finding his jaw and pushing him to look at you. he does, and there’s care in his eyes. he squeezes your hand and inhales steadily, blinking back something.

“okay, fine,” he says. “do you need anything?”

you shake your head, biting back a smile, “just you.” you pat the bed next to you and wait patiently for joel — now suppressing a smile — to stalk around the bed, toe of his boots, and lie next to you. you lean up against him as much as possible, already drifting again into sleep. there’s a soft kiss to your head, and you’re smiling in your sleep.

[remiivu]

Ghostly Companion- Chapter 1

Link on Ao3! Currently rated Teen but may go up to Mature/Explicit

Masterlist Next Chapter -->

A Mr. Crawling x Reader fic (that may expand into a series!)

This is the first time that I've written anything like this in the past 5 years, so give me some slack if it's bad or cringey lol (also the first fic on Tumblr!)

Set in the ending (and series of events) where you take him home! I've done a few playthroughs so some parts may not be fully accurate, but I'll do my best!

No warnings-- just some minor cursing here and there. 1.8k words!

Enjoy!

 Note: Words in italics are in the ghost language. The blocks represent words reader doesn't understand.

You…

Honestly, you weren’t quite sure what happened these past 24 hours. Half of your now fully-conscious brain had settled on this being some sort of twisted hallucination you experienced after inhaling the noxious spores from some weird mushroom during your bravery challenge. But, the other, half-insane half-sane side of your mind simply cannot deny the manifestation of your nightmares sitting right across from you, a sharp smile stretching from ear to ear and a mop of strangely neat black hair swallowing its figure.

It? He? That, too, was something you didn’t know. Hell, the thing never stood up, and the noises that creaked from its throat were far from human.

But… It was nice. It helped you. It followed you, shielded you, and the pure, radiant happiness it exuded when you proposed, in broken ghostly-language, for it to join you hardly came across as malicious or non-sentient. It had feelings, and while some parts were… wrong, surely, it was owed some sort of humanity, you reasoned.

And so, it became a he, and then a Mr. Crawling-- the highlight of your creativity, truly. You doubted he understood the significance of the slightly different noises coming out of your mouth as you called to him, but still, it was the least you could do.

“... not… go?” He asked, head tilted as he sat patiently on the ground, lanky grayed limbs bent awkwardly into some mix between a w-shape and a regular sitting position. You think he said something else as well, but honestly, you were exhausted, and you hadn’t really had much time to truly learn his language.

“...” You sighed again, looking at him, then your surroundings. You had popped out right where you had started– or somewhere near it, at least, as you recognized the spooky decorations nailed and wrapped around trees. You were back in the forest you had entered before being sucked into… something. At least the light rain had stopped, leaving damp soil and the smell of petrichor to fill your senses instead of the… yeah.

Well, besides, you had nothing on you. Right– it was all in your bag that, for some reason, wasn’t brought alongside the rest of you.

“Need…” you paused, hesitating. How did you say bag? Scrounging through all the corners of your mind left you with a blank, and you searched for the next best thing.

Which would be bucket. Fuck.

Mr. Crawling tilted his head the other way, mouth flattening slightly in what you presume to be confusion. “You… ∎∎∎” he uttered something that didn’t spark a single click of recognition in your brain. “∎∎∎… ∎∎∎. ∎∎∎∎∎∎. Help?” 

You gave one nod. “Yeah, help. Uhm… bucket… “ You made the attempt of drawing out what it looked like in the dirt while ignoring the small amount of embarrassment that rose in your chest at your horrific attempt to communicate.

You jabbed at the middle of the drawing of your rather simple bag. “Uh- blood.” You muttered, figuring it was the closest thing to whatever the actual word for red was.

Mr. Crawling frowned a bit, then chirped a “Me help you ∎∎∎ bucket! ∎∎∎ ∎∎∎∎?” With a much more pleasant smile. 

You nodded, “Yeah, thanks. Ok, so… I guess we’ll split up?”

Mr. Crawling stared blankly with that dopey smile and you sighed, standing up. You felt a little bad for making a… disabled ghost? Yeah, a disabled ghost do some of the work. Shoeless and possibly pant-less

Damn. You’ve stooped down low these past few hours.

_____________________________

Honestly, you were surprised at just how efficient a disabled ghost was when left in the dark, blind, and in an environment he’s never been in before. Just as you were about to give up and start heading back into civilization, you heard a gleeful, familiar bone-chilling giggle followed by “Me ∎∎∎ bucket blood!”

Your head shoots up, “You did?!” As you rushed off to the bushes where he had wandered off. 

You let out a sigh of relief as you spotted the familiar bag, grabbing it from Mr. Crawling’s hands. “Thank you,” you smiled, weary but grateful, as Mr. Crawling giggled once again.

“Happy! Happy!” He said, reaching out to pat your head again.

You found yourself letting out a small laugh as well at the unusually tender action, giving your bag a quick once-over to confirm everything was there. When you spotted your phone, you quickly tapped on the screen, letting out a quick breath of relief as it lights up only for it to immediately be followed by a small wince.

Over 50 missed calls and 100 messages… yikes. And with a glance at the time and date, you understood why. Turns out, your sense of time was rather accurate– it had been just over a day since your disappeared.

“Hurt? You hurt?” Mr. Crawling asked, leaning in close to do his ghost-equivalent of looking. Honestly, you can’t be bothered to question why, how, or even what he’s seeing when all you’ve noticed on his face was a deep red wound in place of his eyes. 

“No,” You shake your head. “Uhm. It’s, uhm, humans. Humans worry… no– me worry humans.” You explained the best you could, standing up again. Mr. Crawling looks up, confused. 

“You safe.” He says, crawling towards you rather slowly. “Humans ∎∎∎?” 

You shake your head. “Go together with me.” You say with a bit of force. The desire to get home and in bed overshadows much of anything else that could run through your mind.

Mr. Crawling, however, doesn’t seem to mind your curtness, breaking out into another small fit of uncanny giggles as he follows after you, letting out a small mantra of “Together together together together!”

With half fondness and half exasperation, you trudge on with a smile, feeling like this experience was more akin to a person walking their dog rather than a human leading a ghost to their home. Which… you choose to think about another day. You really, really don’t want to contemplate any more images of your death.

You were so tired.

But, after nearly half an hour of much slower-than typical walking, your patience was wearing thin.

As it turns out, disabled ghosts walk– crawl much slower on slippery, uneven terrain than their familiar concrete floors. You’ve had to slow significantly so that Mr. Crawling wouldn’t get too tangled up in roots and rocks, and a part of you worried for the safety of his bare legs, but every passing glance resulted in a tiny glimpse of smooth, unharmed skin. You assume he was taking extra care to ensure he doesn’t get hurt.

But, still, every passing hour drains your phone’s limited battery and therefore your limited ability to navigate through whatever area of the city you wind up in upon exiting the mountains. You really couldn’t afford to keep slowing down or to risk losing your understanding of where to walk by circling around roots and trees. They had passed most of the decorations by now, leaving only trees and the very faint noise of any rare passing cars.

Eventually, you kneel back down, waving at him to get his attention. “Mr. Crawling.” You hum, watching as he perked up.

“∎∎∎!” He chirped, getting to your position in a few seconds.

“Me…” You hesitate. “... Me you… up.” You said, staring at him to see whether or not he understood. You were sure that, without… a lot of things necessary for life, he would be light enough for you to carry. Sure, you weren’t the fittest of the bunch, but you were healthy and exercised. In fact, you’re sure that your physical health was the only reason you lasted that long in that death trap.

His head tilted, then he grinned. “... Me you ∎∎∎?”

You sighed, contemplating. That was a vaguely familiar word, and you could almost hear something else in your memories having said it.

But before you could actually responded, Mr. Crawling lunged up at you, bringing you down to the ground in one swift motion. You let out a scream, your throat raw and strained by now, but settled in once you realized where you were.

“Mr. Crawling, what are you–?” You let out a half-scream of shock as he began to scoot across the floor with his legs, holding you firmly in his lap, cold yet sturdy arms caging you in.

He giggled, “Me ∎∎∎! Me ∎∎∎ you!”

Your jaw dropped, and then the word clicks– carry! Well, carry or lift or hold– something along those lines. You remembered that decapitated head speaking it. The head that you had left behind in the hands of that… goat thing.

“Me carry you!” Mr. Crawling giggled, and honestly, if it weren’t for the fact that this was twice as slow as their previous pace (an actual snail’s pace) you might’ve just stayed here and squeezed a nap in.

“Wait, no– no!” You wiggled, trying to loosen his arms. You couldn’t– not through sheer force, as his arms felt like stone bricks, but he loosened his hold on his own, leaning in far too close and spewing out a cycle of: “Hurt? Hurt? Damaged? You sad?” 

You sighed, shaking your head. Well, at least now you know the word. “No, me carry you. Me carry you.” You said, trying to convey through hand motions that it would be faster.

Then… Mr. Crawling giggled. Laughed. Directly at your face. “You carry me? Me ∎∎∎, you ∎∎∎!” 

In your heart, you knew you were being laughed at, and you felt heat rushing to your ears as you sputtered in indignation. “What– listen, I can carry you! You’re not even alive, so you probably don’t have water or blood or any other thing in you that makes you as heavy as–”

“Cute!” Mr. Crawling cooed with another giggle, playing with your ears, his fingers gentle despite how coarse they felt. The coolness of them actually felt… nice against your burning ears.

You balked, “You–!”

Your breath was interrupted as cement arms wrapped around you again and his butt-scooting continued. 

“Hey, I– !”

“You ∎∎∎ rest!” He said happily, strong legs picking up the pace and pushing small mounds of dirt across the forest floor.

Well… that was actually amendable. Maybe you’d get to the city before sunrise at this pace.

“Rest rest!” He said, one arm reaching up to pat your head. “You ∎∎∎! You rest! You safe.”

You let out another sigh, though you hardly put any heart into it, leaning against him more as you felt the rhythmic stop and push of him quite literally dragging the both of us to safety.

A disabled ghost… helping a fully-capable human move.

You snort, letting your eyes fall shut.

What has your life become?

And that's all! Thank you so much for stopping by! If you're interested, I just wanted to add some notes for anybody paying a bit more attention to minor details in this fic.

Yes, the reader is exhausted and far too tired to ask why a ghost who "can't use his legs" is currently using them as a motor to propel them across the forest floor. Give them some slack! They nearly died about 3 times lmao. (And I have mentally planned out a timeframe where they realize this exact piece of info)

I am aiming for the reader to be completely G/N (for our rare male players) but I may slip up and call them she/her or accidentally follow the canon a bit too closely.

Honestly, while it is based in Japan, most of my understanding outside of some rare visits comes from anime. So, in my head, the local high school was hosting a bravery challenge up in the forest on the mountains and the reader was dragged along with their friends (reader is a working young adult, ~25 years old). In my world, the city they live in is maybe 40 minutes away from that specific area in the mountains. I'm contemplating making the reader American-Japanese (who resides in the US and visited Japan for a vacation to meet up with old friends, or something like that).

Yes, I know that "bucket" in the ghost language isn't correct (the correct word is "container" or something more vague like that) but I can't recall if the reader gets to go to the SOS room on this route where Mr. Crawler refers to the pencil case/make-up bag with that same word, so their only experience would be learning the word through buckets with Mr. Hood.

I may accidentally call Mr. Crawling "Mr. Crawler." I'm pretty sure I haven't done that in this fic, but this is simply a warning for the future lmao.

That's all! Thanks again!^^

Masterlist Next Chapter -->

Banners by @cafekitsune

[eowynstwin]

a wake-up call / neighbors

previous

On a cold winter's day in the early morning hours, you knock on your neighbor Captain John Price's door to make a noise complaint. - “Did you mean any of it?” he asks, voice low and deep in his chest. - ao3

Three knocks on your front door wake you up.

The sound feels at first like the thump of your own throbbing brain against the inside of your skull. Awareness comes back to you slowly, in gradiated shades of stiff joints and greasy skin. You shift, and find you’re still on your couch, still in your clothes from last night. Your eyes are filmy, sticky with dehydration—you blink several times to clear them, to little effect.

The knocking, a three-beat staccato, comes again.

“One second,” you croak irritably, cupping your forehead with your hand. Your skull might come apart, you think, if you move too much.

Your entire body feels like it is suspended from loose, tangled marionette strings as you struggle to sit up on the couch, and you wobble to that effect as you stand. Somehow, your flat has tilted at thirty degree angle, likely sometime in your sleep. You make it to the door at an oblique, having to lean on the jamb as you open it, and to add insult to injury John is standing on your doorstep like a clean, shining beacon of sobriety.

He’s in a dark shirt and jeans. His hair is casually neat, as if he’d styled it with his fingers. He looks fresh-faced, as if he’s been awake for hours already.

“That’s not fair,” you groan. 

His brows draw together over cool blue eyes. “Jesus, love,” he says, looking you up and down.

You think you should say something back. But your head is too full of ache and interrupted sleep—and the bright shock of his presence—to produce anything intelligent.

“John,” is all you say, and you sound absolutely pathetic.

“Was gonna accuse you of standing me up,” he says ruefully, “but I see that’s not the case.”

“No,” you say dumbly. The fact that he’s come to seek you out gets tangled up in the strings. “Um.”

It is so far out of the ordinary as to be dreamlike. John’s knocking belongs on the other side of your wall, not your door. His boots belong on his own doorstep, making room for your house slippers at the time of your choosing, not his.

“Am I still drunk?” you wonder aloud.

John gives that little huff-laugh of his. “I doubt it.”

You rub your face. “Have I overslept?”

“Just a bit,” he replies. “I’ll admit, when I didn’t hear you move around this morning, I got worried.”

“I fell asleep on the couch,” you confess. You put a hand to your forehead as your brain throbs again. “Oh, I shouldn’t have drank that much.”

“Love,” says John, gentle and soft, “why don’t you let me in, and I’ll make you some breakfast?”

You blink, and you’re sure now that you’re still drunk. 

John. In your flat. Cooking?

“I’m not fancy in the kitchen, but I manage alright,” he suggests further. His gaze is warm on yours, brows lifted encouragingly.

