#will like this but instead of a hat shop he paints for people

[drangues]

gay tumblr users said they wanted more cleradin i said oh im sure

[mydear-corinthian]

A Peaky Blinder || Shelby Family x reader

Synopsis: You encountering an assaulter while drinking on the Garrison pub. Pairing: Shelby Family x sister! reader (except for Finn & Ada) Warnings: sexual assault, gun violence, mentions of blood, and swearing Notes: Not proofread, there are some grammatical errors Click here to find the main masterlist. Click here to find the PEAKY BLINDERS masterlist.

This week feels like hell.

Loads of men barging in the shop, betting and betting like there was no tomorrow. As the accountant of the family and the business, it felt like hell.

A drink would help you stress down after a week of non-stop working. The trip to the family's tavern, the Garrison, was simple-- taking a short route there instead of the long way.

You opened the doors of the Garrison, immediately sitting down on the counter. You sat down, taking a deep sigh.

"Hello, (y/n). What drink do you want?" Harry, the bartender, asked you as soon as he saw you sitting down.

"It's alright, Harry. I'll get it," you replied, grabbing the big glass of bottle filled with your family's most famous drink, Gin, behind the counter's cupboard in front of you.

You opened the lid, tossing it at the side of the table, chugging the drink down.

"Rough week, innit?" Harry asked, wiping the unused glasses.

"Very rough week, Harry," you replied, taking a deep sigh.

"Why would people risk betting their money for a what? A race? It's funny but hey, who am I to judge? At least they're helping us work the business out."

The talk with you and Harry kept on going until both of your heads turned, looking at the doors after hearing them open harshly.

Three men entered the tavern. Dirty suits, hats on, and cigarettes designing their lips.

They walked up to the counter just beside you as they started to state their order.

"3 glasses of whiskey for us," you heard one of them order.

You just went on with your drink, Harry muttering an 'excuse me' to you before he was out of your sight, giving the 3 gentlemen their order.

"Slow down, love," you heard one of them.

You turned your head to them and tilted. "Sorry?"

"I said slow down drinking. You're too pretty to drink this whole bottle of yours to yourself.. and too pretty to be a whore either," he commented, looking up and down at you, licking his lips slowly.

He just called you a whore.

"What did you just call me, sir?" you asked in disbelief. You got up slowly, crossing your arms together, looking up at him.

"Ah, I get it. You're a feisty one, eh? A feisty whore.. I like it." he chuckled, his finger tracing your cheeks and then your curves.

"Fuck off, prick,"

Encounters like this in the Garrison were unfortunately normal. Weird, uncomfortable men doing this to women every day.

It was indeed normal but you can't help but be disappointed and sad for the women. Getting treated like this by men.

"Don't you fucking touch me," you shouted, slapping his hand off you.

You felt a hand gripping your jaw, your body pressed up on the counter. "How about I fuck you on this counter? Let these men watch us?" he whispered in your ear, his hand grabbing your hips harshly.

Mentally, you want to grab your gun and shoot him, on his groin, specifically.

and why not do it?

You turned your body, now facing him. A smile formed on your face. Your hands roam around his face and down there. Your hand cupped his manhood earning him a soft moan.

"Sir, I want to do something here.." you innocently said, your eyes meeting his and licking your lips slowly.

"Go on, love. Do it," he replied, and his two other friends laughed.

Your other hand was free, you used this opportunity to grab the small gun on your small bag and immediately fired his groin.

You let go of your hands on his right away. Blood is painted on your palm. You laughed, laughed at the sight in front of you.

The feeling of victory sprawled all over you. Finally putting men like him into their proper places and what they deserve.

He screamed in pain, cussing you out with all the swear words he knows.

Your brothers, except Finn and your older sister, Ada, rushed out of their small compartment just near the counter, guns in their hands.

You heard your older brother shout, "What the fuck is going on here!?"

Polly was with them, she looked at you and the man, she immediately knew what happened and she couldn't help but paint her face with a smirk.

"This whore shot my dick!" the man replied angrily, pressing his manhood, giving it pressure to avoid more blood coming out of it while his free hand was on your dress, gripping it near your neck.

Your brother's facial expression changed into disbelief when they heard the man calling you, their sister, a whore. Tommy inspected the man by looking at him up and down, mentally planning on how to take him down.

John scoffed in disbelief too, he grabbed his gun from his breast pocket immediately and pointed it directly at the man who assaulted you. He, then, harshly asked him, "Are you calling my sister a whore?"

Hearing John's question made your assaulter's eye widen in fear and appalled. He knew he fucked up. He knew he was going to get harshly beaten up-- or worse, die.

"Sister? I-I didn't know she was your sister, Mr. S-Shelby." he stammered. His head shaking violently, begging for forgiveness for what he did to you.

Rolling your eyes, you slapped his face. "Great. Now you respect me because I'm a Shelby and not because I'm a woman, and put the gun down, John. I'll handle this, it's my issue."

"We're here for backup, (y/n), alright?" Arthur commented.

You sighed, your gun still in your hand.

"Look, mister. What you did pissed me off and did not help me calm down after an exhausting fucking week but since I want to show mercy, you are lucky. You are free to go."

The 2 men ran away straightly to the tavern's doors, exiting the bar in no time. Your injured assaulter bowed his head many times and muttered a 'thank you' while limply running to the exit.

"Get out of my bar now, my mercy expires in 10 seconds," you said, massaging your temples out of stressfulness.

The man was still inside the Garrison after 10 seconds but he was already close to the exit, still limping.

You shot the floor, just near his legs. He ran faster until he was finally outside of the bar.

You laughed again at the sight. You turned the safety lock of your gun again before bringing it back inside of your black purse.

You heard slow claps coming from your brothers and your aunt. They walked toward you while clapping.

"Handled it like a true Peaky Blinder. I'm proud of 'ya, sis." your oldest brother congratulated you. Put his arm over the back of your shoulders and gave you a side hug.

Polly cupped both of your cheeks, caressing it with her finger slowly. "I'm proud of you, (y/n). Your mother would be so proud of you." She smiled lovingly. She cannot contain her happiness after what you did.

"Wait- you said you had a stressful week? Is it because of the overtime at the betting shop?" John interrupted, recalling what you said earlier and made him ask you about it.

You nodded in response, "Yeah. There were a lot of customers and being an accountant isn't easy, y'know?"

Tommy inhaled his half-full cigarette while listening to the conversation. He doesn't want to see his sister being stressed because of work so he planned on giving you a paid leave. "If it's like that then you can leave for a while and be back once you're good. Michael can be our accountant until you come back."

You shook your head, rejecting his offer. "It's alright, Tommy. I can handle it but is it okay if I'll just work on half-days instead of full days?"

"If that's want you want then it's fine with me," Tommy answered.

THE END

[rea-grimm]

Sleep protector Luffy

"You look awful, what happened to you?" a friend asked you when you met at a coffee shop. It's been almost a year since you last saw each other. She hadn't changed at all, while you were almost unrecognizable.

You had giant circles under your eyes and your whole body looked like a giant painting that someone had painted using red, blue, yellow and purple. You wore so many bruises that you lost count.

You had the impression that you were cursed. Bad luck was sticking to your heels, and you also suffered from nightmares that kept you awake.

You thought slipping on a banana peel was just a TV joke. That is until you did it yourself. You had no idea how many times you tripped or were almost struck by lightning, or forgot your umbrella in the biggest downpour.

It was the little things that you wouldn't mind if they weren't happening to you 24/7. What irritated you the most was when people told you not to worry about it, that it would get better if you slept. As if it were possible. Every time you fell asleep, you found yourself in an even worse nightmare than before.

Initially, you didn't want to discuss this with your friend, because it was quite possible that you wouldn't see her again for a year or so. You wanted to enjoy this day with her. 

But you couldn't hide anything from her either, and you confided everything to her under her pressure. Also about the fact that you slowly began to fall into depression.

After this, your friend gave you a small gift bag. She wanted to give it to you anyway. She also had a similar one at home, and as soon as she bought it, all the bad dreams disappeared. Plus, when she saw this one, she remembered you and just had to get it for you.

After coffee, you spent almost the rest of the day together. When you said goodbye, you returned home, where you could finally calmly look at the bag you had received.

You opened it and inside was a teddy bear. He had black fur, a red vest, blue shorts and a straw hat on his head. He was cute and soft to the touch.

You didn't believe much in talismans and charms, but you took a stuffed animal to bed with you. After a long time, you fell asleep without any problems almost immediately.

It was an even bigger but pleasant shock in the morning when you woke up full of energy and without any nightmares. You couldn't even remember the last time you slept this well.

You didn't believe it, but it had to be true. Ever since you got the teddy bear, the nightmares have slowly faded away. You were always saved from them by a young man wearing the same outfit as the teddy bear.

He easily defeated all your nightmares and with a carefree smile, he then took your hand and led you into the unknown for an adventure. Be it sea battles, an island of giants or an island full of meat. He always managed to come up with some stupid thing by pure chance that ended up being good and you still laughed.

Thanks to that, you looked forward more and more to sleep and what new things you will do. You were especially looking forward to seeing him because he exuded a cheerful energy that was very contagious. You had the impression that even if he was only in a dream, he could recharge your batteries like no one else.

Since then, your mood has improved and your bad luck has disappeared. You would never believe that a good night's sleep could solve all your problems.

Even your bad luck suddenly disappeared. Instead, you found money here and there, you won, for example, some little thing for free, people were nicer to you, everything started to go well for you, and things turned out better than you expected. You never expected to experience such a turn for the better.

You were in the mood for some quick food, maybe a burger or something, and you headed into town. You went to the chosen establishment and ordered food. While you were waiting, you noticed a young man at the counter who reminded you of a teddy bear.

The young man was getting upset because he wanted to order a lot of food, but apparently, he didn't have enough money to pay. Despite all this, he did not give up.

You felt quite sorry for him, so you decided to buy him food. You went over to him and paid for him. It's already happened to you several times that they blocked your card out of nowhere, so you couldn't pay, so you wanted to make him happy.

"You're the best! Thank you very much!" the young man in the straw hat was beaming with enthusiasm and before you knew it, he was hugging you. This moment felt very familiar to you, but you couldn't remember from where. You just smiled and waved it off that it was a small thing.

You originally thought you'd grab your food and head home, but you were so captivated by his cheerfulness that you decided to stay. You ate your meal together. You had already eaten your portion while he was still stuffing himself.

After the meal, he took you to see his friends. You were glad about that because you didn't have many friends or they lived far away. That's why you sometimes felt alone. He saved you from that loneliness and after eating, you went to his group.

You originally wanted to go home after eating, but something just pulled you towards him. All his friends accepted you and you were with them until the evening. You probably never laughed so well and you even felt a little sorry when you said goodbye to them.

When you finally got home, you were tired, but at the same time filled with positive energy that you didn't want to go to bed yet. You made yourself a warm drink and sat down on the couch with plans to watch a nice movie.

You prepared everything when you had the impression that something was missing. You got up and went to the bedroom where you wanted to take the teddy bear with you. Maybe it was childish, but you wanted him with you.

You went into the bedroom but you didn't see him anywhere. You looked under the duvet, the pillow and even under the bed, but he was nowhere to be found. You searched the rest of the bedroom as well, wondering where you could leave him. Instead of a movie, you ended up spending the evening looking for a teddy bear.

You were slowly starting to panic. If you couldn't find him, did that mean bad luck and nightmares would return? Will you go back to the bottom again? Will you be afraid to get out of bed in the morning again? You fell to your knees in a panic and held your head.

How could something like this even happen to you? Was it just a dream and you will wake up in the morning to a harsh reality? Was this just another nightmare? Just a figment of your troubled mind?

Strange footsteps interrupted you from your train of thought. It couldn't be your friend, she was long gone. Would they be thieves? You really couldn't care less. It would just suit your miserable situation.

"Why are you on the floor?" a familiar voice asked you, but it lacked the classic cheerfulness. Instead of it, he was full of worries. You looked at him with tear-filled eyes. You didn't even know you started crying.

“Whoa, why are you crying? Did someone hurt you?” he asked in surprise, looking like he was ready to beat up anyone who tried to harm you in any way.

“No,” you replied in a husky voice as you wiped away your tears and shook your head. At first, you were hesitant to confide in him, but it was your dream after all. That's why you told him about the teddy bear and your fears.

"I was already afraid that someone hurt you," he breathed and smiled. "You don't have to be afraid of anything. I'm Luffy, your sleep protector,” he replied as if it was obvious.

“Huh?” You didn't understand what he meant. “But that teddy bear…” you trailed off.

"That was me," he jumped into your speech proudly. "So I protected you in your dreams, but I wanted to protect you here too," he replied with satisfaction.

You watched him and tried to make sense of it when his hands stretched out and he pulled you to him like nothing. He hugged you and rubbed his cheek on your head.

"I like you a lot more when you're happy. Tears don't suit you,” he said while cuddling you.

Everything was so real and pleasant that you believed it. And if this was a dream, you never wanted to wake up. You looked at him and kissed him. You haven't felt this safe and loved in a long time.

Luffy Masterlist

Sleep Protector Masterlist

[niyoriix]

Bleach captains w/ Elysia S/O

TW: Cussing, suggestive(kinda??) OOC lol

Males only (no idea how to write for woman, even though I am one😞 also I didn't add some ALL of them since I had no CLUE how to write for them,I'll try to next time tho!!)