“…Sure,” you say, and shuffle to the side to let him in. If this morning is determined to be strange, you might as well not get in its way.

He gives you a small smile and crosses the threshold. 

Your flat shifts again; as he enters your living room, it seems to shrink, or maybe it’s just that John fills your home in a way no one ever has. His body, his presence, casts new light on the interior that throws its existence into unfamiliar repose. Details—the softness of your furniture, the cozy clutter of books and knickknacks spread across every available flat surface—offer unmeasured insight into who you are, more than you might ever have intended to reveal to John.

It’s only when he’s halfway to your kitchen that you realize one detail—the bright fucking pink of your vibrator, still on your coffee table—is glowing like a neon sign.

And your previous night’s activities come flooding back. 

Your body, draped over his. The scrape of his beard on your hand, your face. 

The furious grind of your mons against that toy as you pictured him taking you, drenched in hot shower water and pressed bare to the tile wall.

You are fully, painfully awake now. You stare, frozen in shocked terror, waiting for him to catch sight of it, but his head does not turn in its direction. He passes by it with no indication that he even noticed.

You dart over and snatch it behind his back, shoving it deep into your dress pocket, and grab up the empty water glass for an excuse. Then you have to put a hand to your head as your vision swims from the sudden movement.

“Have eggs?” John asks over his shoulder. He enters your kitchen. “I can make ‘em any way you like. Fried, over easy, sunny side…”

“Um,” you say, squeezing your eyes shut, “scrambled.”

You follow after him, and lean against the wall to watch as he opens your fridge. His hand engulfs more of its handle than yours ever has; the musculature of his powerful body visibly shifts beneath his clothes as he has to bend down to root around the shelves.

He is broad in your kitchen. As broad as he’d been between your legs, in memory and in fantasy.

You don’t realize you’re staring until he straightens and puts the eggs, butter, and milk on the counter. Your breath hangs suspended in the shallows of your lungs when he catches your gaze.

His brows crease again. “You look like you’re about to fall over.” 

“Um,” you say, again, because it’s the only sound your brain will reliably supply.

To your horror, he comes to you, and—oh, god—takes your face in both hands.

“You’re warm,” he says. “Do you feel sick, love?”

Your brain supplies nothing now. It is so unfair, how good he looks the morning after drinking nearly half a bottle of scotch. His features are velvet-soft, so easy and wonderful to look at that you stop feeling your headache entirely.

“I really think I might still be drunk,” you admit, sounding pathetic.

His thumbs rub into your temples as he smiles at you. “Hell of a hangover, then.”

The pressure of his fingers is an incredible relief, and you close your eyes as you give into it. You feel, if your knees suddenly gave out, that he would easily be able to hold you up like this, as if you weighed nothing. His hands are a little cool from rooting around in your fridge, and the rest of him is warm, standing close enough that his body heat reaches out to you with the freshness of a recent shower. You want to fall into that warmth, bury your face in his chest…

Your eyes fly open. You hear your own voice again—I wanted to touch you, and I wanted you to hold me. You feel, again, the echo of his body between your thighs. Your heart starts beating wildly in your chest as embarrassment, hot and acidic, pumps through you.

“I think I need to sit down,” you whisper.

He strokes your temples, and surveys your face with a gentle gaze. “Sure, love. Go ahead.”

And then he releases you, and you try to remember how to walk as you return to your living room. There is no relief to be found as you sit down on your couch, which is indented by the dissatisfied night.

“How’d you sleep?” John asks from the counter. You hear him crack a few eggs into a bowl. This is the first time cooking has happened in your kitchen with you outside of it, and the cognitive dissonance of it does not help to steady you.

“Like the dead,” you say, rubbing your sore neck. Then, you decide to lie to him. “I—I think I passed out before the door even closed last night.”

John looks over his shoulder at you, and he smiles. The vibrator sits cold in your pocket. Are you imagining that glimmer in his eyes? “Wouldn’t be surprised. You were pretty out of it.”

“I didn’t end up drinking the whole bottle, did I?”

A chuckle. “Not quite.”

“Didn’t you drink as much as me?” You try to recall, and think you can remember him matching you glass for glass. “Why aren’t you out of commission?”

“The army never cares if you’re hungover, I’ve found,” says John. “Guess I learned to stop caring too.”

You hear the sizzle of whisked eggs spreading over a hot pan, and for a while there’s only the sound of John moving a spatula around.

You watch him in your kitchen, his back to you as he stands at the stove. His long-sleeved shirt clings to the breadth of his shoulders, planes of shifting muscle underneath casting shadows through the soft cotton. The collar hangs a little low down his neck, leaving enough room for the dark hair at his nape to curl as it dries.

It makes something in your stomach twist, twinning your nervous hunger with unstable desire. It’s something that wants to walk back into the kitchen and wrap your arms around his trim waist, press your cheek between his shoulder blades.

“Want anything else?” John asks. “Could make some toast.”

“Eggs are fine!” you say too quickly.

The spatula scrapes softly against the pan again. As he turns to open your fridge, you swear you see him grinning. 

Heat blooms across your face. SAS. Of course he could feel you looking at him.

It does not take him very long to finish cooking. Space bends once again as he leaves your kitchen, as he comes to you with a plate balanced on one hand and a glass of orange juice in the other. You feel smaller than you ever have as he approaches, and sets the meal in front of you on the coffee table. 

“Hope it tastes alright,” he says, sitting down beside you. He sinks into your couch cushions, far more dense than you are, and looks quite comfortable doing so. “I made ‘em how I like ‘em, but no guarantee you’ll feel the same.”

You look from him to the eggs, which are golden yellow and steaming pleasantly. “You didn’t make yourself anything?”

There is a softness in his eyes when you look back to him. You’ve seen it before—it’s there every time you hand him a new book. “Don’t worry ‘bout me. Just eat.”

You can’t protest when he’s looking at you like that, so you obey, suddenly ravenous once a forkful is between your teeth. The eggs are whipped to a wonderfully soft fluff, salted perfectly, and you think you can taste the barest hint of butter. You can’t help shutting your eyes to savor the taste.

“Good?” John asks. “I’ll admit, I’m not much of a cook, but I think I’m all right at eggs.”

Usually you like to add things when you make the same dish—potato chips, broken up into little crumbs, or a dollop of sour cream and salsa. For once though, right now you’d be disappointed by all that. 

They wouldn’t be the eggs John made for you.

The thought makes your stomach twist again. “Delicious,” you say. “Thank you.”

He watches you eat, and you try not to feel self-conscious. He seems almost—satisfied by this, by feeding you, more than you would expect him to be. But then, this has always been the case with John. You have never understood why the smallest of things you do have such an impact on him, but they do nonetheless.

“John,” you say. “About last night…I wanted to apologize.”

Dark brows crease as you set the empty plate down. “What for?”

“I got so drunk,” you say. You won’t look at him, face heating, strangling your own fingers in your lap. “You—you had to carry me home, and I’m so embarrassed by the things I said, I was so inconsiderate.”

“That’s not—”

“You must have felt so uncomfortable,” you continue, “you were so nice to take me out, and there I was acting like a lush with no self-control—”

“Darling, it’s fine—”

“And then after, the way I—I pawed at you—”

He says your name—fully and clearly, firmly—and it catches you so off guard that your words halt in your throat. You finally meet his gaze.

John’s eyes have always been windows. Portals into the truth of him, freely offered, without hesitance or fear. You think John knows himself in ways few men do—knows every corner, every crack and crevice, and refuses to hide any of it from himself or anyone else. As if he is not afraid of being seen for what and who he is; as if he has seen it all already, and cannot be daunted by it.

What you see now is undisguised. Untempered. John Price wants you. And he has no fear that you can see it.

“Did you mean any of it?” he asks, voice low and deep in his chest.

The question catches you off guard, throwing you with its directness. The only thing keeping you upright is his gaze, the steady certainty of its own intention. Strong even under the weight of suspense. 

You swallow, and take a shaky breath. “John,” you say, “I was so drunk...”

His eyes flash. John moves, leans forward, and you are speared, held in place much the same way you had been at dinner, by his presence alone. “I know. But did you mean it?”

The breath trapped in your lungs calcifies, solidifies into hard, pressing nodules of catalyzed fear and desire that trap the seeds of any response in your chest. You tear your gaze away from him, finally, stare at the empty plate on your table. He does not touch you, but you feel the phantom weight of his hand on your knee. The warmth of his body against yours.

“We hardly know each other,” you whisper shakily. It is a flimsy scrap of an excuse, even to you. “We—we barely know each other at all.”

“Love,” John says, low and soft. You turn to look at him again. His lips part—

Your phone rings.

You exhale hard, strings suddenly cut. John closes his eyes, breathes out, and then leans back again.

You retrieve your phone from where you’d flung your purse last night, off the couch and to the opposite wall where it lays on the floor. When you see the caller ID, you want to throw the phone back across the room, but you take a deep breath and answer anyway.

“Ben,” you sigh, and to your furious embarrassment it comes out as a croak.

“Hey, sweets, Liv is—wait. You sound awful,” comes your coworker—and ex-boyfriend’s—voice through the earpiece.

“Rough night,” you say, closing your eyes against sweets. You then look at John. His gaze is fixed on you.

“Oh, sorry,” Ben says. “Anything I can do?”

He could have not called. “Tell me about Liv,” you prompt him.

“Right! She’s out. Flu.”

“Oh.” You blink, and watch John retrieve your plate and glass. He takes them to the kitchen and runs the faucet low, so the sound won’t interfere with your call. 

You’re not sure how you know that that’s his intention, but you do. 

“That’s awful.”

“And inconvenient. We need another instructor for the trip.”

Can John hear what Ben is saying? He looks up from the sink, lifts one brow when you meet his eyes. There’s humor there, a kind of rueful empathy for dealing with the nonsense of coworkers.

You want to hang up. You want to answer his question right then and there. 

“When?” you ask.

“Two hours. I know! I know it’s short notice,” he says, animatedly contrite. “Sorry. But we’d love to have you, it’ll be fun! I can even pick you up, if you like.”

“No, that’s alright,” you sigh. “But okay, I’ll start packing. Just send me the details, yeah?”

“Sure, sweets,” Ben replies, “can’t wait to see you! I’ve missed hanging out, you know? Even after…everything.”

The gravitational force of John’s presence—the shift and bend of your flat around him—snaps in half. Reality asserts itself like a recurring headache. 

Suddenly you’re in your flat, phone to your ear, unshowered from last night and coated in a layer of grease. The vibrator is a useless weight in your pocket. You are a useless girl hungover in day-old clothes.

“I’ll see you soon,” you say noncommittally, and hang up.

John gazes at you expectantly from over the sink.

“Work trip,” you say, and you wonder if you sound as dazed as you feel. “Last minute, I…I need to get ready.”

John blinks, and then grins, amused. Crow’s feet gather in the corners of his eyes. “You know, I’m usually the one in that situation.”

Suddenly he is too much to look at. You tear your gaze away, look at your phone in your hands. You feel very exposed, ashamed somehow. “I’m sorry,” you say.

You hear the easy drum of John’s boots out of your kitchen, across the room, and then he’s in front of you. His hands are in his pockets, arms slung loose at his sides. “What for?”

“For…”

He steps closer to you. Your heart leaps in your chest, and you have to look up at him, unable to resist the pull he has on you.

The line of his mouth is gentle, and you stare too long at the divot of his Cupid’s bow. Beneath the soft lines of his brows, his gaze is soft, fond. More so than you deserve.

“I don’t really know.”

The long muscle in his neck shifts as he tilts his head. You swallow, unconsciously mirroring the gesture.

“John…I…”

His gaze drops—rests on your lips, and returns to yours.

“Love,” he murmurs, low and humming. “Did you mean it?”

His voice slides across you like physical touch, and every hair feels like it’s standing on end.

Yes. Yes, of course you meant it, every word. It feels so obvious to you, so blatant, and the shame of it holds you by the throat. You are not important enough to inflict upon John Price. You are trembling, meek, afraid of stepping outside your own door sometimes. What is that in comparison to him? Him, who comes home shaking off the dust of places you’ve only ever heard of. Him, who you’ve learned can swear in six different languages. Him, who has stuffed more life than you thought possible into only a handful more years of living than yours.

Of course you want him. Moths are always drawn toward flame. How could you not?

“John,” you say in your smallest voice. You hate the way it sounds—like an admission of guilt. “What if I did?”

He doesn’t move, but you see the shift in him anyway. A coiling, almost,  energy banking as he studies you, searches your face. His hands remain in his pockets. He watches you for a long moment, and you can’t possibly imagine what he might like in what he sees.

“Ball’s in your court, then,” he finally says, soft and low in his chest. “Whatever you want from me, love, you can have.”

You want too much. You can’t give enough back.

“I don’t want to ruin this,” you say on a shallow breath. “Our—us. What we already have.”

He steps closer to you. Close enough that his shirt brushes the front of your dress. Close enough that his clean, soft warmth near-envelops you, the exact same way you’d been wishing for earlier. He does not reach out, like he did when he thought you were sick. You cannot decide if this disappoints you or not. You feel shaky without his hands on you, feverish and embarrassed, and you fear desperately that he can see that as he holds your gaze, that you are completely open to him in a way that leaves no space for the truth to hide. 

“You won’t,” he says, steady and solid.  

You take a trembling breath, swallow to clear your throat. “I…”

He withdraws one hand from his pocket, slowly, and brings it upward. Feather-light, he curls his index finger under your chin, caressing his thumb so terribly gently beneath your bottom lip. You cannot help flinching, anticipatory want recoiling from the very thing it was aching for in surprise, and for a split second you are newly scared that he’ll take his touch away.

But he doesn’t. The windows of John’s eyes stay open, and there is nothing but intent behind them. You realize he knows. He knows that you’re reluctant, that you’re unsure, that you are pulled to him like a falling star to earth and also terrified of burning up in the process. 

He understands.

“I’m a patient man, love,” he purrs, and you realize too that he is excited by this, by you. “I can wait. As long as you need.”

next

[obbystars]

Hi- it's my first time ever requesting so sorry if it's hard to understand-

Could you please write a fic where the reader is somehow allowed to bring an ipod because it helps them calm down. When they reach Sebastian he just hears the music through the earphones which is something that he used to listen to before going under water-.

And it could be fluff or some ?

I'm sorry if this comes off weird but I always struggle when it comes to explaining my ideas 😭 (also English is not my first language ಥ⁠‿⁠ಥ)

Hope you have a nice day/evening/night when you read this!

(Hey! No worries! Don’t worry, I think I’ve got the idea and I totally get not knowing how to explain stuff. Huh, perhaps it’s luck that they managed to sneak or even snag an ipod off of a guardsman’s body. That seems like the most probable as I doubt Urbanshade would let a prisoner bring that in. But then again, it’s not a weapon. It doesn’t exactly fit in the criteria of detonating the PDG.)

(Also lol peek the new layout color as I went through Pressure’s badges. Found a neat badge with Sebastian ans its title referencing MatPat!)

NOTES: Sebastian Solace x GN!Reader / You loot a dead body / Near-death experience and actual death later (not detailed) / Reader has Sebastian’s document, but nothing too specific is mentioned / Angst if you squint at the end / At one point I was looking at Pandemonium’s document and the app closed me out without saving

Credits: Dividers by @cafekitsune

Dying and coming back to life had its ups and downs. One thing you’re not too sure of is how much time exactly passes as every experience back to where you started always has surprises. Maybe you go back in time, but that wouldn’t make sense as a certain someone remembers you every time. Hell, he’s even there to discuss your death with you in whatever world you’re brought to after dying. Maybe your body is just brought back to before you entered the submarine to Hadal Blacksite. That could make sense if it weren’t for the increased security. Urbanshade had to have noticed by now that one of their prisoners seems to be able to cheat death itself.

That doesn’t matter right now, you keep reminding yourself. As long as they’re still unaware.

Strangely enough, in one of your lives, you encountered a dead guardsman. It startled you at first, but tried to continue on and resist the urge to see if he had anything on him. That was until you heard music coming from him. You can’t fight the urge anymore as you approached him and searched where it was coming from. An ipod that was still functional, and earphones. Strange.

You looked around and checked each corner of the room, trying to see if there were any cameras. Surely they won’t mind if you picked this up, right? It’s not a weapon, so they have no reason to trigger the detonation. Right? It’s not like they saw you pick it up.

This guardsman definitely had a good taste in music, although a bit random. You’ll shuffle it for now and see where it’ll go from there. You pop one earphone on and try your best to hide it from sight when you do eventually run into cameras.

Once you opened the next door, you suddenly hear distant screaming. You quickly ran and hid in a locker, putting on the other earphone and turning the volume all the way up. You hoped it was enough to drown out the sound of the angler passing by. The screams the variants emit often left your ears ringing, the pink one especially since there was no warning prior to it approaching. That one’s scream was louder than the others and it never failed to instill so much fear in you that you briefly forget to hide in a locker.

Once the angler passes and knocks out the lights, you slowly crawl out of the locker. The ipod and earphones were, surprisingly, still functional. You remember reading their document during one of your deaths. All of the anglers emit some sort of EMP equivalent that results in short circuiting all electronics, sometimes malfunctioning too. So why were these still operational?

You shake your head, trying to not question it. It’s better not to anyway.

While the anglers screams were too loud, the silence they create once they pass is also nerve wracking. You took one earphone off and pulled out your flashlight to ease yourself a bit, but quickly shine it away once you hear growling and a glowing white face appears.

It was standing right next to the door. Worst of all, you need a keycard. You don’t have a code breacher on you. You kept the light lowered so you know where you’re stepping as you walk around trying to find where the keycard is. Not in this drawer, not in here either, no… It’s on a table next to a computer.

You came back to the door and can faintly see the creature still standing there. Despite the music playing, you couldn’t calm down. Still, you pushed yourself to approach the door and get out. The face the creature created stares down at you as you got a little too close, but then it suddenly eyes the keycard in your hand and sees where exactly you’re reaching. The face disappears, and so do they as the door opens.

You let out a sigh of relief and carry on to the next room. There were some batteries in a drawer. Your flashlight was likely to run out of juice soon. That was a relatively normal room, so you moved onto the next one. The vent door off to the side tips over and you can faintly hear his voice.

“Psst! In here,”

You smile and crawl through the vent to meet up with a familiar friendly face.

“Welcome back, friend,” he greets with a smile.

You waved at him as you stood up. Your eyes instantly lock onto the medical kit as that’s something you are in need of, and you’ll still have some data to spare. What else do you need… He has a lantern, code breacher, hand-cranked flashlight… You don’t hear the thumping noise of something else crawling through the vent and you don’t realize it until-

“HEY!!” Sebastian yelled.

You turned around just as the wall dweller opened its jaw, but it didn’t get a chance to do anything as Sebastian punched it into the wall. You yelped and fell back, pushing yourself closer to the table beside him. Sebastian had only beat it enough until it crawled away through the vent. It probably won’t get very far.

He turns to you, a little surprised to see you so frightened, “You really gotta start watching your own back. I’m not punching every one of those things for you,”

“S-Sorry, I was a bit distracted…” You stand up.

“I’m surprised you managed to get this far if you couldn’t hear that thing coming,”

You looked down, knowing exactly why you didn’t hear it. The music is still playing, and the one earphone you had on was blocking the sound of the wall dweller approaching. You were a bit shaken up, but the music does calm you down a bit. Sebastian watches you as you walk over to his tail to try and make a final decision, but he swears he hears something.

“What is that sound…?” He looks around for a moment before his eyes land on you, still trying to choose what to buy. He spots something in your ear and leans down, “Hey, what’s that you got there?”

You turn to him as he suddenly leans closer to you, his head right next to where the earphone is.

“I know that song. Is that Metallica?”

You stare up at him in shock, “You know Metallica?”

“Well obviously, you know I was just a regular human, right? You have my document for god’s sake,” he retorts, “How’d you even get an ipod of all things in here?”

“Oh, it’s not mine. I got it from a dead guardsman,”

Sebastian gives you a suspicious look, “I thought Urbanshade doesn’t allow their prisoners to loot dead bodies, armed ones at that. You could end up dead, but seeing as they haven’t detonated your diving gear yet, I’m guessing you weren’t spotted,”

“I guess not. There wasn’t a camera where I got this from, and I made sure to hide it from the cameras in the other rooms,”

“I’m curious to see just how far you’ll get with this thing. You couldn’t even hear the wall dweller approaching,” he crosses his arms, “I’m not sure if you’re bold or just stupid. Are you sure this risk is worth it?”

You can’t deny that he’s got a point. It gets in the way of hearing things you NEED to hear. Still, music brings you comfort so that’s what you tell him. You’ll only have both on when an angler is coming to block out their scream as they pass.

“Mhmm, and what will you do about Z-367? You know, the one they named Pandemonium? What then?”

Shit, he’s actually got you cornered there. You just sighed knowing full well you can’t just sit that one out and wait for it to pass, “Then I’ll just have to deal with it the usual way. I can still hear them through the music,”

Sebastian glares at you for a minute before he sighs, “Jeez, you really want to keep that thing on you, huh? Alright, I’m not stopping you. Just don’t say I didn’t warn you though,”

You smiled, “I’ll just say I knew what I was getting myself into and I’ll face the consequences,”

“Oh look at that, someone is finally taking responsibility for their own actions. It’s shocking how that’s so rare nowadays,”

You manage to pick up on his sarcastic tone and laughed. It was always fun talking with him. By the end of it, you picked up the code breacher with the medical kit he had, as well as a few batteries since you still had more data.

Upon your next unfortunate death, you realized your still have the ipod and earphones. Both were still fully functional, somehow, but you weren’t complaining. You quickly went into the submarine and waited for a few minutes before taking it out to actually scroll through the list of songs. You didn’t exactly pay attention to what was being played while you were there. Soon enough, you did find songs from Metallica which reminded you of the conversation you had with Sebastian.

You never thought he’d be into that kind of music. Maybe you’ll lend the ipod to him when you meet up with him in his shop again. Surely the repeated morse code on that radio has gotten old by now. You doubt you’ll last long without it though, but Sebastian wasn’t wrong when he said it hinders your ability to even hear the wall dwellers. Well, it wouldn’t hurt to give it up for a bit.

Once you managed to find Sebastian’s hideout again, you took off both earphones as you approached him, “Hey, you wanna hold onto this for me?”

You hold up the ipod and Sebastian gives you an odd look, “And you want to give this to me because?”

“I thought about what you said last time. I mean, I’ve made it pretty far without this before, so I don’t think I need it that much,”

He continues to stare at you before taking it from your hands. He inspects it, scrolling through the list of songs on it.

“Wow some of these suck,”

“I think some are pretty good,” you shrugged. You walked over to his tail to see what he has now, “Oh finally, a flashlight,”

Sebastian lowers the ipod and turns to you with a smirk, holding out his third limb, “Better pay up,”

“Yeah yeah, I know,”

Before you left, you left the earphones with him as well. It won’t do much good for you if it’s not gonna block out sound anyway, and it’s not like Sebastian will have much use of it either.

Some time has passed since you left the ipod with him. Sebastian had set it down on the desk next to him as music is being played. He remembers doing college work while listening to music all those years ago. Part of him now understands why you said it comforts you. Maybe it even allowed you to focus as it did with him.

Until you come back to eventually bring it along with you again, he’ll listen to the songs on the list for hours.

[thatdeadaquarius]

it's almost 4am i can't get this out of my head holy shit.

reader whose original body is a literal eldritch forest deity and speaks in hymns (bonus points: after we isekai into said og body, we mix slang into it).

the acolytes have to break their fucking necks just to talk to you eye-to-eye, and the only thing they can make out of what you say is something equal to tablets bajillion years old already.

or that reader is constantly cussing and the acolytes just nod along not understanding whatever this 15ft tall eldritch horror is saying.

-🫀

ELDRITCH HORROR READER. I LIVEEE, NONE OF U UNDERSTAND, THIS IS SO DEEPLY AHHHHHH

I LITERALLY JUST SHIMMY STIM IN MY SEAT WHEN I THINK ABT THIS TOO LONG LMAO

i LIVE AND BREATHE for when we look like eldritch horrors but are just people lmao

IF I HAVEN’T RUN U OFF, 🫀 MY HEART, MI CORAZON <3

U HAVE A BEAUTIFUL MIND DESPITE BEING A BLOODY HEART

☆

Sun: Gender Neutral Reader (they/them only), Eldritch!Reader

Planet: Misc. Genshin AUs

Orbit: some headcanons, tiny scenario

Stars: a little bit of Zhongli, Xiao, Ganyu, Ningguang, Keqing, and the adepti

Comets & Meteors: Content Warnings: Light Description of Body Modifications/Body Horror-esque, Light Description of Eldritch Horror Creature, Reader has a Non-Human Body,

& Trigger Warnings: Eldritch Monster, Light Body Horror, Non-Con Body Modifications (Wake up as a monster, described as positive).

FUCKING LOVE THIS GIF, AND THIS SONG AND ARTISTTT

hey so here’s a song to listen I was listening to while writing this, chose the instrumental bc it was less distracting!

👉👈 hope u like :)

you just come into Teyvat from either Enkanomiya, the straight up Abyss/Dark Realm or even Celestia/Light Realmunder that glowing mushrooms tree in the Chasm, or like, ooo even by the upside down Barbatos statue 👀

and its great bc ur like- “omg Teyvat ooooo, ahhhh”

meanwhile the animals/magical creatures/beings nearby like shakin in their boots

literally no matter what land type their in, water, air, etc. they’re all bowing (despite the hooves, the paws, the flippers, the wings,) hell, even the bugs?? Might be bowing???

and you were slow to wake up wherever you were, so it took you a second to really process-

plus it just felt so weirdly, natural?

Not like walking on 2 legs no, but more like, how swimming feels but without the act of doing it?

you realize you’re… hovering.

wow, guess you can do that now,

your pretty much crowned with every flower from the regions of Teyvat, and a few from other Realms like Celestia, Abyss, and Enkanomiya, etc.

you have extra limbs, you feel them shift like you’ve had them all your life, even tho you do smack urself a few times with them lmao (new hand-eye coordination is hard)

and you realize u can see elemental traces/elements of beings, even plants, all the time now?

It isn’t until you look into a pretty still pond that you see what you look like,

you’ve got more eyes

I mean u thought you’d just be one of the twins, or ur own person if somebody asked u what youd look like isekaied to Genshin Impact, not what looks like the elemental god of the fucking continent

but you don’t look bad! actually you think you look kinda neat!

You’ve got like this coat of many draping vines and plantlife, glowing coral poking out near the top that’s around your throat, and- is that- tiny waterfalls?? Running down your nature cape too??

the many gemstones and ore of this planet form your legs, strong and taller than even regular human guys back on Earth, you’re like what? Eight? Nine feet? (about 245cm, or 2.5 meters)

You’re head… it’s like a dragons skull?? You’ve got these black horns flowing out from the top too that fade to a golden glow, like a crown nearly, theyre draped with what looks like strings of primogems??

oh and your extra eyes are symmetrical that’s good!

tho it does seem like you got this handy hood included into your cape of much nature to flop onto your head

where your heart should be, there’s two bursting stars circling one another, one of pink, purples and light blues, the other of gold and blue, oh hey, the wishing stars for standard and character banners!

and if you like mushrooms, at least one of every kind in Teyvat’s countries/regions is looking cool on ur cape, and if you like bugs, the cool ones like the rhino beetles from inazuma are being cute little buddies on ur stuff too

and like in the gif, every step you take overfills with life, except it stays and doesn’t wither like above, and it also does that glow bit that some places in Sumeru do/Enkanomiya

You CANNOT be missed no matter where you walk, and your sort of constantly feeling like you’ve drank 3 energy + 5 espresso shots of coffee

but in a way that makes you sort of full? like full on life… and like you could be even bigger, and taller, if you willed it

♤

k but the adepti felt ur presence coming in hot from literal mountains away

Cloud Retainter, and Guizhong, had set up inventions long ago to sense the Original of Teyvat, just in case, because some signs of prophecy of your return had begun to show in their lands

Zhongli especially knew you were close to come after another major sign was met, the corruption after the Archon War, and the ravaging of the land by the fall of Khaenri’ah’s “metal beasts”

So when you finally walk your way into Jueyun Karst, the adepti are already waiting, Xiao, Ganyu, and Zhongli as well,

Luckily Ganyu, with Zhongli’s help or advice, convinced the adepti to share this meeting with the Qixing as well like Keqing, and the Tianquan herself

It was a momentous occasion after all, but you were just now feeling the need to maybe nap a little after nearly, what was it, 2 weeks worth of constant walking?

wow this new body had literal stamina for days

you arrived late into the night, around midnight, under a full moon, and they’re relieved all the signs are being met

◇

honestly the only reason you headed to Liyue was bc you knew it was the closest (the map of Teyvat was both familiar in the way it had been in game, but also on a deeper level, like walking around your house in the dark)

and u rlly wanted to be able to talk to somebody, bc u had no idea?? wtf you were??

honestly you thought the adepti/Zhongli would be a good bet bc they’d maybe tell u what creature u ended up as,

u did suspect maybe you’d ended up as some kind of god, but like?? none of the other gods looked like this???

and u see them all! up ahead in Jueyun Karst! Oh no! You really, really, really, hope they don’t think you’re a walking talking evil tree dragon thing-

…maybe you should wave?