Shunsui

•Yall get along AMAZINGLY.

•Loves you so much, incredibly grateful that your his S/O.

•Loves your hair, it's so silky smooth and healthy, plays with it every chance he gets lol

•has probably written the most corny ass poetry about you 😭

•loves when you massage his head, makes him at peace.

•honestly just being with you is enough to make him feel incredibly peaceful.

•Kind of weird but, he likes how you smell.

•sometimes panics a little when he can't find you (nanao has to make him calm down by telling him you're just shopping lmao😭 he just needs to know your safe😞)

•Loves laying on your lap

Jushiro

•COUPLE GOALS OMG

•loves you sm😞

•Everyone loves you both, like match made in heaven🙏

•he sometimes gets rlly sad cuz he knows he won't be able to stay by your side for much longer due to his sickness, so he tries his best to always be with you.

•Acts like a total lost puppy without you.

•Like wandering around the garden with you and having mini tea dates with you.

•he sometimes feels bad when you have to take care of him, so you have to comfort him and tell him it's fine.

•Loves getting his hair combed by you, he finds it so soothing since your really soft with it.

•gives you the strangest but rlly thoughtfull gifts

•adores when you read to him.

Byakuya

• This is so Grumpy X sunshine coded lol

• tries to keep PDA to a minimum.

• Tea dates somewhat often

• gives you luxurious gifts ALOT

• readings/chatting dates are very often as well, this man can't get enough of your voice.

• he rlly loves it when you cook for him.

• and he's loves getting compliments from you, he's gets a whole ass ego boost.

• Loves seeing you with rukia, makes him shed a tear.

Mayuri

• when you guys got together people were incredibly concerned for you, also very jealous of Mayuri lmao

• Most likely has tried to experiment on you at least once.

• likes having you sit on his lap while he works, sometimes searching for validation from you.

•hes absolutely loves how you compliment him.

•he let's you paint his face with his face paint sometimes.

• builds you a lot of mini gadgets (for praise)

Shinji

•Most of the time he tries to flirt with you, you Normally the flirt back and it gets him red instead of you lol

• has done stuff to try and get you mad since you always look happy(he's just a curious lil guy)

•COMB HIS HAIR PLEASE..he LOVES it

•pink x yellow perfect match honestly

•gives you his hiori randomly (showing his dominance LMFAO)

•When you guys sleep together he fucking drools on you 😭 but he looks rlly cute sleeping so you let it slide..

•says a lot of stupidly cringy jokes

•but he does have good jokes DW

Gin

•This sly little bastard.. mf would be all up on you😭

•Randomly hugs you.

•Has you sit on his lap while he does his work

•Dirty jokes 24/7

•cant keep his hands to himself.

•likes cupping your face in his hands while staring into your eyes.

•lays on your lap when he's out of energy or he just finished his work

•play with his hair please!!

•kisses on your face till your ass red as a tomato.

Aizen (captain)

• he actually does genuinely love you, he knows your not naive and that you have your own secrets, he's okay with that.

•when you guys are both away and don't have time to see each other he'll send gin to check on you.

•He very often pats your head for comfort

•running his fingers through your long pink hair is so soothing for him.

•you both read books and have tea dates

•very thoughtful gifts

•He feels very comfortable being with you.

•but he knows he'll have to leave soon..

Urahara

• enamored with your existence.

•He absolutely adores you, he's such a simp.

•He let's you wear his hat

•praise him,compliment him, do anything around this man and he's putty in your hands.

•(those 2 kids I forgot the name of) they probably call you Mom or smth

•has made you multiple inventions just for the sake of being praised.

•Loves when you sit on his lap and yap to him about your day.

•Cuddles 24/7

•Kissies always, random hugs always, pats on the back always, random words of encouragement always.

Toshiro

•Loves you alot.

•Kinda insecure about his height since your much taller than him(please comfort him🙏)

•makes ice sculptures of you from time to time(he never shows you them due to his embarrassment..)

• he's actually gotten a lot more confident about his height since you guys started dating, you compliment his height and never joke about his height, he loves that.

•he tries to keep his composure but just can't,your just so pretty and cute..he always has to stop himself from getting to red.

•Kisses on your hands always👏👏

•loves how understanding you are and how patient you are with him.

•gets so embarrassed when you call him suga-suga or toshi-toshi.

•Best naps ever warm+cold perfection

This was SOOOO OOC 😭 also took awhile to make-

[cattimeswithjellie]

There seems to be a pervasive opinion that Scar is winning the MCYT Tumblr Sexyman contest due to a misunderstanding of what Tumblr Sexymen are, and that in fact Scar's fans believe he's just a regular sexyman. This is in fact not true at all. Scar's pathetic squishy wet-cat-standing-in-a-puddle-even-though-the-door-is-open credentials have long since been established in the fandom. (This contains spoilers for most things Scar has been in lately.)

In Hermitcraft Season 9, Scar won Statistics Roulette last week on "number of deaths" despite the fact that his statistics were reset only three or four months ago. Pathetic squish of a big-hatted man died more times in four months than Impulse or Grian did in ten. And because of the reset, it doesn't even count the twenty or so times Grian and Mumbo murdered him for fun on the very first day of the server!

In Double Life, Grian literally snagged him with a fishing pole and dragged him home with him in an ultimately futile effort to keep him from dying. Scar learned that Grian was cheating on him and passive-aggressively snarked about it to other people for two episodes, then baked cookies for Grian's secret soulmate.

In 100 Hours Hardcore, Grian and Joel basically formed a protection squad to keep Scar alive, to the point of coating the land under his base with beds to fall on and raiding a mansion for totems of undying. They still failed because Scar put apples in his off-hand instead of a totem and didn't notice his elytra was ready to break.

In Season 8, Scar was killed when a llama spat on him. His hat was unimaginably tiny, so tiny that he was forced to commission a huge model hat to wear on top of the tiny hat.

In Last Life, Scar got scammed out of one life, blackmailed out of two more lives, then lost another one by falling into a trap he'd been warned of two minutes earlier, even while people were yelling at him not to fall in the trap. He had no diamond armor so he wore a diamond-colored skin but painted abs on it as well so he would look more buff.

In Third Life, Scar attempted to get a monopoly on dark oak without checking to make sure there wasn't an entire dark oak forest on the other side of the server. He tried to get a monopoly on sand by putting his home in the middle of a large desert and yelling at people who came to get sand. He was the first player to die, blown up in a prank gone wrong.

In Season 7, Scar wouldn't even shave or put on pants until he wanted to be elected mayor. It may actually have been a fake beard. He had to terraform the entire shopping district twice when he lost the Turf War because the other side didn't actually like mycelium, they just liked causing problems for Scar.

In conclusion, yes Scar runs around without a shirt and has abs so ferocious that they show through his "diamond" armor, but he is not a Sexy Man. He is a sexyman, a real Onceler through and through, and he deserves his sweep. Vote Scar!

[hyunfilms]

blue side of the sky (lmh) | ten.

♡ spotify playlist | series masterlist

—summary:��waking up after 3 months with no recollection of your past, your friends do what they can to help you remember. except, they omit an important piece to the puzzle - afraid you would remember the heartbreak and hurt all over again.

—pairing: lee know x f. reader

—genre: (18+) exes to lovers, bestfriends to lovers au | fluff, angst, (eventual) smut

—word count: 5.5k

—chapter content/warnings: cussing/mature language, dancer lee know and dancer hyunjin (choreography video linked for inspo), implied jealousy, oc x minho are incredibly cute and share a lil dance moment heh, heated conversations/arguments, flashback at the end - lots and looots of crying/breaking down, jisung to the rescue 😔, worthy to note that this is an important chapter but it's not the only thing that occurred in their past..

—ON ROTATION: every kind of way - h.e.r | pray you catch me - beyoncé

"Uh, yeah. We'll start in about 5 minutes or so." You hear Minho's voice just as you turn the corner and arrive at the dance studio. You had closed up at the flower shop tonight, so you thought it would be the perfect time to watch Minho's class. He sent you the address and offered to come pick you up, but you told him you'd catch a ride over instead. Besides, his class would have been starting soon— you didn't want him to be late or missing for a class he was leading.

"You sure you're good?" San asks, just steps away from the studio. Minho catches sight of San escorting you near the door, and it instantly makes his heart sink.

So, San dropped you off.

Fucking great.

"Mhm. Thank you, Sannie." You look up at him with those eyes and it's so obvious San adores you. Who wouldn't?

"Let me know if you need me to pick you up? I'll be at the gym for awhile working out with a few friends."

"Okay." You wrap your arms around him and pull him in for a hug, and Minho has to divert this attention to something— anything— to prevent the irritation from increasing. "Hey." You tug on your bag strap as you walk in, already feeling a little out of place especially without any other familiar faces by your side.

"Hey." Minho gives you a tiny smile, brushing off his feelings about San. "You made it."

"I said I would. San was nice enough to drop me off."

"Yeah, I see." He clears his throat a bit.

"I'm definitely not dressed right." You nervously look down at your leggings and oversized crewneck before scanning the room again.

"It's alright." He lets out a small laugh. "You're just watching, anyway."

"Still." You chuckle and step inside, nearly hugging the wall with how many people are in attendance. You follow Minho to the far left corner in front of the room where you can peacefully watch without being in the way, setting your things down and taking a seat on the highchair.

"This gonna be okay for you? You can always move down if you think it's too loud or too crazy."

"Yeah, I'll be okay."

"Bathroom's just out the door and down to the left if you need it."

"Thanks."

"Don't make fun of me, okay?"

"I'll try not to." You chuckle as he starts to play his playlist, instructing for people to start stretching. It's nice to see Minho in this element because although you'd really like to remember this side of him, you can't. A few faces look your way with small smiles creeping up at the corner of their lips, making you wonder if they found you familiar. Surely, you'd been here with Jisung before— that's a given. 

When you look out at the center of the floor, Minho is talking to another individual. He's tall, with longer black hair nearly hitting his shoulders; a bucket hat on with a longsleeve and sweats. They look at you every now and then while Minho mutters something, followed by a nod from the unfamiliar individual. Then, he walks over to you, a small, toothless smile painted across his face.

"Hey Y/N, it's nice to see you."

"Hey." You say, doing a head tilt to observe him a little more.

"I'm Hyunjin. We've met when you used to visit before." His smile grows a bit. "It's nice to see your face again, glad to know you're doing well."

"Yeah, it's nice to see you too." You respond, unsure of how to move forward with Hyunjin. He seems nice though, and he seems fond of you.

"Hope you enjoy the class." He says once more before shutting off the music and calling attention from the class. They begin to explain what the choreography will be like for today— something quick, but fun and upbeat. Minho and Hyunjin start playing Bryson Tiller's On Top, demonstrating the choreo to the class. The class yells in excitement and it makes you smile, seeing how involved and supportive everyone gets. 

Class officially starts with Hyunjin and Minho breaking down the steps, allowing people to ask questions and get comfortable with the piece before practicing it a few times, then moving onto the next set. You even join in some laughs every now and then when Minho and Hyunjin start bickering, the rare moment Minho messes up his own choreography and catches himself with that look on his face.

He's cute. 

Very cute.

Especially, when he looks your way and throws a smile every now and then. You have to look away from time to time to stop yourself from feeling these feelings over your bestfriend because why did it feel so familiar, yet brand new? Situations like this can get awkward and weird quickly, but for you— it didn't feel that way at all.

It felt.. right. Like this is supposed to happen, like how things are supposed to unfold— somehow. 

After timeless practice and choreo clean up, the class is successfully dancing the piece flawlessly alongside with Minho and Hyunjin. Towards the end of class, they split them into different groups— allowing each group to do the piece together and freestyle a bit at the end. It's fun, and you love the atmosphere. You must've really enjoyed it back then. 

Too bad you aren't sure you could handle it anymore.

Once class is over, the class gathers their things and thank both Minho and Hyunjin for yet another fun piece. They wave and bid their farewells, with Hyunjin shortly following behind. He yells a quick goodbye to you with a wave, greeting Minho on his way out.

"How was it?" Minho brushes his hair back and throws his cap back on, sweat still dripping down his forehead profusely. He's trying to gather his breath as he walks towards you, wiping away at his forehead and neck.

"You looked really good out there." You smile. "You looked like you were having fun."

"That's good, right?"

"Pretty cool, I'd say." 

"Nice. At least you think so." You laugh.

"Did I use to come to class before?"

"Uh, yeah." Minho nods. "With Jisung. Chan and Seungmin would join too if they had time and were up for it."

"Sounds fun, and it looks really fun. I just don't think I could dance like that again. Wish I could."

"You can." You raise a brow. "Here." Minho holds his hand out for you to take. You give him a small smile before grabbing his hand, letting him lead you to the middle of the studio. "I'll teach you something simple, okay?" You chuckle.

"I-I don't know, Min."

"Trust me. You'll be okay. I promise."

"Okay, but don't laugh at me in the process. I'm probably very rusty and bad at this."