◇

As you get closer,

Xiao’s back straigtens, Ganyu nervously looks at the ground, Keqing is trying to figure out where to look bc ur so tall, Ningguang has her hands respectfully folded in front of her and her facial muscles looks tensed for a fight almost, the adepti are shuffling nervously bc they’re not used to being the magically weaker/younger creatures in the area, and Zhongli-

Zhongli is no longer the mortal Zhongli.

Amber horns curl up from his head, long brunette hair with glowing gold tips flowing and loose, claws on display, as he stands in his finest and oldest lóng páo, black with gold detailing embroidered throughout, it details his deeds as Rex Lapis and Morax, the spears of his vanquishing gods across the front and back, he looks like a living painting

and although he looks as serene as if he’s about to sit down for some tea, the adepti can see the tremoring hands, the same he used to hide in his sleeves when he was genuinely intimidated by another god, usually the older ones he’d had to fight

but for the first time since the archon war, this was one he was going to welcome with open arms, and utmost respect, despite his position as archon forfeited

there’s a strange music in the air of the night as the animals and the bugs and creatures of the realm subtly make the beat, the god’s feet (of ore Rex Lapis hasn’t seen since he was a child, it was so rare to find) shake the earth of his land with each step, a deep quiet booming like a drum of war as they get closer

The God of All stops some distance away from them

…and the Huangdi of All, just waves. 💀👋

at Zhongli, the adepti, Xiao, the Tianquan, and the Qixing.

A long black limb with a rainbow shine like a crow’s wing raises, gives an ironically tiny wave of their clawed black hand,

and tilts their head, though a sort of greenery hood covering it

and speaks,

“ ˙˙˙ʎzɐɹɔ sı ʇıɥs sıɥʇ ¿ʍou ʇɥƃıɹ ɯɐ ı ʞɔnɟ ǝɥʇ ʇɐɥʍ ʍouʞ sʎnƃ noʎ op uɯɐp”

your voice is like singing, deep, high, like a choir trying to sing all at once to them

Xiao cringes a little in surprise, he was braced for your older speech just in case but it still caught him off guard, and unfortunatly, he gives a quick glance to Lord Rex Lapis,

he can’t understand any of that, and Ganyu and Keqing are in the same boat, but while the Yaksha’s only done passive studying in hopes of understanding you, the Lord of Geo had gone much further back in trying to make sure he could understand your words, should the day come, his library, even now living as a mortal, is extensive

the other adepti and Ningguang catch a few words, but it’s too,, simple really, to understand

the words have no context, they need more, but such is the ancients, they’re meanings simple and all-encompassing

Lord Rex Lapis bows deeply,

“We welcome you with open arms, our Huangdi. Please, feast your eyes upon the land with which I have wrought with mine own talons, for all is ever truly yours.”

the adepti announces for them all, voice giving away no nerves, Xiao can still understand him luckily, though he has greatly simplified himself for the sake of being understood by the ancient god of creation,

“ ˙˙˙ʞɔıʇs ɐ uo ʇsıɹɥɔ snsǝɾ ¡¿ılƃuoɥz noʎ uǝʌǝ ¿noʎ oʇ poƃ ɟo puıʞ ǝɯos ɯ,ı 'ǝʇnuıɯ uɯɐp ɐ ʇıɐʍ”

your voice is an energy through the air, and makes the trees nearby lean in to hear you better, the creeks and ponds of the area leave their beds a little to get closer, geo crystalflys emerge and begin to swirl around your natural body, perching on your horns, making it look even more like a crown

Xiao gulps.

Rex Lapis’ and Ningguang’s spines straighten further if they even can from the impeccable posture they were before, They share a quick glance…

…neither of them caught that one, only a few words, and Ganyu feels her shoulders drop as she gives up trying to hear you and understand as well,

you make a strange sound, a high humming, a deep confusion with some worry, the crystalflys buzz around you a little faster,

then point to yourself

...and make a peace sign. ✌️

it was going to be a long night.

☆

idk if this made any sense, and I sincerely hope that you at least liked what I wrote a little bit, sorry about the over description 😭 I just felt like it was very important but then I realized I hadn’t even talked about the language yet… anyway here u go LMAO

I hope it was alright, and I seriously love your idea, even if I didn’t take it in the direction you wanted/as cool as you meant!! :/

Thanks for the badass idea, i fucking love eldritch shit <3

☆

Safe Travels,

💀 ♒

♡my beloved♡

@karmawonders / @0rah-s / @randomnatics / @glxssynarvi / @nexylaza / @genshin-impacts-me / @wholesomey-artist / @thedevioussmirk

[buckysgrace]

request

what about drunk gator being all lovey dovey to his girl? im in my feels

The way I had to rush to do this because?? so cute. I hope you enjoy <3

Gator's shell slowly dissipated the greater his stack of red cups grew. The cheap beer spilled from the rim of the cup, thick waves crashing onto his nimble fingers as he staggered towards you once again.

"What are you-," You started, only to be cut off as his pink lips fell across the corner of your lips. You laughed, squealing as you quickly balanced the cup as he drifted his hands towards your waist, "Gator!"

He looked at you confused, eyes hazy as a lazy grin formed on his lips. His cheeks were flushed, his hair disheveled from its normal neat placement. You gripped his cup tightly, wincing at the sticky liquid that dripped onto your fingers.

The music from the DJ continued to thump as he grumbled towards you, his shirt half unbuttoned and rolled up towards his elbows. His suit jacket had long been discarded, thrown around somewhere in the dance hall that you'd have to try and hunt down before you left. The alcohol had clearly settled a permanent blush over him as his lips curled up into a cheesy smile.

You had decided on your own earlier in the night that you'd let him let loose as much as he wanted. He could certainly use it from his stressful job. Plus, it was only fair. He had babied you the previous weekend after you'd had one too many margaritas with your friends.

He moved slowly, but still caught you off guard as he gripped your chin and placed a sticky kiss across your cheek. You laughed at the feeling of his lips against your skin.

"You're so pretty," He mumbled as he continued to press sloppy kisses against your cheek, "My pretty baby." He cooed as he began to rock you both back and forth. You stuck his cup out, determined to keep it from spilling all over you.

"How much have you had to drink?" You teased him as he brought his chin down against your shoulder, his brown eyes wide and warm as he stared at you. The lights glimmered off of them, giving the illusion of stars within the deep colors.

"Mhm, just a bit." He replied cheekily, looking pleased with himself as he brushed his fingers across your curves. His lips fell against the crook of your neck, beginning to kiss you there.

"I think it was more than that," You smiled as you faced him, determined to stop his motions before he got too ahead of himself, "But thank you. You're very handsome." You added as you patted his cheek softly, enjoying the way he leaned against you.

"Wanna dance?" He asked as he fluttered his eyelashes towards you, "Gotta show off that I have-, That I've got the prettiest girl." His words stumbled out as he leaned against you, like he wasn't able to stand straight on his own.

"I think everyone saw that earlier," You reminded him gently, but were still flattered by his words, "You look tired." You observed as you pushed the brown strands from his warm forehead. He shut his eyes this time as he smiled.

"S'fine," He replied, his eyes still shut as he leaned against your touch, "Just wanna be with you." He mumbled a second later, his cheek falling against yours as he wrapped his arms around you.

You moved one hand to hold onto him, keeping the other one outstretched so he didn't spill anymore of his beer on either of you. He smelt nice, a little fruity from his vape that you were sure he was sneaking little puffs on here and there.

"I wanna be with you too," You added, pulling away a bit to meet his eyes again, "Are you ready to go? We can hang out in the hotel." You suggested, watching the spark that filled his eyes.

"And do what?" He asked, lips curling into a smirk as his eyes lazily drifted over you. You laughed, knowing it would be a miracle if he didn't pass out in the elevator.

"Whatever you want," You added before you set his drink down, pressing your lips together as he protested, "Don't worry, I'll get you something better." You told him as you linked your fingers together.

"You're going to gimme water." He whined as you slowly began to drag him around, eyes drifting towards where he may have lost his jacket.

"No," You said quickly, although that was exactly what you were going to do. You had developed quite a sly trick to it, just having to pretend that they were little shots. He was so far gone at this point that he couldn't ever tell the difference, "I would never." You turned your head, hiding your laugh as he began to ramble off about something.

"I love you," He mumbled against your skin once you were both in the elevator, his breath warm against you as he leaned his body weight against you, "So so so so much." He told you, face furrowed up seriously as he watched you.

"I love you too," You smiled as you met his lips in a gentle kiss, giggling as he peppered his lips against yours repeatedly, "You're very sweet." You told him, fully embracing this time as he held onto you tightly. Like he was afraid to let you go, even though you knew that would never happen.

"You're the sweet one," He said quickly, "The sweetest and prettiest gal I ever saw." He mumbled, looking as if he was staring at his whole world in front of him. Your heart hammered this time, completely taken away by his compliements.

"Come on, lover boy," You replied as you tugged him forward, helping him down towards the room, "Let's get you to bed." You told him, grinning at the way he started to whine about how he absolutely was not tired. It only took five minutes for him to be inside, to kick off his shoes before he was snoring into the pillows.

[number1jeonginstan]

can you write about an au where when ppl meet/see their s/o they instantly feel like they need to consummate their bond? and seungmin meets y/n? (its fine if not tho)

A/N: Thank you for your request and sorry for it taking so long :( I really hope you enjoyed it! While writing this, I started getting an idea of making this into a series, so one for each member meeting their soulmate and stuff. I thought it would be neat, but I don’t really know if you guys want that or not, if you do, please tell me! ALSO, I told you guys I will be back on that writing grind (I always keep my promises!!) 

WC: 2.6k

Minors don't interact, 18+

Pairing: College Student!Seungmin x afab! Reader

Warnings: kinda public sex, but not, unprotected sex (are we surprised?), cumming inside of op even though it was their first time, idk what else to add…

The air was thick outside, a light drizzle was hitting the ground as Jeongin and Seungmin were eating their lunch.

“Did you guys fuck?” Seungmin asked bluntly, dipping another fry in the ketchup in front of him. “You know we have to as soon as we touch, it’s so embarrassing though” Jeongin groaned. “How is it embarrassing? She now knows what your dick looks like and you guys can live happily ever after!” he chuckled as Jeongin took a sip of his milkshake. 

“Dude, I don’t understand why we have to have sex as soon as we see our soulmate, the world is a twisted place. Like hypothetically, what if the dude is a virgin and the girl isn’t, or the dude has a micro? Even worse if they are both virgins, like imagine losing it to someone you don’t even know and then having to spend your entire life with them” 

Seungmin just nodded along as Jeongin continued to go on and on. “Like think about it if I didn’t have sex with them, I would have a painful ass boner until we are either 100 miles apart or until I fuck her, not to mention, I can only have sex with them for the rest of our lives and we barely know each other.” 

“I think you are reading too much into it, was she at least nice?” 

“Yeah” Jeongin scratched the back of his neck “she was super sweet, I’m actually going to her place after this for a movie date” 

“Awww, Innie is finally getting play, even though it is forceful” 

Jeongin just rolled his eyes, popping another fry in his mouth. “I better get going, I don’t want to be late”

Seungmin watched him get out of their shared booth, only to almost run into someone and apologize. Seungmin just chuckled, knowing how clumsy his friend was, only to look up and see you. 

He knew you from a few classes, you were also taking photography, but he didn’t believe it was your major seeing as you were only taking the required classes with him. 

Jeongin profusely began apologizing, telling you he really didn’t mean it, you just giggled, telling him that everything was okay and it wasn’t your fault. As you turned around, you spotted Seungmin, and you stopped and looked at him for a second. 

“You are Seungmin from my photography class right?” Seungmin was confused, he didn’t think that you knew him, let alone knew his name. “Oh um, yeah Professor Lee right?” he asked, trying to make it seem like he didn’t know exactly who you were. 

“Yeah, I just wanted to say I love your work. When you showed us your portfolio, I was genuinely blown away. Like seriously, the way you capture the essence of everything around you is breathtaking.” 

Seungmin could feel his ears getting redder, blushing slightly at the way you described his photos. No one had ever admired them the way you were describing them at that moment. “Thank you so much” he stuttered slightly, still a bit embarrassed.

“That actually leads me to my question,” you said, picking at your nails slightly. “Oh? What’s your question?” He asked, placing his chin in the palm of his hands, trying to show to you that you had his full attention. 

“I’m a Journalism major, and I’m trying to work on my photography so I can better capture the essence of what’s going on at that moment in time. That’s why I’m minoring in it, but I feel like I’m just not there. Like sure, I have the camera and everything, but I feel like I’m not conveying the feeling or emotions of the event like you do, so I was going to ask if you could help me?”

You rocked back and forth on your heels waiting for his response, and he simply nodded “Yeah, I would love to help you” 

You grinned “Um, do you want to give me your number, or I can give you mine so we can figure out a time if that’s okay, or if you don’t want to give me yours we can always meet up after class” you continued to ramble on. 

“Give me your phone, I’ll put in my number and just text me right now so I can make sure it went through” 

You simply nodded, handing him your phone. He put in his number, sending a text from your phone to his.

“See, I got it,” he said, holding up his own phone. “Why don’t I text you when I’m free and we can coordinate from there!” 

“Thank you so much Seungmin, like seriously, I really appreciate it!”

Just before he could reply, your friend that you were with called you over to your booth, causing you to wave him goodbye and run over to her. 

“Who was that?” she asked you, looking over the menu in front of her. 

“He’s this really cute dude from my photography class, he said he would help me so I can take better pictures” You grinned to yourself, you had finally got the boy's number you had been fawning over for the semester. 

10:21 PM

Hey, it’s Seungmin Wait, you already know that  You know what, ignore the first two texts  And that one And that one  Shit.  Ummm  I just wanted to say that I am free tomorrow at 2 pm if that works with you. If not, that’s totally fine, we can find another time Anyway, have a good night! 

You giggled at the texts he had just sent you, something about him being flustered over text made you so happy. 

Seungmin rolled around in anguish waiting for your text, he wanted to know your thoughts. Maybe you thought he was crazy sending all those texts and ghosted him or no longer wanted his help. He was about to give up and go to sleep until he got your text. 

10:34 PM

Oh hey Seungmin! Yeah, I think 2 works for me! I’ll bring my camera and stuff, and I’ll text you a good location Also, text me your coffee order, I’ll bring you some

He felt like a schoolgirl with a crush. You were so cute, asking for his coffee order, he just wanted to pinch your cheeks, but that would be weird, right? You guys barely knew each other, he would just watch over you in class and that’s all. 

It was the afternoon and you had set up your camera. You had found this abandoned field a few months ago while just walking around listening to music. You thought it was the perfect spot to practice taking pictures with more emotion. 

You had placed a picnic blanket in the grass big enough to fit 4 people as well as a blanket since it was getting cooler and you didn’t know how long you guys would be there. 

You were waiting for Seungmin, the ice in his Americano slowly melting, the condensation slowly making the cup wetter. When your phone finally showed 2:05, Seungmin showed up. While you were wearing jeans, a white blouse, and a sweater with apples all over it, he was dressed in jeans, a white t-shirt, and a flannel. 

“Sorry I’m a little late, I was trying to find this place,” he said, placing his camera bag onto the blanket. He took a step back, fully looking around taking in the view. “How did you find this place? It’s secluded, but absolutely stunning” 

“I was just walking around one day and stumbled over this spot”

You handed him his iced americano, and he took it from your hands graciously. “So, I was thinking that we should practice different emotions, but the same scene, so why don’t we do that?” He took a sip of his drink and then placed it back on the grass.

You simply nodded, getting your camera, and waiting for his instructions. He turned to you and pointed in front of him. It was just some dandelions, it was nothing special, but he went on to explain. 

“Dandelions are one of the very few plants that can grow anywhere and everywhere. Some might see them as a weed, but others may see them as a beautiful flowers that can withstand thousands of weather conditions. Now, think about what you want it to look like as you take the picture”

You did as he said, trying to fully understand the flower in front of you. You took the picture with the intent you had in mind, and you did it. The flower looked bright and powerful compared to the grass that surrounded it. 

“Seungmin I did it!” you jumped up and down, showing him the hug. Before he could react, you gave him a hug, trying to express your gratitude. As you pulled away, it was like a switch had flipped in you. 

For some reason, you could feel yourself get wetter. It was something you had never felt before, it felt uncomfortable, and the only thing you could feel was lust. The same was for Seungmin, all he could feel himself get hard the second you touched him. It wasn’t even just a random hard-on, but it felt so painful like he had to cum that second or else he would die. 

“Seungmin, do you also feel that way?” You asked, feeling a bit scared, but your entire body was tingling like there was no other sensation. You could feel your wetness slowly drip down your thighs and there was no stopping it. “Yeah, fuck, I think it does” 

“Can I please?” he groaned, he couldn’t bear the feeling of not being next to you, on top of you, inside of you. It’s like he could smell your wetness and had to indulge himself in it or else he would die. “Wait, I don’t have a condom, I don’t think we should”

Before he could even continue speaking, you stopped him, shutting him up by kissing his lips. “If you don’t fuck me right now, I think I might just explode” 

You continued to kiss him, taking off your own sweater and pants, leaving you just in your blouse and underwear as he took off his flannel and pants. “But, what if?” 

You stopped him, “I’m clean and am on birth control, if you are clean too then what’s stopping us? The only way this sensation will stop is if we are a hundred miles away from each other and that will take hours, so please just fuck me” 

He groaned, going back to attacking your lips. He laid you on the picnic blanket you had brought, thanking your prior self for bringing it. He moved down to your neck, to the curve of your breasts as he continued to kiss them, pulling down the strap of your bra and blouse in one tug to give him access to your breast. 

He began to tease your nipple, pinching it with his finger as he began to bite marks on your neck, claiming you as his. “Seungmin please stop teasing, I need to feel you in me right now” 

That was all he needed, he pulled his shirt off, throwing it somewhere in the distance as well as his boxers. His cock was long, slightly thick, with two veins at the underside of it. You could feel your mouth water as he began to smear the pre-cum leaking from his tip onto the rest of his throbbing cock. 

“Fuck baby, look at what you did to me just with a hug” he groaned. “I could say the same for me,” you said, pulling down your underwear to show your soaked core. 

He looked at your pussy in awe, you were so wet he could easily slip in with no prep. “Fuck, so wet just for me” 

You just nodded, playing with your clit, trying to give yourself some sort of stimulation. “Please Minnie, need your cock so bad” you pleaded, your doe eyes looking up at him. Before he could even register what he was doing, he aligned the tip of his cock, with your hole, slowly putting his cock inside of you. 

You moaned at the sensation, you had never felt so full in your life. Once he had fully sheathed his cock inside of you, he let out a long and sultry moan. “Fuck baby, this pussy is everything” 

Before you could moan in response, he began to fuck you like there was no tomorrow. Your legs wrapped around him, wanting to feel him hit that spot inside of you. “Fuck baby, fuck Minnie you feel so good” you moaned. 

He lifted your hips slightly, causing him to hit that one spot inside of you. “Oh fuck, fuck, fuuuuuck” you babbled, feeling so close. 

He could feel your walls tighten around his cock, he could tell you were close, so he brought his hand down to your clit, slowly circling it in tandem with his thrusts. That was all you needed to cum. 

You came screaming his name, your legs wrapping tighter around him, not wanting him to stop thrusting into you. “Fuck baby, if you keep doing that, I’m going to cum inside, please let me go” he whined.

You didn’t budge, feeling slightly overstimulated, but that didn’t stop you from begging him to cum inside of you, to fill you with his cum. That was all he needed to reach his peak, his load shooting inside of you, causing you to cum once again, your walls milking him dry. 

He slowly pulled out of you, covering you with the blanket you had brought and wrapping his arms around you. 

You were both covered by the second blanket you had brought. You were thankful for it, it was shielding the both of you from the cool air that would be nipping your skin if you didn’t. 

“Who would have thought the dude I was looking at all of class for the past semester was actually my soulmate?” You said out loud, your head buried into his chest.

He cocked his head slightly to look at you. “What do you mean, I was looking at you in class all the time, I never saw you looking at me?” 

You turned your head up to look at him “So we are both idiots who could have done this earlier if we actually talked to one another?” You asked, giggling a bit about how stupid the two of you were.

“Yeah, I guess so” he chuckled back, placing a kiss on your head. “Shit, my friends are going to tease me relentlessly for this, fucking my soulmate in the middle of a field” He groaned out loud. 

“You guys tell each other when you meet your soulmate?” you asked, a bit confused 

“Yeah, we have a group chat, Jeongin was the first to find his and now I’m second, I wonder how the rest of them are going to find theirs” 

“You should invite me to them,” you said, kissing his lips once again. 

“Baby, if I didn’t they would have kidnapped you and introduced themselves to you” 

You just laughed, running your fingers along his face. “Now that we have gotten over the whole “need to fuck like bunnies” how about we do this again?” 

Before Seungmin could even realize what you meant, you slowly moved on top of him, slipping his already-hardened cock into your soaking pussy. 

“Fuck baby, I’m always ready for round two,” He said, groaning at the way your walls clenched his cock, you were made for him.

[mythica0]

Trickster

🎂:Epic the musical

🧁:Polites, Odysseus, Eurylochus

🍫: Hermes

Summary: Hermes plays a neat little trick on the big trio on the ship.

A/N: more epic!! I love ler Hermes so much🙏 also, writing three lee’s is HARD yall. Once again, the ending sucks ass, sorry. I never know how to end these things 😭

Trickster

It was a normal, monotonous day on the ship.

Or, at least, it was supposed to be.

Odysseus, the captain, Eurylochus, the second in command, and Polites, the best friend and also pretty high up in the ranks, were standing together, talking about random nothings as they leaned against the railing of the ship.

Meanwhile, Hermes decided that he wanted to live up to his domain as the trickster god, and flew down to the ship, hiding off to the side.

‘Ohoho this is gonna be good.’ He thought to himself as he hid, watching his victims friends from the shadows with a smug smile. And then he used his divine powers to make a slight, barely-noticeable tingling sensation on the sides of all three men.

Due to its lightness, it wasn’t abnormal at first, and they rubbed at it once or twice but nothing too crazy. But as Hermes made it slightly more noticeable and it wasn’t going away, Odysseus commented.

“Man, what is that?”

Eurylochus raised an eyebrow and responded. “What is what?”

“There’s like a weird tingling on my side.”

The other two seemed shocked and replied in unison. “You too?!”

At this declaration, they realized that something was going on. Why else would all three of them be feeling that at the same time?

Just then, Hermes revealed himself with a laugh.

“Hey there, friends!”

“Hermes?!” They all called in shock, and then the god replied.

“The one and only!”

“Are you responsible for this?” Odysseus questioned with an air of seriousness behind his voice, although for some reason he found that it lost all bite, as the tingling sensation made him have the urge to smile.

“You bet I am! Let’s take it up a notch, shall we~?” Hermes lilting voice replies, and with a wave of his hand all three men feel the tingling grow into a true tickle.

Polites instantly burst into giggles, but the more stoic two tried to hold back.

“Ehehahahaha hehehehermehehehes, whyhyhy!”

“I just wanted to, seemed like fun! It’s a neat little trick, ain’t it? Come on, Friends, why are you holding back? Laughing is fun, just let yourself go!” He directs the latter part of his statement to the two that were repressing their laughter, holding their hands over their mouths as their shoulders shook with the effort. Odysseus shook his head, not wanting to give in.

“Well then, I guess I’ll have to up the ante a bit~” Hermes drawls again, and then moves the sensation to Odysseus’ thighs and Eurylochus’ armpits, their respective worst spots. Although Polites was already giggling, he decided to move it for him as well, to his tummy, the buzzing sensation increasing his giggles.

“Eee hehehehermehehes thahahat tihihickles! Ahahahahaha!” He squeaks slightly, doubling over and hugging himself around the middle, as if to block the sensation, but it doesn’t do anything for it, the sensation being entirely magical, as if coming from inside.

“I know, isn’t it great~?”

Meanwhile, Eurylochus finally broke, deep, rumbling chuckles leaving him from the feeling. Odysseus, however, was still stubbornly hanging on.

“Ahahahaha hehehermehehehes, stohohop thihis!”

“No way, I think you could use a laugh! And you, Friend,” he addresses Odysseus, “are fighting far too hard. Let the laughter consume you, my friend!” He waves his hand again, causing the feeling to intensify for all three men, and Odysseus breaks.

“Ppffft- shihihiit! Ahahahahaha!”

“There we go! Now was that so hard~”

Now all three men were giggling and laughing, squirming around. Hermes watched with a wide smile, and they all had very different reactions to the feeling.

Polites was doubled over and hugging himself still, but was also clearly enjoying himself, never once saying ‘no!’ Or ‘stop!’. Eurylochus had his arms snapped to his sides, still laughing with deep rumbling chuckles, protesting loudly. Odysseus was super embarrassed, blushing as he laughed wildly in front of his crew.

“Hehehehehermehehes, STOHOHOP!”

“Aww, but why~ this is so much fun!” Hermes pouts dramatically, holding his face.

“Speheak fohor yohoursehelf aHahahahaha!”

“I dunno~ you all sure sound like you’re having fun.”

“Nohoho whehehe ahaharent! Cuhuhut ihit ohout!” Eurylochus protested through his laughter, struggling to get the words out.

Polites spoke up from his spot. “Ihi dohont knohow Guhuys, Ihi thihink thihis ihis kihinda fuhun! Ehahahaha!”

“I knew you would~” Hermes coos, causing Polites to blush, but he doesn’t deny anything or protest at all.

“Since you’re having fun, why don’t I make this a little bit more interesting, hmm?” The god drawls again, once again increasing the sensation for all three men.

They’re all consumed by unrelenting tickles on their worst spots, the entire area being overwhelmed with fluttery, electric tingles that make them hysterical with laughter.

Polites can feel his entire tummy being assaulted with the ticklish sensations, feeling like prodding fingers and raspberries on every inch of the surface. He doesn’t deny that he’s having fun, small joyful tears forming in his eyes as he giggles.

Eurylochus can feel his whole underarm area being tickled ruthlessly, a buzzing electric sensation consuming him. It tickles so bad! And he is much more reluctant to admit that he doesn’t totally hate this, not even admitting it to himself.

Odysseus is certainly the most embarrassed of the three. He is supposed to be the captain, strong and respectable! But here he was, unable to stop himself from laughing loudly from the feeling of his legs being squeezed and scratched ticklishly. He feels his knees buckle and he grabs into the railing for support. He also refuses to admit to himself that he’s enjoying the feeling, the enjoyment being far overshadowed by embarrassment.

The crew has gathered around to watch the scene, cooing and cheering.

“Haha, they needed to be taken down a notch!”

“Aww, look how much fun Polites is having!”

“I know, right? He’s smiling so wide!”

“Haha, yeah, and I think Eurylochus and the Cap are enjoying it too, even if they don’t wanna admit it.”