"Never." He smiles. "Alright." He says, standing next to you. He starts to show you the first 8-count, slowly guiding you through every step—patiently. He rehearses with you time and time again before teaching you another 8-count. It's a little more complex than the first set, but not anything incredibly difficult. You have to pause and ask Minho to repeat himself a bit, shyly laughing and apologizing at how many times you need to see him demonstrate. He makes you feel comfortable with the way he laughs along and tells you it's okay, reassuring that you're doing well— that you're hitting every step perfectly. Then, there's the other side that makes you incredibly shy and reserved again, especially when he asks you to do it for him while he watches. He finds it adorable how you cover your face and tell him 'no' repeatedly, only to finally be encouraged to step out of your comfort zone and do the steps on your own.

You feel good.

This feels different, but good.

But, at one point, you stumble on your own feet— causing you to trip. He catches you before you could take a nasty fall, holding onto your waist just as you slowly turn to look at him. He looks you in the eye and gives you a soft smile before helping you adjust your position.

"Woah." He laughs. "I got you. Are you okay?" He subconsciously brushes the hair away from your face and you feel the heat rise to your cheeks, unsure of where the sudden action came from.

"I am." You look up at him with those eyes. "Thank you." He chuckles as he lets you step aside and brush yourself down.

"Mhm. How about we do it one more time then call it a night?" You laugh.

"That sounds good with me." He starts to play Every Kind of Way by H.E.R, showing you the steps to the song before having you practice along with him to the beat. Sooner or later, you're doing the steps alongside of Minho for a couple of times before he praises you and calls it a night, just to make sure it doesn't overwork you and put too much on your body.

"You did really well, Y/N. See, I told you you'd be great."

"You're just saying that."

"No, I mean it." He looks at you and smiles. "How do you feel?"

"Tired? But, good. It was simple, and not too much."

"Good. You're a natural, anyway. My words don't mean shit." You laugh.

"You're the instructor here, of course they do." You give him a playful punch on the bicep. "Thanks for this. I really enjoyed it."

"Yeah?" He smiles. "That's good. Hope that means you'll be back to watch more."

"Yeah, I will." You grab your things as Minho continues to clean up around the studio. "I'll probably get a good sleep tonight."

"As you should." He grabs his keys as he takes a swig of water. "Ready to go? Wanna grab something on the way home?"

"I'm okay. Uncle Adrian made some food and stashed some away for me." You smile. "Thank you, though."

"Course. Let's go then, princess." You look up at him as he walks ahead, subtly biting your lip at the pet name. It rolls off his tongue so smoothly, it almost seems like this was a typical nickname for you— from him. 

During the ride home, you feel at ease with Minho to the point where it's a little sad you'll be leaving him soon. You've longed for his company for quite some time. Now that you finally have it, you don't really want to let go of it. He makes you laugh on the way home, cracking these jokes and showing off his dad humor to the fullest. Even though some of the jokes can be incredibly cringy to him, he loves hearing you laugh and giggle. He also loves the way you smile at him, the way your eyes sparkle every time you talk to him.

You're just beautiful.

You are love.

He hates that you have to part ways.

"Well." He parks the car in front of the house and looks at you. "Time for you to get some rest."

"Thanks again for today. I enjoyed it. It was a lot of fun." You smile at him and give him a small pinch on his arm. "I'll come by again."

"Good." He chuckles. "Have a good night, Y/N. Rest well."

"You too." You give him one last look and a wave before walking off. After watching you walk through the side door to get to your humble abode, Minho drives off to his next destination. He's in a good mood, but at the same time, he's not looking forward to his next interaction.

He knows he has to do this.

It needs to happen.

He parks his car in an open spot on the street, sighing to himself as he gathers his things and hops out the car. He's punching in the code to the lobby door before flying up the two flights of stairs. He heads down the familiar hallway, knocking on the door and anxiously standing aside as he waits for a response.

"Hey." Minho says as he stands in front of the door, watching as Kat smirks and tries to wrap her arms around him. He steps back though, and she confusingly looks at him when he gently pushes her arms back. "Sorry, I'm just here to talk. Do you have a quick minute?"

"Uh, yeah. I guess?" She says, gently closing the door behind her and stepping outside into the hallway. "What's up?" She crosses her arms as she eyes him up and down. Minho can tell she already knows where this is going, and there's really no way of sugarcoating the situation anyway.

It needs to happen.

Minho needs things to change.

"I, um—" Minho swallows the lump in his throat. He's just not good with this stuff in general, so he struggles. But, he manages to spit out the important part of this, which is: "—I don't think we should continue seeing each other anymore." She doesn't say anything for a moment to process whatever the fuck he just said, and the next response that comes out of her mouth is a pathetic little chuckle. Minho awkwardly shifts his weight from his left foot to his right foot, digging his hands into his pockets. 

"Of course." Her voice breaks off a bit towards the end of her response. 

"I'm sorry. I think you already knew where this was going though. I'm not sure what else to tell you." He probably looks even more like an asshole right now, especially with the way his expression doesn't really change; he's not doing much to explain, nor is he even trying with her in the first place. "This needed to happen."

"This needed to happen." She repeats as she crosses her arms and tears begin to fall down. She looks away to make it less obvious that she's starting to cry, but Minho catches on. She's hurt. Why wouldn't she be? He's a complete dick, and he has no one else to blame but himself for letting it get this far.

For ever letting it get this far.

"I'm sorry, Kat." He repeats because he doesn't know what else to do.

"Save it." She finally looks at him. "So, I was right." Minho just stupidly shrugs. "What's new, Minho? I don't know why I thought this time would be different."

"Kat." Minho lets out a sigh and shakes his head. "You and I both know we wouldn't work." He sighs again because truthfully, he did think they could at one point. He did try. He liked her.

But, he couldn't take it any further. It was just.. that.

"Okay, and then.. what? You're just gonna continue on with your sick little game and keep making her think that things are okay between you two? That your history is all pristine and angelic? Like you were always so fucking loyal—" Minho furrows his brows and lets out a little chuckle before shaking his head.

"We're not going there. Whatever goes on with Y/N, however this turns out— it doesn't concern you. As far as I know, it never did. At the end of the day, she's still my bestfriend and I need to prioritize her."

"Of course you do. That's your way of prioritizing her?" She rolls her eyes. "Goodluck with that Minho. She's gonna realize how much of a dick you actually are and want nothing to do with you." She gives him one last look before she's slamming the door in his face.

"I'm sorry." He repeats softly before turning on his heel and heading back down the hallway. He lets out a shaky breath of relief mixed with confusion, unsure of how to feel about everything because again— he's no good at this. And Kat is right, in a sense. You are eventually going to find out about all this shit, about how much of an asshole he was. Then, what? Would you want nothing to do with him? Would you stay away and keep your distance?

He's so dumb.

Why did he have to go and make all of this so fucking complicated? Now, he feels even worse. Because even if this page is closed, he still feels like he'll lose you.

And that's his fault.

Minho plops into the driver's seat, tempted to call you and ask if you've gotten settled at home. But, he stares at his phone screen for a good minute before he's shaking his head and setting his phone back down onto the middle console.

He should give you some breathing room. 

With that, he takes the drive home, letting the music in the background fill the emptiness. He's not sure if he has an appetite for anything. He'll probably drink some tea when he gets home and hop in the shower before laying in bed; staring mindlessly at the ceiling. Eventually, his thoughts will travel down memory lane, then they'll fix on you. Sooner or later, he'll find he only gets an hour or two of sleep [if he's lucky] before he needs to tackle another day.

Surprisingly when he arrives home, he doesn't see Chan or Seungmin's car out front. It's not uncommon for Chan to be home late, but Seungmin? He knows that boy would never miss an opportunity to hop in bed early. He sighs as he steps inside— tossing his shoes and keys aside before waddling into the kitchen to heat up some water. He can hear Jisung clicking away at his keyboard while throwing f-bombs and other curse words at his computer screen. Minho continues to dig around to see what's around and in the fridge, but still— he doesn't find himself getting hungry for anything.  

Once his water is done heating, he pours it into a mug and steeps his tea approximately for 4 minutes. He heads up the steps with his mug in hand, placing it down along with his things on his bedroom floor before walking to Jisung's room.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck!" Jisung's yelling turns into a whine. He kicks his head back onto his computer chair before letting out a deep sigh, body slumped into the chair.

"You okay?"

"Yeah. Just played such a shitty round." Jisung sighs.

"Where's Chan and Seungmo?"

"Chan's at the studio, and Seungmin's cousins are in town so he's out with them."

"Surprised he's out."

"Yeah, well." Jisung shrugs. "They don't come often." He turns to look at Minho. "How was Y/N during class today?"

"Uh, good." Minho shrugs a bit and chuckles. "I taught her something easy and slow afterwards. Then, I brought her home."

"Hm." Jisung hums as he eyes his bestfriend. Minho does that thing he does when he's trying to hide something [even though he's terrible at it in the first place]. He looks down at the floor and subtly bites on his bottom lip to prevent himself from smiling. "Okay, what is it?"

"Huh?" Minho chuckles a bit. "Nothing."

"Nothing?" Jisung repeats, already suspicious. 

"It was just a good class?"

"All of a sudden? Cause Y/N was there?"

"I didn't even say anything like that—" All of a sudden, Minho can tell Jisung is angry. Especially with the way he cuts him off and stands from his seat.

"What the hell are you trying to do here, dude?" Jisung angrily looks at him, and Minho knew this was coming one way or another. He knew it'd happen soon. 

He just didn't think it would be today. But alas, here we are.

Fuck.

"Okay, relax. I didn't even say anything. Classes are chill regardless." He repeats as he looks at Jisung, matching his energy. "Why are you getting angry?"

"Because! I told you. Don't do this. Don't make it harder on her. I asked for one thing from you and you couldn't even do that." Jisung spits back. 

"No one is doing anything! I let her watch class and I taught her something. Big fucking whoop."

"Right. You took her home after."

"And?"

"And? Don't act stupid."

"What do you want from me?" Minho pathetically laughs.

"I know you. I've known you for years and I know the way you get with Y/N. You're trying again, aren't you?"

"Because she fucking came to class and we hung out for a bit?" Minho rolls his eyes, then shakes his head. "Besides— even if I was, what is it to you?"

"What is it to me? You're joking, right?" Jisung pauses. "Have you forgotten about all the shit you pulled with Y/N?"

"Stop acting like I have because I haven't! Thanks to your wonderful ass reminders." Minho's tone raises a bit, and he adds a bit of sarcasm to his statement. "You can't come at me for being the only one in the wrong here when you're hiding all of this from her. If you were really worried about her, you should've came clean from the beginning."

"Oh, please. You have no idea what it was like to fucking see her crying over you!" Jisung yells back. "That's why I do it! You weren't there to comfort her and console her for days, Minho! Why? Because of all that shit with Kat! I know I can't protect her from everything but I'll be damned if I let history repeat itself. So, yeah, you might be right in a sense— maybe I should've told her from the beginning so she wouldn't have these expectations. But I thought of you, too. I didn't think you'd want to lose her that way either." 

"She's my bestfriend, too."

"Stop using that excuse. It's played out and it's old. You haven't treated her like that even after the accident happened. Get a fucking grip." Jisung lets out a small groan. "You know what she's been through, you know what you've done— yet, you're trying because she doesn't remember. You're so incredibly selfish." Jisung shakes his head. "Whatever though, you do you. If this gets all twisted and blown up at the wrong time, I'm putting that on you." Minho clenches his jaw for a moment while he looks at Jisung, but Jisung doesn't look like he's going to give this up anytime soon. 

So, Minho lets out a sigh before shrugging. "I made some stupid mistakes and I know I still do. I'm sorry. I'm sorry I started this mess and I'm sorry you had to see that because of me."

"Yeah, you should be. I don't know what I'll do if I see her hurt again, so please don't fuck this up any more than you already have. "Jisung sighs. He's upset, so he's saying whatever comes to mind first. But, the words hit Minho quick before Jisung can even apologize— cutting new, fresh wounds hearing his own bestfriend talk to him that way. 

"I'll say it one more time before I let this go. I know I fucked up, but I'm your bestfriend too. Sometimes, it'd be a little nice if you cut me some slack. I'm learning from my mistakes and I'm trying to do better. It doesn't happen overnight but I'm not completely hopeless, you know?" Minho turns towards his room and shuts the door, causing Jisung to groan into his hands.

"Fuck."

☁︎ FLASHBACK | SENIOR YEAR IN COLLEGE

It hadn't been too long before Minho was texting you, letting you know he was outside. You smiled to yourself and grabbed your jacket— tossing it on before shutting your door behind you. You waved when you saw his car, but you were quick to notice how unhappy Minho seemed in his car. He had his hood over his head, sitting in the driver's seat with a blank expression. You were excited to see him, but that faded once you realized he wasn't feeling the same way you were.

"Hey." You say softly as you step into the passenger's seat. "You okay?" He lets out a shaky breath before giving you a tiny, pursed smile.

"Yeah. Is it okay if we go for a quick drive somewhere?"

"Of course." You sit in the seat, uncomfortable with all the anxiety bubbling up in your stomach. Everything about Minho— his body language, his tone— says that things aren't okay, and you aren't sure if you're ready for what's about to happen.

Even though, you have an idea where this is going. Judging by how disconnected he's been from you lately.

Minho pulls up to a trail, lining the lake nearby campus. You and your friends have been here before, so it wasn't unfamiliar to you. What is unfamiliar is this Minho, how silent and cryptic he's being— how he's avoiding eye contact as much as possible.