The three blush more at the words, especially Odysseus, feeling humiliated at being reduced to a laughing mess in front of his men. Hermes watches, hovering around in various relaxed or playful positions, not deactivating or lowering the relentless divine tickles in the slightest.

“Look how cute you are~ all giggly and happy~” the trickster coos, floating like a school girl would lay on their stomach. He’s having a blast watching and causing the chaos, and he knows that his targets are too, even if two of them won’t admit it.

“Hehehehermehehes, cuhuhut ihihit ohohohout!” Eurylochus continues to protest, feeling as though he has to do something, anything to stop the sensation.

“I don’t think so, darling~ in fact, I don’t think you should be telling a god what to do~”

Eurylochus sees what Hermes is implying and quickly backtracks with giggly apologies. “Wahahait, ihihim sohohorry nononohohoho!”

Hermes giggles and intensifies the sensation anyway. “Yes~ tickle tickle tickle! Doesn’t that feel nice~”

“NoHOhoHO IHIT dohoHOESNT! STohop, PlehehHEASE!” Eurylochus’ chuckles raise to belly laughs, the sensation driving him mad.

Polites, despite how much fun he’s having right now, almost feels a pang of.. jealousy? At Eurylochus’ pleading, feeling like he’s missing out on something more intense. Picking up on this, somehow, Hermes looks at Polites with a teasing yet fond smile, speaking with a teasing lilt that makes Polites blush grow.

“Aww, is someone feeling a little jealous~? Dont worry, friend, let me help you with that~” Hermes does so, increasing the sensation for Polites as well, even adding some ticklish sensation to his sides as well, sensing just how much the optimistic man is enjoying himself.

Polites’ Jealousy immediately vanishes, replaced by a giddy panic mixed with happiness, his squeaky giggles growing louder. He nearly cheers aloud, but decides against it, not wanting to embarrass himself more than he already has. “Eehehehhahahahaha ihihits sohoho tihihickly! Ahahahahaha!”

“Aww, I know it is~ it feels good, doesn’t it~?” Polites doesn’t respond directly, but he doesn’t deny it either, and his body language conveys how he’s really feeling, so he doesn’t really have to respond.

Odysseus is leaning on the railing for support, falling nearly entirely to the floor from the unending, debilitating ticklish shocks sending through his legs. He is so embarrassed, but despite that, he’s also, maybe..having.. just a bit of fun. (It’s a lot of fun, but he’s not even gonna think about that) His worst spot is being tickled absolutely ruthlessly, the electric sensation not letting up for a single moment. His laughter is loud and frantic, but it does carry a tone of genuine joy as well.

“AhaHAhaHAHAHAH! MahahaHAKe ihihit StohohoHOP-!”

“What’s wrong, too ticklish~?” Hermes’ teasing words make his already bright red face get even brighter, his embarrassment evident on his face that’s also adorned with a wide smile, just as his two friends who are squirming and laughing besides him.

“Plehehehehease, hehehehermehehes, ihi CAHAHANT Tahahake ihihit!” Eurylochus’ voice rumbles with his deep laughter, a low, loud sound.

“Sure you can~ all you gotta do is laugh, and you’re doing just fine at that~”

“Heheheehehahahahahahaha! Ihihit tihihickles sohoho muhuhuch! Hahahahahha!” Polites’ happy giggling continues to fill the air of the ship, earning coos from the watching audience.

Hermes decides that Odysseus needs to join his friends in the more intense feeling, increasing it for him as well, making his legs fully fail, him collapsing to the floor in loud fits of laughter, kicking in order to try and expel the sensation, or at the very least deal with it. “AHAHAH- NohoHO- ahahahahahaha!”

“Oop, man down! Looks like someone’s awful ticklish~”

“AHaHAHA NOHOT THEHERE, PLEHEASE!”

“Oh, but this spot is just so fun!”

Eurylochus continues to let out Belly laughs, his being the deepest of the three, filling the air with the booming sound. “Hahahahahahaha ehehenohohough, plehehehehease! Ahahahahaha!”

“Why should I~ you all seem to be having a good time~”

Polites is still giggling happily, holding his stomach with small tears of joy rolling down his face. He is having an absolute blast right now, and is the most open about it.

Odysseus, meanwhile, was stuck in absolute ticklish agony, laughing loudly as his thighs were assaulted with ruthless tickles, forcing endless laughter from his chest. He, too, had tears of laughter falling, the feeling be so unbelievably intense, and despite the fact that he doesn’t want to admit it, it feels so good. What made it worse is that he couldn’t even fight back! There were no hands to push at, no pin to struggle against, but yet no matter how much he kicked and squirmed it did nothing to help alleviate the maddening feeling.

Eurylochus was much in the same position, arms pinned to his sides but it doing nothing to block or protect him from the intense tingling tickles on his underarms, making his deep belly laughs ring throughout the ship.

Hermes could tell that they were reaching their limit, so decided for one last hurrah before ending the feeling.

“You guys ready for a grand finale~”

“NOHOHO!”

“Plehehehehease dohohont!”

Eurylochus and Odysseus protested loudly, whereas Polites just felt flutters of anticipation in his chest.

Hermes ignored the pleas, and for said ‘grand finale’, made the three have even more intense sensations all over their most ticklish spots, driving them mad with laughter.

It only lasted for a few seconds, the men’s hysterical laughter filling the ship like a joyful symphony, but to them it felt like an hour. It was so unbelievably intense, probably the strongest tickling any of them had ever experienced.

It was absolutely unbearable, and although it was a little enjoyable, they each knew that they couldn’t take it for more than a few seconds.

After the longest 5 seconds of their lives, Hermes snapped and the sensation disappeared, leaving just residual giggles.

After a minute or so that the men took to cool their breathing and stop giggling, Hermes spoke.

“Did you have fun~~” the blush that had started to fade immediately returned in full force.

“Yeah..” Polites spoke quietly, not bothering to deny it despite it being embarrassing to admit.

“Absolutely not!” Eurylochus and Odysseus chimed in at the same time, despite it being not fully true.

Odysseus continued. “Please, never do that again.”

Hermes did an exaggerated pout. “Booo, you’re no fun~”

Odysseus just sighed. “At the very least can you not do that while I’m in front of everyone?”

“I make no promises~”

With final goodbyes and well wishes, Hermes flew off to continue his job, leaving the three flustered from the experience.

“Agree to never talk about this again?”

Odysseus spoke and the other two nodded.

“Agreed.” Eurylochus continued. “You don’t have to tell me twice.”

They dispersed to do various things and continue their jobs, but they couldn’t deny that they had a slight lightness in their chests after the experience, the boredom of the day having been lifted slightly.

It was a pretty cool trick.

———THE END————————————————

[inbloomwriting]

Everything to me - Chapter 2

Chapter two - Blueberry & Kidney Bean

Chapter 1

Plot: Jamie Tartt is a lot of things: professional footballer, the island's top scorer .... sexually, extremly handsome. But one thing he never saw himself as was a dad. Too bad he has to deal with the consequences of his own actions. This fic follows reader and Jamie as they navigate life and turn from practially strangers to parents. Pairing: Jaime Tartt x female reader Warnings: Pregnancy, swearing, mentions of food and alcohol, slight mention of sexual intimacy (nothing graphic), strained/toxic parental relationship Notes: 5.6k words. I do not have a set uploading schedule. Please bear with me as I work on this story. I know hardly anything about pregnancy, all my information comes from google. I tagged everyone who asked me to do it when I posted part 1. Please let me know if you want to be taken off or added to the taglist. Likes, reblogs, comments are all much appreciated. I am German. Sometimes I get the tense wrong or make mistakes. I am useless when it comes to punctuation. Go easy on me, please

The store smells like dust and cardboard and old carpet. It's not necessarily a bad smell, it just doesn't live up to her memories.

She remembers the perpetual scent of menthol cigarettes and some kind of cheap men's perfume wafting through the air. The store used to smell like her dad and now it doesn't. And that just makes it all even more real.

Boxes upon boxes litter the room, filled with records. Some older, some newer. Guitars adorn one wall while the others are covered in posters from tours that happened long ago, some even before she was born.

There is something comforting about being here. It’s like stepping back into the past. Long nights watching Dad and his friends play their guitars after store-closing. Discovering new bands whenever a new shipment of records came in. And yes - she is the first to admit that in her younger years, she mostly chose the records by how cool the cover looked. 

It’s also memories of Dad getting caught up in the after-hours jam sessions and forgetting about her dance recital and that one time he threw a guitar at the window out of anger that a shipment of records got lost. It took him months to get the window replaced. She could probably still trace exactly where the crack used to be. 

Being here is very reminiscent in all the good and bad ways. But it’s a warped version of the past. One that’s laced with all the knowledge she has now. Like a movie that you’ve seen a million times.

“I don’t think pregnant women are supposed to be doing that!” 

Jamie’s voice cuts through the nostalgia-induced fog like a sunbeam through the clouds. And it also gives her a little heart attack as the only sound filling the room up until now had been her moving around and the soft tunes of an Eric Clapton record playing in the background.

“Jesus fuck! You scared me. I’m pretty sure you’re not supposed to startle pregnant women either and give them heart attacks.” 

He looks at her with those big expressive eyes of his and a comically overdone pout on his lips. “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you. But seriously give me that.” 

He’s so quick to take the box of records from her hands (Y/N) hardly has time to process what’s going on. 

Quite honestly, his worry is a bit misplaced here but she appreciates the sentiment even if he might be a little overly cautious at that moment. It feels nice to be cared for. 

“You know I’m pregnant, not sick, right? I can carry stuff.” 

“Yeah but why would you if you got me carrying it for you?” 

He has a point, she has to give him that. 

“Fair enough. Those go over there in the corner please.” 

Jamie follows her order without hesitation and, after setting the box down in its designated place, his eyes dart across the room and light up with childlike wonder and curiosity.

“This used to be your dad’s place, yeah? It looks really neat with all them posters and shit. Like stepping into an old person’s mind but like a cool old person that buys you alcohol when you’re 15 and lets you watch horror movies when your mum said no.” 

Of all the adjectives in the world, (Y/N) wouldn’t ever think of using the word “cool” to describe her dad. He was creative and fun and eccentric and stubborn — but cool? 

Then again he was her dad and no one ever likes to think of their own parents as cool. Oh god, will their kid think she’s uncool?! 

“Uh yeah, the shop and the apartment right above us. He owned it, now I do. I’m trying to get it all fixed up and ready to be sold.”

“What? Why?” 

There is something to be said about Jamie’s face and his absolute inability to mask his emotions. Everything he thinks and feels is mirrored twice as vividly on his face. He’s all furrowed brows and pouty lips. 

“I mean — it’s a record store. People don’t really buy records anymore. Be honest, when was the last time you bought one instead of just streaming the music?” 

“Like two weeks ago.” 

“Fuck off, no you didn’t!” 

“Uh — yeah, I did. Olivia Rodrigo if you must know.” 

A soft giggle falls from (Y/N)’s lips. How fitting for Jamie to buy an album full of teenage angst. 

“Well, you’re one of very few people though. In a perfect world, I wouldn’t have to sell. I’d keep it open. Instead of selling instruments, it’d turn that part of the shop into a little stage with a coffee counter or a bar. Host open mic nights and shine a spotlight on undiscovered artists. But the world isn’t perfect and there is no way I can afford to turn that vision into reality so really there’s no use in letting myself get too caught up in it.” 

There is pity in his eyes and she hates it. She doesn’t want pity, not his or anyone else’s. Has seen enough of it, especially lately. If she had received just one more “Sorry for your loss” card in the mail from relatives she hadn’t seen in decades, she probably would’ve stabbed a fork in her own eye. Pity does no good to no one. 

“Anyway, Jamie. Not that I don’t enjoy hanging out with you, it’s kind of necessary if we want to get this whole beings-friends-thing right, but uh — what are you doing here?” 

“Jesus, can’t a guy just come around to say hi to his baby? “ 

She thinks the way he says the word “Baby” in his thick accent is surprisingly and undeniably adorable. As if it ends in an “eh” instead of a “y”.

“By the way, they’re as big as a blueberry now.” 

And the way he’s keeping track of the baby's growth gets her right in the heart. For some reason, this seems to come so naturally to him when it all still feels weird and foreign and surreal to her. As if it were happening to someone else and she’s just a mere spectator. The idea that something as small as a blueberry will one day turn into a proper baby, a child, a teenager … a whole ass adult - is so wild to her. Almost incomprehensible. A person with their own feelings and dreams and personality. (Y/N) wonders if at any point in this pregnancy, she'll wake up and it'll all just make sense or if that only comes once she's holding the baby in her arms.

“That's cute. Doesn't answer my question though. What brings you here?”

A shadow of something flickers across Jamie’s face. Something unreadable and unfamiliar. Something that makes (Y/N) feel a sense of dread bubbling up in her stomach.

“I uh — I can’t do this.”

And there it is. That unfamiliar shadow is now a metaphorical atom bomb, a mushroom cloud of all that could have been and won’t be.

“Oh okay. I mean no, not okay. This sucks actually. You said you wanted to be part of the baby’s life and now you’re bailing? That’s a shit move, Jamie. You’re a right prick for pulling that crap.” 

“What? Oh no!” his eyes widen as the realization sets in. “That’s not what I meant.”

“Well then what did you mean? Cause you’re truly giving me a heart attack right now. Second one for today. You really need to start working on your conversation starters.” 

She had given him the chance to opt out of being a dad, to not be a part of the baby’s life. It seemed like the right thing to do and, foolishly, (Y/N) had believed that she’d be okay with him doing just that. In this very moment though, she feels everything but okay. The idea of Jamie changing his mind is terrifying. 

Sometimes you don’t realize just how much you need something — or someone until you’re faced with the possibility of losing them.

“I mean, I can’t do this alone. I need to tell someone. All I keep thinking about is the baby and I feel like I am going to explode any second now. I know we can’t tell everyone yet ‘cause of — well you know, things going wrong and stuff. But I need to tell someone. You got to tell Rebecca and your mum, I think it’s only fair I get to tell two people as well, yeah?”

A sense of relief floods her. Starts in her toes and fills her all the way to the top of her head. He wants this — wants the baby. It’s not just her in this. It’s nice to know you have someone in your corner. It’s also scary. Because he deserves to know just whose team he’s on. And being vulnerable fucking sucks. 

“Jamie, that’s fine. Absolutely you can tell your mum.” 

“And Simon? You got two people so — “

“I didn’t though.” 

“Uh yes, you did. I know you told Rebecca.” 

“That’s right.”

“And your mum too”.

The silence that follows his words is deafening. Being vulnerable means also admitting guilt. It means owning up to all of your mistakes. Though we are not the sum of our mistakes, they are what help shape the person we become. And (Y/N) really doesn’t think they make her a very good one.

“And your mum too?” 

More silence.

“You didn’t tell your mum? Why not? “

To his credit, Jamie looks truly surprised and confused. There is no judgment there, just absolute bewilderment and that signature softness that rounds out his features and settles in his eyes whenever Jamie talks to her about something serious. Granted they’ve not had that many conversations but she hopes that softness stays. She hopes that maybe their baby can have those soft, gentle eyes too.

“I’m not sure. I think I’m scared. My mum and I have a — complicated relationship. I disappoint her, she judges me. You know, the usual.” 

“You think she’ll be disappointed because we're having a baby? Is it because of me?”

(Y/N) shrugs, breaking eye contact and fixing her gaze on the old grey carpet with the ugly 90s pattern. What if those soft eyes can look straight through her, see all the ugly parts and the insecurities? That’s too scary for now. Too much too soon.

“No, it has nothing to do with you. Think she’ll just be disappointed I didn’t get pregnant according to the timeline she dreamed up for my life when I was like 2 years old. Had it all planned out for me and I never stuck to it.” 

Jamie is quiet for a moment but (Y/N) doesn’t dare to look back up at him. She can’t deal with any more pity.

“Well if you want to practice telling a mum, we can start with mine.”

“Huh?” 

“You can come to Manchester with me if you want. To tell my mum. We’ll have one mum down then, makes it easier to do it a second time. It’s science.” 

Jamie has the fascinating quality of making you believe in his words just by being so undeniably charming and because he believes in them himself. He makes it look easy when it is everything but.

“And if things don’t go well with your mum at least you’ll know you have at least one mum you can rely on, even if it’s not your own. She raised me pretty much by herself so she knows a thing or two about babies and parenting and stuff.” 

The mocking raise of (Y/N)’s right eyebrow doesn’t go unnoticed by Jamie who opens his lips to a silent gasp and clutches his chest with an overly dramatic gesture. 

“What? You saying I didn’t turn out perfectly?”

“No,” she laughs, a lightness festering in her chest. Like the first rays of sunshine after a cold winter that never seemed to end. Like a glass of wine after a long day at work. Like your favorite song on the radio at the exact moment you need it most. “I think you turned out exactly the way you were supposed to.” 

“Thanks,” Jamie says with that cheeky smile playing on his lips that makes him look a little younger than he actually is. Then he dares to wink at her and it’s a little annoying but also insanely charming. “Not sure you meant it as a compliment but I am taking it. Now when are you free for a trip up to Manchester?” 

(Y/N)’s been on a lot of road trips around the country when she was younger. She’s even spent a whole summer traveling Europe, partially by train but most of the time was spent stuffed in a Fiat Punto with 3 of her friends and all their luggage. It was stuffy, it was chaotic and it was immensely fun. None of those road trips ever involved a shiny black Aston Martin Rapide though. 

Or a famous footballer dressed in the ugliest lime green sweater (Y/N) has ever seen. 

“That’s all the luggage you got?” Jamie questions as he moves the black shades off of his eyes and sets them on the top of his head, holding back some of his hair. It shouldn’t work so well but it does. 

“I mean, we’re only staying for a night right? Why? Should I have brought more? How much did you pack?” 

He glances at her, then towards the car, and back at her. A sheepish look crosses his face before being replaced by his childlike cheekiness. “That’s confidential. Don’t worry about it, yeah?” 

“I got my ginger lollies, that’s all that matters really.” 

“You feeling alright?” 

“Mh, I’m good. Just pregnant.” 

His eyes drop down to her stomach for just a second before he nods his head in what (Y/N) can only describe as a mix of pride and satisfaction. “Yeah, you are.” 

That’s new. Well not new-new but it hasn’t happened since the day of the funeral. That tingly feeling in her stomach that has fuck all to do with the baby and everything with how the baby got there. Yes, Jamie is hot and (Y/N) is the first to admit as much but there has been so much stress and chaos and she hardly had time to think about anything but surviving and making sure not to completely lose herself in bad visions of what-ifs that her brain has had no time to process any feelings of arousal or lust. That look he just gave her though, that one made her remember it for just a second.

“You sure you’re alright?” 

Jamie’s voice shakes her from her daydream and brings her back to the real world, her eyes focusing back on the obscene car parked in front of her tiny apartment building looking so insanely out of place.

“Uh yes, I’m fine. I just — sometimes I forget that you’re famous.” 

Jamie regards her for a moment before shrugging his shoulder and grabbing the bag from her hands. “I don’t. It’s fun. Now come on, let’s goooooo.” 

His voice is dipped in excitement and there’s a bounce in his step. If this is how the prospect of seeing his mother makes him feel and behave, she must be one lovely woman. Whenever (Y/N) thinks of her own mother her chest fills with tiny metaphorical icicles. Sharp and rough and painful. It’s all regret and judgment and disapproval. It’s “You gained weight”, “you look tired”, and “You should really look into getting a new job”. Daggers disguised as roses. Stabs right to the heart in the name of being honest. “I just care about you, because I love you, because I am your mother!” 

If there is one thing (Y/N) knows for sure, it’s that she will never ever find the need to resort to criticism and thinly veiled malice in order to show her child that she cares. They will know. Every single day. Because she’ll make sure to show them. Every single day in all the big and tiny ways a person can show their love. 

“Kidney Bean?”

“Kidney Bean. And apparently, the baby is sprouting webbed fingers and toes right now. Oh, and it’s starting to move!” 

“Can you feel that?” 

“No, not yet.” 

“It’s mental. Last week she was the size of a blueberry and now she’s a kidney bean. Kid’s growing up too fast.” 

It’s true. There is so much happening all at once and it’s almost impossible to really process it all. Suddenly there is a tiny spark of a human inside her. Not really a baby yet but a baby to her. And it's moving and developing and changing every second of every day. Fucking insane.

“Wait … you said she. You think it’s a girl?”

Maybe it’s the sunlight casting a glow through the windshield but (Y/N) is almost certain she can just about make out a blush dusting Jamie’s cheeks. 

“Dunno.”

“Jamie Tartt, do you want to be a girl dad?” 

He glances at (Y/N) through the corner of his eyes for just a moment but it’s enough for her to see the sincerity in him. This is something he’s thought about before. Learning new things about Jamie is fascinating.

“Ah,  it’s stupid, really. It’s — It’s dumb or whatever.” 

“No, come on, don't go shy on me now. Tell me.” 

He takes a deep breath. A moment passes then another. There is no rush. Sometimes silly thoughts are the result of harsh truths. 

“Told you my dad was a prick. Like the biggest piece of shit walking this earth, yeah? And I knew that all my life. Thing is I still tried to impress him. I just — I wanted him to like me so badly. Just felt wrong that me own dad didn’t care about me and that made me angry. And I kept that anger inside me for so long. Sometimes when I think about the baby and the future I am scared that if I have a son that anger will jump over to him. Like maybe all Tartt men are cursed or some shit like that. But if I had a little girl maybe that would make it easier for me to be a good dad. I don’t mind either way, obviously, but the idea of having a son scares me.” 

It’s the most vulnerable he’s been with her so far and by the way he clenches his jaw and grabs onto the steering wheel just a little tighter, (Y/N) can tell this isn’t easy on him. It means a lot that he shares this part of him with her anyway. It feels like they are actually becoming friends. So opening up to him in return is only half as horrifying. 

“When I was a kid, maybe 11 or 12, I wrote a short story for school and I won an award. They did this big ceremony thing where the 3 finalists got to read their stories out loud for an audience and then receive their prizes. My mum didn’t show up, not sure if it was because she stayed longer at the office and didn’t care enough to leave on time or if she just didn’t feel like getting out of the house. Point is, she wasn’t there. When I came home that night I was sad, obviously, and I was also pissed. Because why the fuck couldn’t she take one night off to come see me succeed at something even if it wasn’t something she deemed worthy of praise. 

So I yelled at her and I’m sure I said some hurtful things. But I was so devastated and angry and I needed an outlet for once. She called me ungrateful but I was used to that, she always called me ungrateful. Then she looked at me with that look of absolute resignation and malice and she said that she hopes I have a daughter like me one day and that she makes me realize how hard it is to love me. 

When I think of the baby, sometimes I see a little girl too. One that I will love so much she never has to doubt it for a single second. And I will also prove my mother wrong. Because it will be so easy to love my little girl and it would’ve been so easy to love me, her little girl.” 

It’s the first time she’s ever said those words out loud. Truly, (Y/N) had not expected for them to come out in an Aston Martin, on the way to meet her baby’s father’s mother but life doesn’t seem to care for plans very much these days.

Softly, as if to not startle her, Jamie places his hand on hers, squeezing gently.

“I think your mum is a right bitch.” 

“Thanks. I think your dad is a huge asshole.” 

“We’re gonna be better than them, right?” 

It’s not really a question. It’s more of a promise.

“We will. I know it.”

His hand doesn’t leave hers for a good long while. 

The nerves don’t hit her until they pull up to the quaint little house with the white front. There’s a rose bush to the side and some kids playing football just across the way. The nerves don’t hit her until Jamie puts the car in park but when they do, they hit her like a freight train.

“Woah, you alright?” 

“Huh?” 

“You look all pale and like you’ve seen a ghost or something. Do you have to puke?”

A chuckle falls from her lips at the absurdity of it all. In all honesty, she’s not met a lot of parents yet but the few she did meet were parents of actual partners. People she had been dating for a while. It was a natural progression of steps. This is all wrong and sideways and topsy-turvy. You’re supposed to meet the mum first and then get pregnant. 

Again with the life and the plans. 

“I’m fucking nervous.” 

“Hah,” Jamie laughs. The audacity of this guy. “You’re nervous to meet my mum? Why? She’s an angel.”

“Do you not know how intimidating that is? Like, if she was shit I wouldn’t care but she sounds wonderful and I want her to like me. No, I need her to like me. Desperately. And I can only imagine what she thinks of me already. Some floozy who gets knocked up and really just wants your money.” 

Before she even fully realizes what’s happening, (Y/N) feels Jamie’s hands on her cheeks, framing her face in warmth.

“Calm down, please. I promise it’ll be alright. My mum will love you, I know it. Probably more than she loves me. Actually no that’s a lie, but she will love you and she will love our baby. Promise.”

“She’s not gonna judge me for — you know. Getting pregnant even though we’re not dating or anything.” 

“My mum was married to my dad, worst person on planet Earth. Don’t think she’s in any position to judge you. It’ll be alright, trust me.” 

She hardly knows this man and yet she can’t help but do just that. Trust him.

The first thing (Y/N) notices about Georgie is her smile. A smile that is so familiar because it looks exactly like Jamie’s smile. Warm and radiant and true. A part of (Y/N) hopes that their baby inherits that same smile. Partially because it’s a really good smile and partially because maybe that could help Jamie realize that he is more than the sum of his father’s problems and mistakes. He is all his mother’s boy.

“Oh, I missed you, my baby.” 

Georgie wraps her arms around Jamie’s middle, getting swallowed by his frame for a moment. There’s no denying that part of (Y/N)’s heart breaks a little seeing how loving of a relationship these two have and wondering where she and her own mother went wrong.

And as it so happens with so many kids that have never been loved quite the way they deserved, (Y/N) can’t help but search for the problem in herself. 

“Yeah sorry for not visiting earlier. You know how it is with training and stuff.” 

“Don’t worry about it. I know my boy is busy being a star.” 

The words hold a slight mocking, never mean but in the way that only people who are close can tease each other. You know every word comes laced with deep affection, with pride, with love.

“And it’s so nice to meet you too. I’m Georgie.” 

It takes a second for (Y/N) to realize that Jamie’s mum is now talking to her directly.

“I uh — oh thank you. Nice to meet you too, I’m (Y/N).” 

Georgie smells like mint chewing gum and floral perfume as she pulls (Y/N) into a hug. She’s soft and gentle and it’s been the first hug from a mother (Y/N) has received in quite some time.

“Sorry, didn’t even ask if you’re a hugger.”

“Oh that’s alright, don’t worry about it.” 

She’s not a hugger, never really was, but there is something about Georgie granting her some affection that isn’t all that bad. Maybe their kid can have at least one grandmother who cares and who isn’t completely disgusted by the idea of showing any kind of positive emotions.

“Jamie never brings girlfriends around so I’m a bit out of my element here if I’m being honest.” 

“Mum we’re not — she’s not.” Jamie takes a big breath before starting again “(Y/N) and I are friends, yeah? Told you about it on the phone.” 

“Right, right. Well, you don’t bring around a lot of friends either so same difference, really. Now come inside will you, I’m sure we got a lot to catch up on.”

Oh if only she knew how true that sentiment really is.

There are pictures of Jamie staring back at (Y/N) from every corner of the house and Georgie leads them through the hallway and towards the kitchen. Every wall and every shelf holds a memory of him at one point in his life. Gap toothed with a football in hand smiling, surrounded by a field of tulips arm wrapped around his mother’s shoulder, his teenage self smoldering at the camera with an even more questionable haircut than the one he is sporting right now. Oh to be loved in a way that every past version of you is being remembered.

As they reach the kitchen a sweet scent fills the room when a man clad in an apron turns around and faces them with a huge smile playing on his face. He has a dorky kind of charm to him that immediately puts you at ease. Maybe it’s just the frilly apron, maybe it’s the big oven gloves, maybe it’s the smile. Either way, (Y/N) thinks that if they take the news well, her kid might have truly lucked out on one side of the grandparents department. 

“Jamie, welcome home.” 

“Hi Simon, thanks, mate. Glad to be back. This is (Y/N).” 