But, he finally speaks. Even though it's a lousy:

"We should talk."

"Um, yeah. I think so. What's on your mind?" He sighs, but he still isn't making much eye contact with you even as you turn in your seat to face him. The silence is lethal, and you wish he would just come out and say it.

Why hold it off when it's clear where this is going?

"Babe." You say softly. "Babe, what is it, just—"

"I think we should break up." He finally looks at you, even when he doesn't feel enough courage to. There are tears lining his bottom lids, but they don't spill. He looks out the window again, finger brushing against his lip as he waits for your response.

The main reason why he immediately breaks eye contact is because he knows you'll cry. And you do. He hears you sniffing in the passenger seat, and he hears you holding back the sobs, the sounds that threaten to leave your throat. 

He hates this, but he thinks this needed to happen.

"Why?"

"Don't you think we should? Look at us. We've just been fighting lately. We've been distant. One moment, we're okay and then the next, we aren't. It's been a cycle and I know you're tired of it just as much as I am."

"No, you don't speak for me. I would never be tired of this. I wouldn't look at us as some kind of chore, Minho." Your tone raises a bit.

"See, that's what I'm talking about!"

"No, you don't know what the hell you're talking about! Because if you did, you'd sit through this tough phase with me and work it out instead of finding the easy way out." Silence. "All these years and you think this is how we go about it?" You scoff. "Why don't you be honest and tell me what the real reason is."

"That's the reason."

"It's not. It's Kat, isn't it?" Silence again. And this time, it shatters you— breaks you into bits and pieces more than you can imagine. Because even though he isn't saying anything, the silence is telling. "Please just tell me the truth." You say close to a whisper, your cries becoming heavier when reality starts to settle in.

This was it.

He was done.

Where did you go wrong?

"I'm sorry, Y/N. I just think it's the right thing to do." He isn't answering the question, and you don't know if that makes it worse.

Scratch that, it does.

He can't even tell you the truth.

"How long has it been?"

"What?" He looks at you again.

"How long has it been, Minho? With Kat. How long have you liked her?" He sighs and shrugs.

"I don't know? A couple of weeks or so?" It's fitting, the timeline is fitting. It could be close to a month when Minho has been distant. He tried, thinking this was all a silly little phase, a stupid infatuation. But it wasn't, and now he's to the point where he's too curious and can't even focus on fixing his relationship with you.

Such a shame, you think.

You tried to think of all the signs that you missed. The parties that he had gone to recently without you there, the small conversations in the library, the random texts. Hanging out with people on campus that he normally wasn't around. Jisung questioned it too, but didn't think too much of it.

Fuck. You are so stupid.

All these years and it wasn't enough— you weren't enough.

"I should've—" You pause as you start to cry into your hands. "Where did things even go wrong— I—"

"Y/N, please don't do that. We've just run our course and I think we have to accept—"

"Don't. You chose, we didn't just run our course." You groan. "I'm so stupid." A few tears drop when he continues to hear you sob in the seat next to him, but he quickly wipes it away and starts the car. He's just unsure of what else to do or say at this point. 

He's no good at this.

"I'm sorry." He says softly. "I'll take you back home, alright?" You don't say a word because you're exhausted from all of this already. Everything was wrong, everything felt wrong, uncomfortable, awkward. You hated this, and as much as you wanted to try and work this out—

There was nothing to work out.

You couldn't change his mind. He was set on it. 

You just wanted to get home.

And when you do finally get back, you simply unbuckle the seatbelt and swing the door open even as Minho calls for your name one last time with a pathetic 'please.' You don't even know if he said anything else, you don't care enough to figure it out. You just needed to get away from him.

As soon as you step back into your room, you feel yourself getting more lightheaded and sick to your stomach. You sit on the floor, back pressed against your cabinet as you shakily pressed Jisung's number on your phone. It rings twice before he's picking up, saying his hello's as brightly as he always does.

"Cielo! Yo! What's up?" You can't even get the words out. Instead, you let out a breath before you're silently sobbing into the phone. It's easy for Jisung to tell. Besides hearing your light whimpers, you haven't said anything since he picked up the call. His heart drops as he stops what he's doing and immediately begins to grab at his keys. "Hey, cielo. What's going on?"

"J-Jisung." You stutter in between cries. "Can you come over please?"

"I'm already hopping into my car." He says as dashes to his car, shutting the door and starting it up. "I'll be there really soon, okay? I'll be there." He repeats.

"Okay." You end the call and wipe away at your face. You tuck your knees to your chest, silently weeping as you wait for your bestfriend to arrive. Minho's words continue to repeat in your head, and you feel what's left of you slowly crumble into pieces. 

He wanted to see other people.

He didn't want this anymore.

He didn't want you anymore.

You try to rewind and think about every single moment you had shared with Minho— wondering where you went wrong and where you could've done better. None of this was your fault, but at the same time, everything felt like your fault.

Where could you have gone wrong?

"Cielo?" Through your silent cries, you hear Jisung scrambling outside of your door. He quickly shoves his shoes aside and swings the door open, his heart instantly dropping when he sees you crying on the floor. "Y/N, what's going on?" He worriedly asks as he drops down next to you, pulling you into his arms.

"He broke up with me."

"Minho?" Jisung furrows his brows, the anger rising within him. He knew Minho had been acting a little weird and distant lately, but he didn't think much of it. Maybe he should've, then he could've talked to him about what was going on in his mind. Find better ways to handle this.

But, you can never change someone's mind once they're set on it.

"It's Kat. He didn't say it, but I know it's her." Jisung sighs. Of course. It makes a little more sense. No wonder Kat had been around him a little more.  No wonder he seemed disconnected.

"I'm so sorry." He whispers onto your head as he continues to hold you close, letting you drench his shirt with your tears. "I'm so sorry he did this." He repeats. "Swear I'll kill him."

"No." You softly respond. "Don't."

"I hate that he hurt you." 

"H-He must really like her, doesn't he?" You pull back to look at Jisung and his heart shatters seeing you like this. The last time he's seen you this torn up was when your mom passed.

He knows you are hurting.

You hurt, and you hurt.

"I don't know, Y/N. I wish I knew more about this, but I'm in the dark as much as you are."

"He doesn't want me." Jisung lets out a breath before pulling you back towards him. "What did I do wrong?"

"Don't say that. Don't ever question yourself. None of this was your fault. He'll realize what a dumb fucking mistake this was." He rubs your arm. "He let go of someone great and that is his biggest loss."

"Jisung." You cry even harder and Jisung has no idea what else he could possibly do to alleviate the pain. He wishes he could take this way from you. "This hurts." You repeat. "This hurts so bad. Why didn't any of this matter to him? This hurts." You go on.

"I know. I'm sorry Y/N. I'm here." He hugs you tighter and rests his chin on the top of your head. "I'm here. We're gonna get you through this. You have me."

☁︎ END

⇢ read jisung's thoughts in 10.5: [cloudy days] here

♡ taglist: @ppiri-bahng @jihanlovic @meloncremesoda @sweetlikecherry @hoes4lino @skzddicted @skzho @edgaralienpoe @harui-zen @bestleeknowstan @havenwithleeknow @septicrebel @heesdazed @borahae-reads @yoontaethings @pearbunny @bintificreads @lukeys-giggle @ajxreads @everglowdaisies @allaboutsan @endzii23 @leeknowsramen @heres-your-ramen2000 @morningstardada @mal-lunar-28 @downbadreading @lilysophie @feelikecinderella @urmomma0324 @ddazed-lhs @djeniryuu @melanctton @i8rsie @maru-matt @sleepyleeji @taerifin @nattisbored @jisunglyricist @m111nho @drhsthl @nixtape-foryou @arminseas @guiltycoco @syuuji @sulkygyu @cadihyo @reianagarcia @leeknowyah @smndjdufuehr @dprkbyn @xxibreinaxx @mxnsxngie [bold = can’t tag 🥺]

[smnthvxe]

Chapter 1: The Past Echoes

Chapter 2 , last chapter

Readers point to view

The sun dipped below the horizon in Sumeru, painting the sky in hues of orange and pink as I closed the shop for the evening. The little coffee shop, once just a dream, had become my sanctuary, a place where laughter and the rich aroma of coffee beans filled the air. Yet, amidst the hustle and bustle, my heart harbored a quiet sorrow, a longing for the one who had once been my everything—Kunikuzushi.

Our life together seemed like a distant memory, a fleeting moment of happiness that had slipped through my fingers like grains of sand. I remembered his smile, the way his eyes lit up when he laughed, and the warmth of his touch. But those memories were overshadowed by the pain of his departure, the day he walked away, leaving me with nothing but silence and a heart full of unanswered questions.

"I wonder where you are now," I murmured to the empty room, allowing myself a moment of vulnerability. The walls of the coffee shop, adorned with pictures and trinkets from our travels, echoed back my solitude.

Nights were the hardest, when the world fell silent, and the weight of his absence felt unbearable. I would lie awake, staring at the ceiling, imagining scenarios where he would return, where he would explain why he left and we could start over. But as the dawn broke, reality would set in, and I'd brace myself for another day without him.

One evening, as the final rays of sunlight vanished, leaving the world in twilight, a figure appeared at the door of the coffee shop. My heart skipped a beat, a foolish part of me hoping against hope. But it wasn't him; it never was. Instead, it was a traveler, seeking refuge in the warmth of the shop and a cup of coffee to ease their journey.

"I heard this place serves the best coffee in Sumeru," A blond traveler remarked, breaking the silence.

" Yeah! Yeah! I bet her coffee can make Paimon jerk off all of the pain from that mean-rude-annoying hat guy!?" The little fairy spoke

I chuckled, pouring them a cup. "I hope it does little one."

As they settled down, the blond traveler—known as Aether shared tales of their adventures, of the people they'd met and the wonders they'd seen. And for a brief moment, I allowed their stories to transport me away from my sorrow, to remind me of the joy and beauty in the world. The world he promised to explore.

But as the night drew to a close and Aether thanked me for the hospitality, I was left alone once again with my thoughts. I wondered if Scaramouche ever thought of me, if he ever regretted leaving. The rational part of me knew it was futile to dwell on what could have been, but the heart is seldom ruled by reason.

I busied myself with cleaning up, trying to shake off the thought. "You need to move on," I whispered to myself, a mantra I repeated every day, yet found so hard to practice.

One day, curiosity got the better of me, and I ventured out, seeking any trace of him. I traveled to Inazuma, to the places we had once explored together, hoping to find closure, to finally let go of the past. But instead of peace, I found only echoes of our time together, reminders of the love we shared and the pain of his departure.

As I stood in front of our old home, now abandoned and falling into disrepair, tears filled my eyes. "Why did you leave, Scaramouche? Why did you break us?" I whispered, the questions lingering in the air, unanswered.

I realized then that I might never get the closure I sought, that some wounds take longer to heal, and some questions remain unanswered. But I also understood that I couldn't live in the shadow of his memory forever.

"Oh? Who you might be?"

A voice spoke from behind, i turned around to see a Kitsune-like woman with a shrine dress.

"I was.." you cutted " Visiting something"

"Visiting you mean that house over there? Sorry to say this dear but that house is already abandoned. "

She pointed to our shared home at the nearby hill.

"Yes, I know. I was just- recollecting some old memories"

By that she smirked and I bid my farewell, walking away.

With a heavy heart, I returned to Sumeru, to my coffee shop, my haven. I poured my soul into my work, creating a space filled with warmth and happiness, a stark contrast to the emptiness I felt inside.

As days turned into weeks, and weeks into months, I slowly began to rebuild my life. I found joy in the simple pleasures, in the smiles of my customers, and also I became good friends with Aether, he would often visit my shop to drink coffee and share his adventures with me. My interest perked up as he said something about fighting a false god along with Buer. You were always a fan of sumeru's Archon that's why you choose to move there.

There are some days where I close the shop, drinking bitter coffee (which reminds you of Scaramouche) alone reflecting every moment I have spent with him.

And though I may never fully understand why he left, I've come to accept that some chapters in our lives must come to an end, to make way for new beginnings. So, I continue to move forward, one day at a time, carrying the lessons of the past and the hope for a brighter future.

In the quiet moments, when the world slows down, and I find myself lost in thought, I whisper a silent wish for Scaramouche, wherever he may be. "I hope you've found your peace," I say, letting my words drift into the ether, a final goodbye to a love that once was. But.. If ever he'll come back ...

A/N : hehe kinda rushed lmao

(You may notice some grammatical errors cus yk im kinda writing this and studying for our exam)

[hezzabeth]

Everyone who lived on Baker Street had come out from the fog to eat Nanni’s dinner. This made perfect sense; Nanni was one of the few people in the park who knew how to cook meals using ingredients and an oven.

When the park was still open, Revati's home was a coffee shop called the “Mad Hatter Teaparty.” The walls were painted in eye-watering clashing shades of neon pink and green. The light fixtures hanging from the ceiling were all giant velvet top hats. The booths were giant flower teacups with tiny chairs and tables inside.

"Was there some sort of drug in the pineapple?" Revati heard Brigadeiro ask. Revati just ignored him and instead walked past each of the booths, collecting tributes; nobody ate Nanni’s for free.

The Paprikas sat in the blue and gold teacup, their neon orange hair clashing with the paint. The Paprikas were two brothers and their sister who had found themselves trapped in the park as children. Their parents had been vaporized by a towel-warming rack. Now they were in their mid-twenties and worked for Revati as hired muscle for free dinners.

"Who's the new guy? He's actually clean and good-looking," the youngest brother Brie asked Revati. "His name is Brigadeiro Bun; he's an off-world tourist who stupidly went to the wasteland," Revati said. "I was trying to find crystal roses," Brigadeiro smiled helpfully.

"Bridgadeiro huh? So your parents were Goup worshippers then?" The sister, Juniper, asked curiously. Revati vaguely knew that Goupism was a popular religion on other colonies. Over a thousand years ago, there was once a woman who apparently traveled the earth gathering the best health practices needed to be “happy.” "A white woman, and she stole most of her ideas from our eastern religions," Amma, who was a staunch atheist, had snapped with annoyance when Revati asked her to explain the Paprika siblings' religion. Still, despite her thievery, at some point, she had become a god. They firmly believed in things such as “psychic vampires” and “color-balancing therapy.” They also all had peculiar food-related names, mainly because the goddess had named her daughter Apple.

"Yes, they were. They insisted on coming here for a Wellness Day holiday," the eldest brother, Croquette, growled. "I miss mama's Wellness Day Avocado and chocolate cookies," Juniper sighed sadly. "It's not the same, but here I have a couple of factory-made ones in my pocket," Brigadeiro said, crawling into the booth. The Paprika siblings gasped with astonishment as he pulled a packet of cookies wrapped in gold paper out of his jumpsuit's gigantic pocket. "They got a bit crushed when I was kidnapped, but they're still good," he said, opening the package and placing it on the table. The Paprika siblings stared at the cookies, their mouths slack with shock. Croquette slowly shook his head, completely snatched the package, and began to serve the crushed crumbs amongst his siblings. "You need to keep this one forever," Juniper said firmly, and Revati just shook her head, moving onto the next table.

The next table consisted of the elderly Gupta couple. "You adopted another kid? If you want more water for him, we want more dried apples," Mrs. Gupta said, a small scowl on her wizened face. It was Mr. Gupta who had figured out how to gather and purify water from the atmosphere. It was Mrs. Gupta who managed and recorded all the water they collected, rolling it out like a tyrannical dictator. "Fine, one extra package of dried apples per week," Revati said before swishing grandly onwards.

Amma was sitting in the pink cup, her new partner Dusk Brisbane. Dusk Brisbane was a teacher from Titan, who, along with their students on a field trip, found themselves stuck in the park. Like all people from Titan, Dusk had inherited the ability to rapidly change biological genders. Titan had also inherited a name that meant a time of day and a gender. Dusk’s remaining students were sitting with Dityaa on a large cat-shaped sofa. When the invasion began, there were twenty-three of them. Now there were only five nineteen-year-olds left. Dityaa was holding court over all of them, sitting on a couch shaped like a giant grinning beast. "Your sister said you had an interesting night," Amma remarked as Revati sat down next to her. Nanni had laid out a plate of aloo mushroom curry. Revati picked up a piece of hardtack and dipped it into the sauce, refusing to talk. "So you're not even going to bother telling your side of the story?" Amma asked as Revati swallowed. Nanni always moaned that her cooking was so much better before the war. Years ago, Nanni worked in the city as a professional meal prepper for wealthy families that wanted to eat real organic food.

Nanni was proud of her ability to create one hundred percent sand-free meals using the most exotic ingredients. Nanni would bemoan to everyone that her meals were now a mess, that her spices were too basic, and that she never had enough salt. Revati, however, who had never tried anything else, thought her food was delicious. "I'm hungry! Besides, what's the point in telling my side? I'm sure Dityaa's story was more enthralling," Revati replied. "Every story needs both sides and the truth," Dusk remarked. As they spoke, their features shifted from a feminine middle-aged woman's face to a man's face with a beard. "You're not my creative writing teacher, and you're not my parent," Revati pointed out.

Revati knew deep down she didn’t dislike Dusk; Dusk was a perfectly decent person. Not to mention Amma had been so lonely until Dusk offered to help her teach the feral children a year ago. Still, it was a lot to get used to.

“True, but your mother did ask you a question, and I think she deserves an answer," Dusk replied in that same mild diplomatic voice. Revati deliberately ate another mouthful of curry before wiping her mouth with the sleeve of her dress. "Dityaa got attacked by some lady at the ball; the chutiya had A.I. eye implants! They must have switched on somehow," Revati explained. "Mind your mouth, Revati! There will be no swearing at the dinner table," Amma scolded her. "Her implants switched on? That's so odd; one of my students had AI tastebuds, but they stopped working the second we walked into the park," Dusk remarked, their face shifting back into a woman's as they glanced at one of their students. The student in question, Basil Paris, was sitting next to Dityaa, licking their hand. Dusk was right; in order to create true "historical authenticity," the park was surrounded by massive mirrors. The volcanic Martian glass blocked the "AI" life stream. "And what did you do?" Amma asked in a quiet, nervous voice. "I threw a glass of vodka at her face, and her eyes fried up," Revati replied.

"Can you take the children's sign language lesson tomorrow morning? I need to check the mirrors around the walls," Amma said to Dusk.

"Of course," Dusk replied, and Revati rolled her eyes.

"You don't need to do anything, Amma! I'm the elected leader of Baker Street! This is my job," Revati said firmly.

"You're only seventeen!" Amma protested.

"Almost everyone voted for me! Well, apart from Mrs. Gupta, who voted for herself," Revati said, and mother sighed.

"Fine! But you're not going to leave well after the sun rises, and you're not taking Cora and Laila! You can take Vivienne and Jay Jr.," Mother replied firmly.

Nine minutes past midnight.

Revati's eyes snapped open in the blue-glowing darkness. Slowly, she sat up, taking in the familiar shapes of the kitchen's walk-in freezer. Dityaa was sleeping next to her on the souvenir pillows Amma had sewn together into a makeshift bed. In the corner, the feral children slept together in a nest made of old soft toys. Nanni was snoring on one of the plastic shelves that had long ago stored ice cream. Amma insisted on them all sleeping behind the massive metal doors. To anyone who lived near any other planet, it would have been freezing, but Martians had evolved to withstand the cold.

Revati stood up and glanced down at Dityaa. Dityaa had worn her new dress to bed, ignoring the stains. The blood on her dress looked shiny black, her face shadowy blue. She looked just like Princess Savitri in the family book of fairy tales. Revati, on the other hand, had changed into her pajamas, which consisted of a long-sleeved men's shirt three sizes too big. The red fabric hung to her knees, and the words "Olde Landon Halloweenfest 3544" had been printed across the front. Revati picked up her blanket, draping it around her shoulders. Sleep wasn't going to return any time soon. Revati reached underneath her part of the mattress until she found the stories.

Outside the metal doors, Revati could hear distant voices, and carefully she slid the door open. Amma and Dusk were sitting together on the cat-shaped couch, murmuring to each other over tea.

"I don't see how they could know..." Amma began, and then she trailed off, spotting Revati.

"Insomnia again?" She asked gently, and Revati nodded, walking past the two of them.

"If you're going up to the greenhouse, be quiet; I made a bed for the boy up there," Mother replied.

"Really, Amma? You couldn't give him a bed?" Revati asked, opening the front door.

"He would freeze in the fridge, and he said he liked plants," Mother replied.

Outside, the fog was still shifting, and Revati moved ten spaces to the right.

"Evening, boss," Juniper's voice called, and she suddenly appeared holding a jar filled with glowing mushrooms.

"Any problems?" Revati asked.

"Nope, it's been a pretty quiet night!" Juniper said.

"Good, make sure your brother takes over your shift! We don't want you fainting from sleep deprivation again," Revati replied.

[lou-struck]

The Perfect One

Shinsuke Kita x reader

~You visit Kita at his Farmers Market booth and realize that he has closed up early to run an important errand.

WC: 1.6k

The market hasn’t even been open for thirty minutes, but already the streets are packed full of cars; your eyes scan the packed street, searching for even the tightest parking spot.

Today you plan to surprise your boyfriend at his farmer’s market stand, give him some much-needed quality time, and take him out for a lunch date after he closes up shop, Which, according to your calculations, should be selling out in an hour or so…

Shinsuke Kita’s Rice stand is one of the most popular booths due to the high quality of his product and the fact that most vendors and patrons have fallen head over heels for the handsome rice farmer.

And how could they not?

Shinsuke’s honest charm and hardworking demeanor are enough to make anyone fall in love with him. But out of everyone, he chooses to be with you because he loves you just as much as you love him.

And this silly feeling called love is what compelled you to wake up early on a Saturday morning fueled with nothing but the promise of a large cup of coffee and some freshly baked scones with raspberry jelly once you find him.

Your car creeps through the street at a snail’s pace as you spot a light blue truck pulling out from a parking spot on the corner. As you approach, you notice that it looks like a tight fit, but you squeeze into it the best you can. Pulling forward, you hear the overly dramatic sound of your front bumper hitting the curb, but as you reverse slightly and put the car in the park, you shake it off, slipping out of the driver’s seat and onto the pavement. 

Rays of sun hit your skin through the layer of cloudy overcast as you walk, making the short trip to the center of the market rather pleasant as you pass people carrying baskets overflowing with fresh produce, baked goods, handcrafted soaps, and other goods.

Stands to sparkle with racks of handmade jewelry and blown glass trinkets that vie for your attention as you walk; if you haven’t been here before, you would’ve lost yourself amongst the crowd, but luckily, you know your way around fairly well by now.

As you get closer to your boyfriend’s usual spot, a few produce vendors you recognize from the weeks before. Despite the many customers at their stalls, they still give you a friendly wave as you walk; off in the distance, you see the edge of the hand-painted sign outside of Shinsuke’s booth, the sign the two of your painted together months ago. 

Memories of that wine-stained night bring a giddy smile to your chapstick lips as you quicken your pace, springing over a spilled cone of shaved ice that someone must’ve just dropped. 

You creep slowly around the corner, ready to scare. Instead of his soft smile and strong form, behind the register rests a generic sign.

Be back in 30 minutes…

That’s strange; even with his cashbox secured, Kita would never just leave his booth unattended for such a long time. You can’t help but wonder where he has gone.

Is he not feeling well?

Is he in the bathroom?

Whatever the answer may be, you choose to go sit at his stall to watch it until he gets back. You would hate for someone to try and steal things from him.

The next stand over, a friendly older woman peeks out from behind a massive pile of unshucked corn on the cob and gives you the warmest smile you have received all week. She is a longtime friend of Kita’s grandmother and almost always slips you one of her homemade apple tarts. Her floppy sun hat protects her lovingly aged skin from the harsh rays of the overcast sky. 

“Oh, hello, My Dear,” she calls in her soft voice. “What brings you to the market so early?” 

“Good morning,” you smile, watching fondly as her little leopard-printed cane carries her closer to you. I came to surprise Shinsuke, but it seems he went off somewhere.”

“Oh, don’t worry about him, Dear; he’ll be right back.” she laughs. There is a mischievous twinkle in her eye as she looks at you. “But I told that sweet boy I would watch his stall.”

“An errand?” you ask. “Is he feeling alright? It is so unlike him to just leave the stall”.

She just smiles knowingly. “He is just fine dear, but if you would like to check on him, head to the stalls near the main street while I hold down the fort.”

“Oh, thank you so much,” you smile. “I’ll head over there now.” With a final wave, you turn the corner and leave the stall in her capable hands.

It’s only a quick walk to the main street, but the cluster of booths is different from the usual produce stalls you are familiar with. It only takes a little sniff of the fresh air to figure out that Main Street is where all the flower vendors set up shop to sell their wonderfully constructed bouquets of flowers. Sunflowers, lilts, Peonies, and Daisies galore in every color you can think of rest in large buckets of water reaching upwards toward the light.

You wander past each stall, enchanted by the sweet smells and vibrant petals, until you hear a familiar voice speaking to one of the vendors.

“Thank you for taking the time to help me out with this. All of these are breathtaking, but I want to find the right one.” Your boyfriend says, aching down and smelling a large pink Lilly.

“Is there a particular combination you are looking for?” the vendor says, a light pink blush on their cheeks, no doubt having fallen victim to his natural charm.

“Not a combination in general; I just want a Bouquet that looks like them.” he hums, placing his hand under his chin in thought.

The vendor turns their head to the side. “How so?”

“The peonies with the iris are so fun and vibrant, just like Y/n, but then the Tulips with eucalyptus, baby’s breath, and Callalilles look so elegant and beautiful it makes me wonder if they could see themselves in those as well.”

“Young man, if everyone put as much thought into a bouquet of flowers as you did, the would be a much better place,” they say honestly. “I am sure whatever one you choose, your partner will love, especially with you being such a romantic.”

“I don’t know if I would consider myself a romantic; I just want y/n to have a nice bouquet of flowers today,” he says simply. Even though he has his back to you, you see the way the back of his neck flushes at the vendor’s words. 

Is he really putting all this thought into a bouquet for you? 

A part of you feels guilty for eavesdropping on him, but really, your heart is fluttering out of control at such a romantic gesture. You turn your back and dart quickly behind a tent that shields you from his view. 

Just as you think you are in the clear, you hear a pleasant voice call out from behind out. “It looks like you caught me.” Your breath hitches; Kita has always been too good at picking up those little details, especially when it comes to you.