“The friend, right.” Simon says and shoots Georgie a look that neither of them misses. Subtlety doesn’t seem to be one of his best qualities. “It’s nice to meet you, (Y/N).”

“Nice to meet you too. It smells amazing in here.” 

“I found this new recipe for honey blondies. Not sure if they'll be any good but I guess we'll find out. If you guys want to go have a seat, I'll come bring them over.”

“Actually,” Jamie speaks up while nervously fiddling with his hands. “I was hoping we could have a talk before we do anything else. There’s something I need to tell you both.” 

Imagining the hypothetical scenario of telling your mum you’re having a baby and actually doing it really are two completely different things it seems. Gone is all of Jamie’s confidence and replaced with a whole lot of anxiety. 

“You're worrying me, Jamie. What has you acting so serious? Did you get someone pregnant or something?”

Georgie's words are followed by a thick awkward silence. It's heavy and suffocating and it makes (Y/N) feel uneasy in both her heart and her head.

It doesn't take long for Jamie’s parents to realize what his silence means. Everything communicated by not saying a single word.

“Oh, fuck.”

And there's nothing to add to Georgie's reaction. It's the exact same one (Y/N) had when she first saw those faint blue lines.

Of all the possible outcomes and ways this day could’ve gone, (Y/N) had not expected to find herself staring at not only a curly-haired Roy Kent but also come face to face with two very persuasive arguments belonging to no other than Keeley fucking Jones. 

“This is surreal.” 

The posters stare back at her all crinkled paper and bleached ink, as if to mock her silently. 

“Ah, well I told them to redecorate when I moved out, think they just haven’t gotten around to it yet.” 

A light dusting of pink settles on the apples of Jamie’s cheeks as well as the tips of his ears. This man can’t hide his emotions for the life of him. It’s quite adorable really. 

“Do they know?” 

“Does who know?” 

“Roy and Keeley. Do they know you have their pictures up in your room?”

“Well no and It’s not my room anymore, is it? ‘S not like I have ‘em hanging at home. Put these up ages ago.” 

A giggle slips through (Y/N)’s lips at his desperate attempt to talk himself out of this situation. 

“It’s okay, Jamie. I won’t tell.” 

“There’s nothing to tell, alright?” he responds in mock offense before sitting down on his childhood bed next to (Y/N). “Just liked boobs and football and those two were the best those fields had to offer, yeah? Can’t really blame me.” 

“Not much has changed has it?”

He shrugs his shoulders in response “Nah. Still like boobs and football but no way I’d put up a poster of granddad’s ugly mug nowadays.”

From the few times they talked about his job, including his teammates and coaches, (Y/N) was able to gather that Jamie’s relationship with Roy is something special. Odd, but special. Maybe that’s what happens when you end up working with your childhood idol. Either way, no matter how much shit he likes to talk about him, it’s clear that Jamie respects and admires Roy a great deal still.

“And uh — and Keeley?” 

“What about her?” 

“Is she — are you — how are things?” 

She still remembers that crestfallen look on his face on the day of the funeral. That infinite sadness in his eyes. She hadn’t put two and two together at that moment but later that night it all clicked. Keeley was the woman he was in love with, the woman who did not love him back. And while (Y/N) knows that she and Jamie are only bound together by happenstance and fate — if one chooses to believe in that, and that there is nothing romantic about their situation, it does sting a little to know that the man you’re having a baby with is in love with someone else.

“We’re good. We’re friends, think that’s all we’ll ever be. Her and Roy, they’re happy and I don’t want to ruin it for either of them. Keeley and I just were not right together.” 

“And you’re okay with that?” 

He nods his head, a small smile playing on his lips “Yeah, I’m alright with it. If I hadn’t made a fool of myself at the funeral then you and I wouldn’t have — you know, and then we wouldn’t be having a baby. Little Kidney Bean.” 

“That’s true. Your mum seemed excited.” 

“Hah, sorry about her. She can be intense.” 

Intense might be the understatement of the century. It took her approximately 2.3 seconds to get over the initial shock of the announcement and really process it before Georgie let out a scream of pure excitement and joy and wrapped both Jamie and (Y/N) up in her arms. She didn’t fully let go for a good 20 minutes. It was intense. It was also phenomenal.

“Don’t apologize. I am so glad she took it so well, Simon too. At least now I’ll have the certainty that my baby will have one set of loving grandparents at least.” 

“Hey,” Jamie says and nudges her shoulder with his “We’ll sort out telling your mum next, okay. I’m sure it’ll go better than you think. And if not we can always call up my mum for some more hugs and a pep talk. Whatever happens, you won’t have to do it alone. I promise.” 

For what is probably the first time in her life (Y/N) lets herself believe that there truly is someone else having her back, undisputedly and all the way. It’s unfamiliar. It’s a little scary. It’s also wonderful.

“Thanks, Jamie. I appreciate it, I really do. Think so far we’re doing alright, huh?” 

“I’d say so. Two sexy parents and a little Kidney Bean.” 

Their laughter echoes through Jamie’s childhood bedroom for quite a while longer until at some point it stills and gives room to soft breathing and quiet snores. The bed isn’t meant for two grown adults and really Jamie truly meant to sleep on the couch but somewhere between talks of baby clothes and childhood memories, eyes grew heavy and tired, and soon enough both of them are fast asleep.

Just them and their little Kidney Bean 

— and a curly-haired Roy Kent 

— and Keeley’s boobs.

taglist (@ me if you want to be taken off or added): @captainfrisbee - @scaramou - @mischiefmanaged71 - @rexorangecouny - @respondingtoshowerthoughts-blog - @tweasley20 - @dreamtrydoforkinggood - @oxxolovemelikeyoudooxxo - @heletsmelovehim - @snubug - @katdahlali - @oldglitterstory - @lalla-04p - @aiyaiy

[ganondoodle]

totk cataclysm event wasnt just a great (but utterly missed) opportunity to change the map in techincally little ways that has drastic consequences both in stakes and in gameplay (like i mentioned before, flooding the gerudo desert would have meant devastating consequences for its ecosystem- like imagine little islands of sand still poking out, acting as a sort of last doomed refuge for sandseals- but also cahnged the entire gameplay of it, good chance to introduce some neat new ways to surf on water like a new ridable creature or an ice shield freezing a path while you surf on it, the gerudo being forced to save the city from drowing in various means or now living on the roofs, trying to adapt by building boats ect - also call back to older games?? since totk loves that so much ..-, vah naboris serving as the savest refuge being high above the water, even if non functional; similarly takign away ALL water from the zora region, gaving it all dry out would imemdiately turn into something way different and could mean death for the zora- forcing them to move to the lower parts of akkala for example- maybe vah ruta is still halfway functioning bc the faith the zora have to mipha, dorephan and sidon is, while not enough to keep it fully functional, but enough to generate some water so the most stubborn or brave zora set up around it like a last oasis; i know its somewhat done with death mountain but the gorons dont really suffer from it bc their only problem is a drugged rock that makes them mean and lazy ..- what about collapsing or exploding it, leaving a large crater that over the course of the game could start to grow with plant life since vulcanic earth is so fertile- some never seen before ones that was dormant in the lava and now that its cooled off is springing to life, which might seem good at first but for the area and its wildlife means loss of their habitat; the rito freezing over, but actually having to move, maybe into the tabantha canyon, building their new makeshift homes in between the walls of it- generally just switiching things around a bit would have done so much wihtout having to edit every last detail ((seriously tho, how did this game take so long given that botw took similar but they did that ENTIRE main map as detailed as it is AND made it all coherent with itself and its themes- im ranting again ..)

-but it ALSO would have been the perfect opportunity to introduce new weather types created by the sudden change in environment, somethign like a super strong wind that slows you when walking agaisnt and lets you jump much farther when with it- a darkness thing that clouds the world in utter darkness with only little light getting through anything that is caused by mushrooms from the udnerground invading the surface and their spores snuffs out all light (which could explain the weird darkness in the ruins from botw too!!), or just simply mist! making everything misty changes the entire feel of any environment drastically- you could make vertain enemies spawn only in certain weather conditions, lessening the repetive overuse of them; and that is only on the surface- what if the sky had sunbeams so strong it sets anything on fire if you dare to leave the shadows- to comabt it get a armor with a giant hat!! the underground could have been filled with different environments in the first place, but then of course thered be those dark spores of mushrooms, an entire forest you have to carefully travers other wise making them release their spores and make it all more difficult, glowy mushrooms, MORE glowy mushroms, theres so many weird ass shrooms IRL you could take inspo from!! maybe soemthing like a forest of kelp, long flowy plants obstructing view and making you anxious by any movement- there could be one thats a mimic or infected with miasma, slightly off color and its knobs are malice eyes that open only if it thinks you cant see it

(also for the idea of taking botws stuff and recontextualizing it, the guardians or shrines, now non fucntional, could be infected my miasma sometimes, maybe randomly to keep you guessing- an overgrown shrine suddenly lifting itself up with hands clawing at you when you get too close or do sth wrong to distrub it- similar with guardians tho the effect might be less since you know them as a threat already- or sth i mentioned in another post, a tower being used as a weapon by a gigatic miasma monster- the one in the gerudo region with the bottomless pit for example, perfect for an arena for you to run around in the spiral while its swinging at you etc etc)

JUST taking what botw had and mixing it up, expanding on it, even if technically little change, it could do so much but in the actual game death mountain and rito is the only ones that saw anything of a change like it, and it largely .. didnt change anything or was reversible easily, and had no actual consquences that meant anything, neither stakes nor environmental or narratively (the gerudo felt like it at first but its also largely reversible, its just kinda .. adding a bit of city)

i hhhhhhhhhhhhhh have so many thoughts still, i am just better at holding them back .... also dont wanna annoy lmao

[rocknrollsalad]

rating: t cw: implied car wreck, traffic, smoking tags: pining idiots, pre-steddie, mentioned Buckingham, word count: 928

written for @steddieholidaydrabbles prompt "traffic"

-

“Remember when you had the hots for Tiffani?” Eddie asked, his feet kicked up on the dashboard as he relaxed into the corner of the seat.

“Why is she the one everyone holds against me?”

“Because she made you a doll…of yourself.”

“So? You made a little guy that was me, hand-painted and everything,” Steve shook his head and grabbed the cigarettes.

Eddie knew he was pushing the guy’s buttons and should probably tread lightly but it was so fun and almost too easy. Plus, there wasn’t anything else to do. All they had for entertainment beyond riling up Steve was watching the daylight slowly disappear. Even the radio couldn't save them as they conserved gas.

He watched the cigarette find its home between Steve’s lips and fought every urge to hold his lighter out, lit and desperate for the closeness it’d require. Instead, Steve stared off into the horizon and waited for the lighter in the van to warm up.

“That’s different. First of all," Eddie started, finger to the sky. "You asked me to make that. I didn’t do it for fun and I never sneakily cut your hair to use for realism.”

“Neither did Tiffani.”

“You sure about that, I swear we all saw a little bald patch for a while.”

“You could, ya know, you could walk to Indianapolis. I think you’d probably beat me there,” Steve huffed.

It was so perfectly Steve that it made Eddie want to scream. He was literally pushing Eddie away but wrapping it up with a neat little bow. Get the hell out of the car but also then you wouldn’t be stuck in this god-awful traffic. I'm helping you more than I'm helping me.

He’d probably give Eddie his coat, a couple of quarters to call anyone should he need to, and a snack before literally kicking him out.

Of course, that was all if it wasn’t such a hollow threat. Eddie had more than learned that in all their time together. Something he hadn’t expected to say but here he was spending a lot of his free time with The Steve Harrington. Perhaps the weirdest thing to come from this whole monsters and alternate dimensions thing was learning what made the guy tick.

“God and miss hanging out with you? I love being trapped in my van and snapped at because you can’t control the weather.”

“We don’t know that the weather did this,” Steve finally lit his cigarette and cracked the window. Eddie tried not to stare but it was impossible to look away. It was some kink Eddie didn’t know he’d had until Steve.

“Either directly or indirectly, it did. So who are you kissing at midnight?”

“Is that why you were asking about Tiffani?” Steve said, passing over the cigarette just like Eddie knew he would. It was why he didn’t light his own, he wanted to share with Steve.

“You think Robin and Chris invited her to their place for the party? Robin likes to make you squirm but that feels too much for even her.”

“Nah because then she’d had to admit she was flirting with her too,” Steve laughed, holding his hand out for the cigarette.

They were losing the last bits of daylight and Eddie started to feel a little anxious. They’d been there for far too long and they had a limited break in the weather. The longer they sat here the worse it was going to be when they finally got moving. Hanging out with Steve was starting to rub off on Eddie. He was thinking practically. It was awful.

A few brake lights ahead of them lit up and gave Eddie a bit of hope. He shook his head and said “Gross” to what Steve had said.

“So who are you kissing at midnight then? You’re not going to be doing any better than I am,” Steve poked. Eddie deserved this for getting him worked up but he didn’t enjoy it.

“I dunno, maybe our odds are about the same,” he said, feeling just a little brave as he refused to make eye contact. Even as he felt the cigarette offered again.

All of this was ramping up to something but Steve wasn’t following the script. He was on edge and quicker to fight than normal. Something Eddie usually loved and even now was enjoying a bit but that’s because it was better than thinking too hard about asking the man to be his New Year’s kiss.

To confess he’d been harboring a crush so big it was impacting everyone around them seemed the perfect road trip confession. Eddie was even blessed with traffic. Which did little more than give him more time not to pull the trigger. It shouldn't be this hard, yet Eddie stayed silent.

He sucked in a breath and tried to stop thinking about it. The more he tried to set up the perfect conversation, the harder it seemed to be.

And as mentally planned, the van filled with whoops and cheers, only they weren't for Eddie’s confession. It was joy punctuated by Steve slamming the gear shift into drive. “We’re moving!” He said, shaking the wheel. With one last drag from the cigarette, he passed it off to Eddie. “Come on, I don’t think we’ll even be late.”

“Great,” Eddie sighed and watched the moment slowly creep by like the discarded McDonalds bag he’d been staring at for the past hour. He’d missed his chance and there was no way the universe was going to hand him another. Not like that.