“I-i’m sorry,’ you stammer, turning around to face him, “I just wanted to surprise you, and I ended up ruining yours.”

His coffee-colored gaze softens as he takes in every inch of your flustered features as if they were a work of art. “You didn’t ruin anything, quite the opposite, actually.”

You blink as you take in his words; how exactly is you ruining his floral surprise a good thing?

“How so?”

He chuckles to himself, “Because now we can pick out the flowers together.” He says it so simply as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. Your knees feel weak as he continues, “I want to know what you like so that I can surprise you in the future. You deserve a life full of happy surprises.”

Boom, there goes your heart, and blood rushes to your cheeks so quickly that your hands fly to cover your face from the world.

“Flustered, are we?” he laughs softly, removing your hands from your face and tilting up your chin with the utmost care. 

Playfully you stick your tongue out at him with an endearing boldness, “Sometimes I think you’re too good at this. Is there someone else you practice on?”

He rolls his eyes as a characteristic snort escapes his lips. “Only you, My Love. Do I need to prove it to you?”

“Absolutely,” you tease, letting your gaze fall from his sparkling eyes and onto his soft lips. They curve upward knowingly before they meet yours in a tender kiss. He holds you gently as if you are one of the many flowers in the surrounding booths. 

You’re breathless, but you want more; Kita’s touch, combined with the sweet floral fragrance, is dizzying and makes you forget about the hundreds of people passing by on the other side of the tented wall. 

He pulls away with a tenderness that makes you feel like you are falling in love over and over again. The sweetest look in his eyes as he guides you back towards the flower stalls and the rows and rows of bouquets, so that the two of you can pick out the perfect one together.

Tagging: @enchantedforest-network

[mafufuu]

Okayokayokay so wait who is the redhead in ur pfp /infodump invite

alright here we go

the redhead in my icon is fuuta kajiyama from the milgram project! milgram is an experimental music project thing about ten prisoners, all responsible for "murder" {each of them have some form of plausible deniability} and the project is about judging them and prison systems and stuff and its really cool!! its split up into three trials, in each, each character has a song with lyrics and a music video giving clues about their crime, a voice drama where the guard interrogates them, and they each receive a verdict which the fans vote, forgiven or unforgiven {idk what happens when its 50-50 that has yet to happen on the final voting}

cw bullying, harassment, stalking {?}

fuuta is, as of trial one, what i would describe to be kind of an asshole. hes a twenty year old college student {does relate to the assholery to an extent i suppose} with a tough guy persona and unhealthy relationships with his family {his mom left, he doesnt have contact with his sister, and he considers his dad to be a wimp}. hes lonely and desperately craves companionship, so he turns to the internet. he takes up using twitter and makes friends on there, they spend time with one another through what he considers justice, whether or not it is actually justified could be debatable, but it is what others would call cancelling and/or doxxing.

fuuta considers this heroic, believing he is standing up for what is right, however he gradually loses his ways. it stops being justice and starts being blindsighted bullying. he goes as far to cyberbully a middle school girl for recreating a hat from a shop. he figures out where she lives and shares it online. at some point he realizes what he is doing is wrong and stops, but even if he told his "friends" to also cease this, they did not, and the girl ends up dead.

the frame in my icon is him realizing that there is some real person's blood on his hands, and it hurts. presumably his "friends" then went after him for bullying her, despite their role in the encounter. he is overwhelmed with guilt but refuses to admit it. then he gets sent to milgram.

in trial one, he is not forgiven for his actions. one of the other prisoners {kotoko yuzuriha} attacks those voted "guilty" {en translation uses innocent/guilty instead of forgiven/unforgiven and sometimes its easier to word the former pair} because she believes this is right. {theyre really two sides of the same coin but only fuuta really acknowledges} when we see him in trial two, he is a mess. he is anxious and afraid, injured too, he only possesses vision in one eye now. his façade is fully dropped. he is now being fully aware, or at least acting guiltier.

in his second music video, the encouragement from his "friends" is more clearly shown. we can hear ensemble vocals and clapping. from it we can see that the guilt is getting to him, he is hearing the voices of the audience {the characters don't necessarily know they're being judged by multiple people, there is one guard, es, who is an audience insert to a certain extent .} at the end of it, as he is burned alive like how his victim was pictured, he spray painted, like the imagery shown for the people he bullied, by the warden of the prison.

he is voted forgiven for his conscience, and i do not know when trial three is coming out so thats some of what has happened now. fun fact: fuuta is insecure about his appearance. we can see he consistently wears baggy clothing and layers, and he wears a face mask to cover his crooked teeth in trial one. in his first music video, we can see an idealized version of him, who is taller and has straighter teeth. the characters are also paired up for their themes with their crimes, and his pair, muu kusunoki, is notably considered pretty and was asked to be a model at least once, and the pairs are usually somewhat opposites.

thank you for the ask !! sorry this is a lot i think abt this guy quite abit

[hezuart]

I’m Glad to hear your Opinions and that you Agreed about Blitz and Striker could have been interesting Dynamic!^^ There’s One More thing I want to Ask, have you ever thought about Re-Designing The Helluva Boss Characters? seen your Designs before and they are Amazing!>w<

I kinda tried a while back as just mere edits but I'm not really happy with them because they're not very original (Angel's was designed by someone else and I think Niffty's was too but i couldnt find the original artist)

Actually would straight up remove Husk's wings. He has no need for those. He's a bull in a china shop. He'd knock over so many alcohol bottles with those things in his tiny cramped bar... Would probably remove his top hat too, he's not the type to wear one of those. I'd also change his body shape. He'd be chubbier? Not too much, but definitely not lengthy. Alastor would be less red. Niffty would look more like a housewife. Angel's fingerless black gloves are definitely more "sexy" than the mismatched bright pink and white he has in his redesign. Vaggie I'd like to keep her pastel gothic look, but she needs antennae instead of a bow, and her hair should look more like moth wings. I think its okay for them all to share a little bit of red, but you gotta be careful about the shades and the amount you use. I'll probably revisit a potential redesign someday.

Striker probably just wouldn't be the same character as an antihero. Theoretically, he could be, if Viv didn't paint the top baddies of hell as good people. (Stolas, Asmodeus, Lucifer, Beezle, technically Alastor) If we had actual complex sins or actual, well... demons. That held evil values instead of basically just being abused party people, then Striker absolutely would be an anti hero for killing the rich overlords that suppress imp kind and cater towards human sinners.

I think that already appears to be the case in Hazbin Hotel, as shown with Alastor, Niffty, Angel, and Husker. They turned into animalistic demons with sharp teeth and powers. Which, again, I really need to look into religious texts more, but it was my understanding that in actual bible lore humans didn't turn into demons or angels when they are sent to heaven or hell. They're just as they are, allowed to live amongst beings better than them. You don't get a halo or wings, or a tail or horn. Those were reserved for angels, fallen angels, demons, and hellborns. Regardless, that's not the case for Vivziepop's Hell. Honestly from the pilot it looks like you immediately turn into a demon as soon as you die and teleport to Hell.

[smurphyse]

Lead Paint & Salt Air | Spencer Reid

Smurph's Masterlist | Series Masterlist

Part 1 of Routine Maintenance

Warnings: mentions of Diana's death (not explicit), mini-PTSD flashback for Spencer, Spencer's horny and lonely, also cranky.

Summary: After two years on the road, Spencer breaks down in Thunderbird, California. In only a few hours he meets some of the most eclectic townspeople of his life when all he wants is some peace and quiet.

(Note: Because of the nature of this fic, being inspired by one of my favorite bands, the chapters will be a bit longer than usual to fit with the vibe of the song they're named after <3)

After he was released from Milburn, Spencer’s mother passed in her sleep. It was blessedly quick and painless for her, and though it tore him apart he was grateful at least for that. Finally, Spencer had nothing pressing tying him to D.C., and he followed Gideon’s lead so many years later. Buying a Jeep and taking to the road, Spencer lived out of a suitcase as he’d done for years.

Instead of searching for serial killers, he began a long search for himself.

For two years now, he’d asked miles of pavement and yellow dashed paint who he was. He questioned the night sky and the morning sun over countless towns and cities. He’d even asked the mountaintops and hillsides, and yet he had found no answer.

Spencer started drinking again. It seemed the thing to do in shitty motel rooms and dive bars, putting on a few pounds with each greasy dish that accompanied his bourbon. The bags under his eyes were no longer from a lack of sleep - though he still didn’t get much because of the nightmares - but instead they stained his skin from the exhaustion of that ever-present question in his mind.

Is this who I am now?

Am I broken? Am I beyond salvation? Am I as worthless and lonely as I feel every single fucking day? 

It all started when he tried to strangle a pregnant Cat Adams in an interrogation room. He slid down the cold concrete wall in a prison too much like the one he’d been released from when it first erupted through his brain like a bullet. One question led to another… and another and another, but they always started with that one.

Is this who I am now?

At this point, he was sure he’d never find the answer. Instead, he’d contented himself with wandering, exploring all that America currently had to offer. One day he’d move internationally, maybe go back to Paris where he’d spent time with his mother.

He’d happened upon Thunderbird, California early that morning. Worried he was lost forever in the Cali wilderness, Spencer followed the rising sun through winding forest roads as it streamed through the trees. After a few hours cautiously eyeing the offshutes of paths and trails, he finally burst into civilization. 

It was a tiny beach town. A handful of buildings littered the main street, string lights connecting them along with the wind-blown piles of sand scattering along the road. Houses haphazardly were plopped along the varying hills that hid it from the outside world, but it was beautiful.

The shops on the main strip were brightly painted, handmade signs reading Billy’s Bait and Go!, Sue Says Sew, and Gil’s Grocery proudly proclaiming strangely named stores that gave little question for what they did to service the town. Spencer had yet to spot a normal chair on the porches outside- they were all either beach chairs or porch swings swaying in the light breeze. 

Sunday was the Fourth of July, and the town was in full patriotic mode. Red, white, and blue windmills and flags sprung up from nearly every lawn. A fireworks stand was smack dab in the middle of a roundabout in the center of town, with a few people hurrying across the curved road to it. A man in an oversized Uncle Sam hat handed out sparklers to the kids, smiling wider than the sun.

Spencer spent the morning in the town diner, Bean There, looking out the large window as the small town came to life. It was apparently known for its local coffee. Spencer had to admit it was good, on the top ten list he’d tried in his travels. Though the best coffee had been found in a China Town shop in lower Indiana, which he was loath to admit. 

He sat in a booth in the corner, people watching as the crowds picked up and petered out. All sorts of people filtered through the door as they used the diner as a waystation before heading out to the rest of their days. In a town of less than five hundred, any outsider was noticed immediately, and Spencer was no different. Nearly every person who came in eyeballed his Jeep on the way through the door and squinted at Spencer before ordering. He didn’t mind, he was used to being the outsider, had been his whole life. 

He picked at a plate of waffles and bacon, holding a book loosely in one hand as he enjoyed the morning sunlight through the window. His waitress, Michelle, had given him a side-eye after his first hour, unsure what to make of him. He simply tipped her early, going with a twenty-five percent tip of what he’d already ordered. She was much more amenable after that, mostly leaving him alone but checking in periodically with a smile and a refill. 

His hair was still long. He had refused to cut it, even after JJ's insistence over video chats. He liked it, especially liked these new trends of men finally getting to put their hair in a bun. He liked the look, and had been enamored with the Nordic styles he read of in his youth, braiding and intricate knots decorated with silver and beads. He missed those days in Earth’s history.

He wore a pair of jeans and a purple flannel shirt with his boots. Though he often preferred suits, this style had appealed to him greatly in his early days on the road. He’d been called a “hipster” more times than he cared to admit, but he felt strong in his fashion choices. He knew he looked good, and Spencer had long since gotten used to the beard. Shaving on the road was hard and without the dress code constrictions of the BAU, he was happy to grow it out.

“Hey, Honey!” Michelle chuckled from behind the counter as the front door swung open. It chimed in greeting as two people stepped through and into the cool air-conditioned building. Spencer tried not to stare at the woman, but he’d spent a good long time on the road and it had been a while… and she was gorgeous.

Her hair poofed around her shoulders, eyes alight with an animated excitement. Copper toned muscles peeked out of a tank top and tight jeans, a red flannel tied around her hips as she sauntered into the diner. She had her arm looped around an older man’s waist, who hugged her tightly back before letting go as they approached the counter.

He had a clearly visible Ranger tattoo on his bicep, both of which were bigger than Spencer’s head. With his slicked back salt and pepper curls and giant frame, Spencer knew he wanted nothing to do with being on that man’s bad side.

“Mornin’, Chelle,” she smiled, easing into the stool across from the waitress. The man stood behind her with his hands on her shoulders, looking curiously around the diner as many patrons had that morning. His gaze landed on Spencer, who quickly glanced out the window to avoid his hard stare. "How's it going?"

“Oh, you know how it goes- a flirt here, a proposal there,” Michelle jokingly lamented as she pulled two mugs out from under the bar. She snagged the carafe from the coffee maker and filled them before sliding them across the counter.

“Oof,” the man chuckled heartily, finally tearing his dark eyes from Spencer and to her. “Sounds exhausting.”

“You joke all you want, Rose Delgado,” Michelle scolded, her playful smirk turning to a hard glare. She pointed at him, “I am a catch and everyone here knows it.”

Rose held up his hands in defeat, “My bad, Chelle. You’re absolutely right. If I were a few years younger I’d try for your hand too.”

“Who says you can’t?” she quipped with a wink, and Rose went bright red.

He dragged an awkward hand across the back of his neck and laughed, "Huh, well, I think Mattie May might have a problem with that."

The women laughed along with him, and Michelle tapped the counter lightly with her fingers, "I'll put your usual in. Extra powdered sugar, right, Honey?"

The girl referred to now forever in Spencer's brain as Honey nodded, licking her lips. "It's gonna be a long day, Chelle. Give me as much coke as you got."

Rose smacked the top of her head in jest, and Honey looked up to stick her tongue out at him. She glanced over at Spencer as he slid out of the booth, and even as he made his way over to the counter to pay she never averted her gaze. A gold ring was tied to a string necklace around her neck, and it was all Spencer had not to follow it to where the pendant rested between her boobs.

"You drive that Jeep outside?" Rose grumbled as he approached. Michelle came back up to the counter as Spencer tugged his wallet out of his pocket. 

He handed her more than enough for his meal and another tip, then nodded, "Yeah, that's mine."

"Your axle is about to crack. You should get it looked at."

"I'll do that," Spencer replied politely. He was used to strangers telling him things he didn't really need to do by now. They often took one look at him and deemed him an academic, which wasn't wrong, but to them it usually meant he couldn't take care of things himself. 

"Here's your change, baby," Michelle interrupted, reaching across the counter with a ten in one hand and a to-go cup of joe in the other. Rose stared at him, as did Honey, but Spencer just shook his head at the waitress. 

"Keep it. Thanks for letting me keep your booth for a few hours."

He swept up the cup, gave her a nod and turned on his heel out the door. She laughed to herself and shouted after him, "Come back soon!

"Boy tips real good," he heard her just before the door closed behind him. "He can live in that booth if he wants."

Spencer smiled to himself as he hopped in the jeep. This was a nice town, but he'd been through a lot of nice towns. He had to keep moving, searching, coming up with a reason for leaving his friends behind to worry about him. 

He decided to see the beach before going back through the trees. He wanted to see Oregon, but his phone didn't work so well in these isolated parts of the state so he'd have to buy a map somewhere. He made note of the lone gas station in town, then followed the signs to the sand.

It was early, but there were people in the water. Spencer wasn't much for swimming, so he parked his jeep in the small lot and pulled a blanket out of the back. He found a secluded spot on a hill, unfurled the blanket and sat down. He took off his flannel and shoes, leaning back to enjoy the view. 

The sounds of shrieking laughter and the waves lulled him into complacency as he sipped his coffee. The sun was hot, but not too bad for this early in the morning. Unlike DC, this area wasn't humid, and the soft winds off the water cooled his skin.

Is this who I am now? Popped into his mind, always at the worst times. Once upon a time, he was a strong and capable man, an elite FBI agent always willing to go the extra mile. Now, even sitting here exhausted him. Speaking to the townsfolk at the counter exhausted him, and all he wanted to do was have a drink and go to sleep.

Is this who I am now? He wondered. Am I the guy who has nowhere to go and nowhere to be except the road, running far away from my past and the pain that follows?

He supposed so. Being out here hurt less than sitting in his empty apartment, looking into the void of his missing heart and wondering just when exactly his life passed him by. He always thought he’d have a family, kids and a wife by now. He thought he’d have a house and people to depend on him, that he’d love and they’d never wonder if it was out of obligation or a bond from trauma like it had been with the BAU.

Sure, they called him every week or so, just to see if he was okay. Their voices were always laced with concern, but a dripping tiredness of having to worry about the kid. Spencer hadn’t been a kid in a long time, and with each new trauma their babying of him became just another weight added to his shoulders. Another reason to prove himself.

It never worked.

Deciding it was time to go, time to run away again, Spencer dragged himself away from the beach and its false allure of peacefulness. He rolled up the blanket and put it back in its usual spot in the back of the jeep, put his coffee in the cupholder and he was off again.

Coming up the bend from the beach, he spotted a pothole one second too late. The back wheel slammed into it with a loud crunch, and before he knew it the back of the jeep collapsed into the sand-dusted street. 

“Oh, goddamnit,” he grunted, punching the passenger seat in irritation. 

Spencer pulled his phone out of his pocket, and sure enough he had zero reception. He groaned and let his head fall back on the headrest, his eyes shutting. Sucking in a deep breath, Spencer counted to five before letting it go. 

“Yer axle’s cracked!” a voice came from the side, and when Spencer opened his eyes he spotted a beat up truck next to him on the road. It had cans dangling from the sides on old fishing line and other random trash piled up in the back, a boat hitched to the back of it.

An old grizzled man leaned heavily out the window, pointing at the back of the jeep and nodding, “Yep, y’ain’t goin’ nowhere, son.”

“Yeah,” Spencer snapped, furrowing his brows at him. “I noticed.” 

“Ain’t no need to take a tone with me, boy,” the man grumbled. He pointed a gnarled finger at Spencer that shook in the air. “I’mma help you.”

Spencer didn’t have a lot of faith that his twisted tree limb of a man was going to be much help to him, so he waved his cell phone at him. “I’m sorry. Can I borrow your phone so I can call a tow truck?”

The man frowned with an exaggerated bottom lip and shook his head animatedly, “I ain’t got one of them things! Ya think I want brain cancer or somethin’?”

“Uhm… no?” Spencer began, but he cut him off with a beckoning hand.

“No. I don’t,” the man nodded firmly. “C’mon, I’ll take ya up to Rose’s place.”

Spencer groaned internally at the name he’d heard this morning. It was the same squinting old man who told him the axle was about to crack in the first place. Then he brightened up at the thought of getting to see Honey and her tight tank top again.

“I ain’t got all day, son. I’m busy, y’see,” the man called, breaking through his thoughts. Spencer nodded to himself and turned off the jeep before getting out and snagging his suitcase from the back seat. 

He rounded the truck only to open the creaky door and find almost an entire carton of cigarette packs littering the floorboards, along with a variety of loose tools and nails. Spencer climbed into the cab and closed the door behind him, setting the suitcase on his lap. It was a travel size, just big enough for a week’s worth of clothes and shoes. He kept his toiletries in another bag in the back of his car.

“Thanks for the ride,” he said softly. “Sorry for snapping. It’s been a bit of a day for me.”

The man chuckled, a little choked huffing sound from deep in his throat. “It’s been a bit of a day for everyone, son. It’s only nine in the mornin’!”

Deciding it was better to scoff in his mind and not at this weird stranger driving him through town, Spencer nodded. The brightly colored shops passed them by as the man drove at a snail’s pace, stopping for the allotted three seconds at each stop sign and never using his blinker.

“Name’s Nell, by the by,” the old man declared suddenly, jerking Spencer out of his reverie of the town. “Not that you asked. What’s yer story, son?”

“Uh, I’m Spencer,” he said slowly. Awkwardly. “I’m just traveling.”

“That’s a sheht story. No pizzazz, no flare. Ain’t you got stories where yer from?”

How do you like dead mutilated bodies? He wondered. Spencer laughed quietly and made sure to stare straight ahead. Nell’s eyes flicked quickly to his each time he looked over, and the truck veered with them. 

“I’m not much of a storyteller, Nell.”

“Shame,” Nell muttered, his top lip twitching as he seemed to think very hard about that. “Puppy dog eyes like that, you could get a peach and a half to follow you home if you could string a good yarn.”

Spencer struggled to follow that metaphor, so he just gave a noncommittal hum. The thought of a man who looked like Nell referring to a woman as a ‘peach’ left a bad taste in his mouth. 

"You ever been this way up before?"

"Nope. Just passing through on my way to Oregon."

"Ah, sheht," Nell grumbled. He slapped the steering wheel and pointed at nothing. "Oregon ain't got nothin' on Thundabird! I came here after 'Nam and never looked back!"

Spencer thanked God that Rossi didn't talk like this, not that fighting in Vietnam caused mushmouth, but he was getting irritated. 

"Lotsa people round here just showed up. Never left. It's a town of strays, y’know? Might find somethin' purty and never wanna leave like I did."

"Oh yeah?" Spencer asked, not really paying much attention. He gazed longingly out the window and decided he could have walked faster than Nell drove. 

"Met my Bernie and never could leave. She’s purtier than a seagull at sunset, I swear it.”

“You have any kids?”

“Nah, she’s small. Not much more’n me can fit in there most of the time.”

Spencer made a face and turned to him, disgusted, “What?”

Nell leaned forward and rubbed a hand across the dash of his nasty truck, “She’s small, but she’s a beaut! All I ever needed.”

Thankfully, they finally made their way up to the diner. Delgado’s lay catty corner to it, right next to a small inn called The Thunderbird Inn. Spencer got the hell out of Bernie as fast as he could and waved a hand to Nell. “Thanks for the ride, Nell. It’s been a trip.”

“Anytime, son!” Nell chuckled manically, and it was all Spencer had not to grimace. He pulled out of the small driveway slower than molasses, almost hit a stop sign, then rumbled down the street. 

Spencer took a steadying breath and shook his head before going into the mechanic's shop. A small reception area stood in the front, the smell of grease and exhaust puffing in from the door leading through the garage. There was a window in front of a desk where a small woman sat in a headscarf. She wore a brightly colored floral shirt, her braids piled high above her head as she gave him a small wave. 

"How ya doing, baby?" she asked with an easy grin. The tension in Spencer's shoulders from talking to Nell eased in just one look at that smile. There was also something about an older black lady calling him ‘baby’ in a soft voice that made him feel better for some reason.

"Uhm, my car broke down," Spencer said, pointing behind him. 

She nodded, "I'm Mattie May. Rose told me you might be making your way here."

"Oh, he did, did he?" Spencer snarked, rolling his eyes. 

"Don't take it personal," Mattie May hushed. She stood and rounded the corner, then waved for him to follow. "Man's got a sixth sense about cars. In fact, I first met him when I broke down on the side of the road outside of town."

Spencer followed Mattie May behind the counter and into a small kitchen area. He eyeballed the fridge as she puttered around. Pictures of Rose, Mattie May, and Honey littered the front. Some had group photos with a few of the eclectic townsfolk he'd run into already, others with people he didn't know. 

"He asked me to dinner before fixing my car. I fell head over heels and never looked back. Moved here a few months later." She pulled out a fresh pot of coffee and poured him some in a brightly colored mug with flowers on it, then one for herself. "You take sugar, baby?"

"Lots of it," he muttered, leaning down to look at more of the photographs. "This town's like the Bermuda triangle, huh?"

"For lost souls… yeah, I guess it is," she said softly. Her skin glimmered under the fluorescent lighting, dark and beautiful against the bright purples and pinks of her shirt and beaming smile. "You lost?"

Spencer stood up sharply, suddenly rocked with defensiveness. He shoved his hands in his pockets and shrugged. "How long do you think the repairs will take?"

Mattie May clicked her teeth and sighed, then handed him the mug. "Rose will have to tell you that. If he doesn't have the parts you can stay at the inn. I'll have Honey make you up a room."

Spencer took a sip. It was fantastic, obviously from the same beans the diner used. "Is she your daughter? I saw her with Rose at the diner."

"We've definitely taken to her like she is. Another stray that showed up a while back and never wanted to leave."

"Do people who come here ever leave?" he snarked, flashing her a look. 

"People land where they need to. Sometimes that's here."

"I'd like to get the hell out of here as fast as possible. No offense."

Mattie May smirked at him and leaned against the counter, "None taken."

"Axle cracked, huh?" a familiar deep voice came from behind them. Spencer looked to find Rose leaning over the front counter and watching him expectantly. 

"Right in half."

"Hmmm," he grunted, nodding to himself. "I'll send out Rico."

"The man's got somewhere to be, Rose," Mattie May said, waving her cup at her husband. "How long will it take to repair?"

Rose pushed himself off the counter with a sigh. He ran a hand over his face as he ambled slowly into the small kitchen, then shrugged. "I don't have that model in stock as nobody in town drives it. Could take a month for the parts to come in."

"A month?" Spencer asked sharply. He set the cup down harder on the counter than he meant to, and it hit with a clatter. "I can't sit around here for a month."

“Or more.” Rose shrugged, "UPS only comes through here once a month by boat. It's too hard to get through the mountains."

"Where you off to in such a hurry?" Mattie May asked softly. She set a comforting hand on his shoulder and gave him a soft squeeze. "If you gotta be somewhere soon, I'm sure we can find you a ride."

Spencer rubbed the back of his neck roughly in irritation. "Nowhere. I just don't like sitting in one place too long."

"You some sorta drifter?" Rose asked, eyeing him with a hard glare. Spencer was sure he looked the part with his old flannel, messy hair, beard and battered boots, but he didn’t like the thought after his previous line of work. 

Spencer glared right back, his jaw set tightly. Mattie May blew out a breath and gave him another squeeze before letting her hand fall from his shoulder. “It might do you good to sit still for a while, then. C’mon, baby, I’ll take you over to Honey and we’ll get you a room.”

Mattie May steered him around Rose and out the front door. A loud boom! Made him jerk away from her and flinch from the sound. A few errant pop pop pops followed, and when he heard her soft laughter he looked up to see kids lighting fireworks in the street.

His vision dragged, his blood pounded in his ears as he tried to convince himself he was fine. He wasn’t being blown up, and he wasn’t at Everett Lynch’s home. Mattie May’s voice ripped him sharply to the present as she called to them.

“Y’all go somewhere else and do that! People are tryin’ to work!”

Their shoulders deflated and they nodded, “Yes, Mrs. Delgado!”

She shook her head and chuckled, turning back to Spencer. He stared at the charred spot on the pavement where the firecrackers had erupted, chest heaving as the acrid scent of burnt embers flooded his nose.

“You okay, baby?”

Spencer found himself turning toward her kind voice, his eyes wet and suddenly more tired than he’d been in months. “Yeah. I’m… I’m not a big fan of the fourth of July.”

“The firecrackers?” she asked. He nodded. “Did you serve?”

“Uh, no ma’am.” He didn’t want to tell her anything about the FBI. Since leaving, Spencer hadn’t told anyone that he used to be an agent. What he’d become was too shameful.

“Holly Henson isn’t much for it either since he came back from Iraq, neither is Rose. I bought them some noise canceling headphones for this time of year. I have an extra pair.”

“I'll keep that in mind. Thanks."

She led him into the front of The Thunderbird Inn, where Honey sat behind the reception desk with a young man Spencer hadn't met yet. He was tall and about her age, near thirty, leaning over the counter and smirking at her. His easy going grin and good looks reminded him of Luke, as did his dark closely cropped hair.

"I'm serious, Honey. It'll be fun."

Honey lounged in a roller chair and crossed her hands behind her head, "I'm not going to the bar on the fourth. I'll end up having Lionel and Ritchie pawing all over me and looking down my shirt."

The man peeked a little further over and grinned, "I'd tell you to wear a different shirt, but I can't exactly blame them for trying to sneak a peek."

Honey sat up sharply and slapped at him, and he jumped back with a mad laugh. She looked over his shoulder and her eyes brightened as she saw Spencer. "Axle cracked, huh, big tipper?"

Spencer squinted at her and nodded. Mattie May laughed and put a hand on his shoulder, "He needs a room for the night, Honey. Rico, Rose is lookin' for you. You gotta go tow this young man's car."

She turned to him, "I never caught your name."

"Spencer. Spencer Reid."

Rico eyed him the way Rose and every other person in this town seemed to, "Your axle cracked?"

Spencer sighed in pure exasperation. “Yes.”

Rico glanced back at Honey, who shrugged and made a face. He made his way toward the door, watching Spencer. His shoulder bumped Spencer's as he passed and then he was gone, Mattie May following closely behind. 

"I got Room 4 open, Mr. Reid," Honey said playfully as Spencer glared out the door where Rico went. He looked up to see her dangling an ancient key attached to a little green tag with the inn name on it. "Follow me."

Spencer followed her and her tight jeans down a hallway to the left. The inn was a big square, two levels, with only a handful of rooms on the first floor. Honey took him to the center where the rooms met in the middle of the curved hallway. A door across from his had a sign on it that read Management on the front in faded gilded lettering and a doorbell on the side. 

"Dinner’s at six. I'll bring you a plate," she said absentmindedly as she fiddled with the door. She clasped the handle and tugged up as she turned the lock. "Door sticks, and there's a patio out back where we usually have a bonfire this time of year. If it's too loud, let me know."

The door opened with a crack, and she pushed it open for him to step inside. The room was small and airy, wide broad windows that had a view of the far off ocean and palm trees. Spencer spotted boats and people in the water as he stepped up to them to look out. The tulle cottony curtains swayed with the breeze through the cracked door, and without much thought Spencer shut and locked it.

The bedspread was a bright sky blue with matching pillows. The walls were painted off-white, with pictures of the beach and the town plastered all over, much like Mattie May’s fridge and the reception areas of both businesses. Spencer dug into his pocket as he looked around with hardly disguised disdain and pulled out his wallet. He handed his credit card to Honey, but she just stared at him.

“Don’t you need this?” 

“First night’s on Lionel. He was supposed to fix that pothole weeks ago.”

Spencer squinted at her, “How do you know I hit a pothole?”

She smiled, wide and bright. “Saw you drive toward the beach. Townspeople know to avoid it.”

“Good to know,” he grumbled, stuffing his card back into his wallet. “Is there a phone I can use?”

“Mmm, most people here don’t have cell phones. Providers don’t get great service around here, but there’s a landline on the nightstand.”

Spencer nodded, looking to where she pointed. “Internet?”

Honey laughed, but when she saw him watching her sternly she stopped. “Oh, you’re serious. There’s Collie’s Cafe down the street. It’s dial-up but it’ll get you what you need for a dime every ten minutes.”

“God this place really is the Bermuda Triangle,” he groaned, rubbing his face roughly with his hands. “Does everyone have a weird name here?”

Honey put her hands on her hips and made a face, “Who’s got a weird name?”

Spencer just glared.

Honey broke out into a creeping slow smile and nodded to herself. “You’re not a lot of fun, are you, Mr. Reid?”

“You can call me Spencer.”

“Hmm,” she hummed. She tapped her jaw and watched him, “This is a nickname kinda town. You stay here long enough and you’ll get one too.”

“I hope to God that doesn’t happen,” he said irritably. “If Honey’s not your real name, do you mind if I ask what it is?” “Y/N,” she replied with a grin. “Call me that and we’ll have a problem.”

“I don’t want any problems, Honey,” Spencer snarked back. “I just want to leave Margaritaville and go to Oregon.”

Honey bit her lip and smiled before turning on her heel and walking toward the door. She lingered for a moment with her hand on the knob, obviously chewing on something in her mind. Sucking in a breath, she glanced his way once more and said in a soft voice, “Maybe your problem is that you can’t enjoy where you’re at, Spencer. Maybe you should take a breather.”

Before he could angrily reply, she closed the door behind her. It didn’t fit in the frame well, and he heard her little grunt as she pulled up on the knob to latch it shut. Shaking his head and letting out a pained breath, Spencer hoisted his suitcase up and tossed it on the bed, grateful to be alone again. He plopped down next to it, elbows on his knees as he looked around, and that question popped into his head again.

Is this who I am now?

Smurph's Masterlist | Series Masterlist

Notes: PLEASE tell me what you think... this series is so close to my heart. What do you think of the townspeople we've met so far? Reader/Honey? Sad!Spencer??

CM Forever Tag:

@thedancingcostumeyoungadult @muffin-cup @simplyparker @spencerreidsmommy @hotchandspencearedilfs @gspenc @kbakery @nomajdetective @givemeth @hoshihiime @halloween-is-my-nationality @reidselle @thisiscalmanditsdoctorreid @dreatine @thebloomingeagle @fortheloveofwonderland @theforgottenwinter @parkerreidnorth @reidselle @randomhoex @scargarcia-magshotchner @stitchwrites @pygmygoat-bicyclehelmet @cle13 @aysixdy @elhotchner @directioner5life @elhotchner @loveeee2134 @preciousbabypeter @la-stuffs @stories-you-wont-hear @hotchlover @fortheloveofwonderland @lokiandhisdagger @bellanutellababyyy @dark-night-sky-99 @straightforbuckybutgayfornatasha @maltamurdock @charelletjee @kansas-reid @zephyrmonkey @spencer-reid-wonderland @spencersprettyslut @im-sure-its-fine @tvdstelenaforever @teddylupintonks  @lilibet261 @kneelforloki @dirtytissuebox @almostgenerallyalways @whovian378 @cl0udyqu33n @thegettingbyp2 @averagestudent03 @the-sun-died-out @squishycalumxo @sebastiansstanswhore 

@louderfortheback @pandabiiissh @calebye

@dottirose @lfaewrites @padsfirewhisky @wheels-upin-thirty @f-me-reid

[lizaluvsthis]

what is good about cnb? i see lots of a art thought i ask creator

Oh my- looks like we pulled a new curious person off the peeps!

(CnB) Coffee N' Bombs - Brewing Romance AU is an inspiration from the first full episode in the SMG4 Channel called "SMG4: SMG3'S BOMB CAFE"

I really liked the whole model and details from the inside and outside of Three's new Cafe and at first I've been picturing about Smg4 working there- but nahh he just worked there once its not like theres gonna be an au abou-

I came in tumblr a few months back and some anon asked me what kind of design SMG4's attire would be since he works as a waitress from Three's coffee n bombs.

For a second my mind went blank of what the uniform would look like so- I gave myself on and on about some few details getting inspired by watching some other episodes of SMG4's

So then- I made the hat and I thought of something that reminded me about- a reversible color!

(A few years back I bought this octopus which was cute and then I figured it was reversible by looking underneath and putting the detail here- I was like- ah Liz you're gonna make it look so special!)

Straight in to detail that the fabric used from this hat is silk, with polkadots! And it was made by Three :>

For the pride pins I also thought of- "hey- this is a crazy idea but what if I also created a pride pin next to his apron. But instead it's a bomb than just a regular circular pin." Then there represents Four having the bi bomb flag :)

The Apron is specifically made by me on which where its all gotta be purple themed since it is his cafe and everything is purple and purple to a color black!

For the shoes tho- I might've gave myself a try to say it's one of those glow in the dark classic shoes- glow in the dark has been my favorite types of stuff to look on or even paint, the nostalgic vibe of being a small kid having fun observing and using glow in the dark (bracelets) for example- is like a funny thing and a classic thing to have.

Then that calls for it. "Heck why not?"

Theres the bomb logo and also the spilled coffee logo, it was designed by our man Three to himself.

It feels sort of childish to put in when four complains about glow in the dark having it as a childish thing- good thing three back fires in about his shoes having wheels XD (it might seem to be for kids but its all for ages and above ^^)

The gloves were designed for funziez and making it feels like getting sent back on the themed black and white (sia or melanie martinez the hair color or if you fancy it enough going back to the earliest movies that has black and white colors)

Even putting on a aymbol of "S.U.L." on the back of the gloves and Four's "IV" roman numeral signature on the palm of his gloves.

And even for the tiniest detail from his hairtie having the color of red and his slit pants on the ends. (Also including the part of the three-beaned pin that only four made it special for him and three only)

Lets put up the post!

This inspired so much from the design that my followers or other people had want to try it out!

Then coming upon the reply from @shygirl4991 therefore the AU was born/created, they thought about wanting to write about this cafe au and I let them in for ideas and for writing the fic. :D

I pulled out a new attire for Three's outfit (ngl he looks like purp-

And now there is- the release of the first chapter-

Before the first chapter- Shay gave it a title of "Brewing Romance" since its a silly fic for these two gay boys working together on the cafe :>

Again I'm only an artist who does doodles or design stuff the real person who created this is @shygirl4991 by mentioning it as "Cafe AU" thats where it's been born :)

CnB Brewing Romance AU is a fun space for our two fruits getting together and such ^^ this AU is made for fun relating to also the cafe shop itself.

(We'd also like to thank you for all of the artists who made those lovely fanarts <3)

To the point where I accidentally created a meme out of the two.

Man behind the coffee/memes (slaughter) as smg3

And the Fish Flounder as Smg4

If people would like to put their ocs there for fun you can make art out of it.

(Shoot I'm making it longer- AHHGGR)

Whats cnb br au?

Its a silly au me and shay made and made it alive for the shippers

Whats good about it?

The two gay boys

The designed details from their attires

Karen.

Bringing from the fic for angst/fluff

Whose Idea was the fic?

All on for Shay ^^

Who created it?

I did the design mostly people thought it was all on me but its shay's :)

When is the date of creation?

December 9, 2023

Can we make fanarts out of it?

Yes you can by mentioning/tagging me and @shygirl4991

Whats in it for this au?

Me and Shay collaborated this

These two boys

The whole ass journey and coming into developments

Karen?

Yes. She works here :) design of hers will come out soon tho.

What about the other characters like Mario?

Oh they will come out- as side characters only :>

Where does this AU focus on?

Dealing with trauma

Four getting a job since he's broke af

The past memories

Development - Chemistry

Changing.

How does putting our ocs in the au work?

You can put your oc for ex. Ordering, chilling on le table, sipping your coffee, idk pay for those bombs(?), commit arso-, selfie on yourself (if you have any other ocs you'd want to add- you can), pride bombs, make yourself as an employee i guess? All whatever your choices.

Except-

NSFW - GENERAL S3XU4LIZING

Oc x canon is allowed now yay

Spaghetti. Spaghetti is not available in a coffee shop.

Does this au contain with the canon events/arc?

It has the arc and event but it contains non-canon creation. Due to some remake of the scenes.

Did luke approved of this?/j

Not yet :)

I'm not even sure if he uses tumblr atp

Do you have any other works of yours and shay about this au?

I am planning on making a side fic that'll come out very soon

Theres a quick doodle/sketch about it

Some personal diary or info Three picks up (including sticky notes)

Shay is still working and doing their best for the future chapters 'u'

‽

What happens in the future chapter?

You'll have to wait and see. (Again I keep getting this even relating about zero that is a spoiler I'm not trying to be like gooseworx here pls stop-)

Wait what memes are you talking about?

Fnaf for Man behind the slaughter but instead it's SMG3 being the one whose purple guy and is called Man Behind The Coffee

Flounder from Ariel whose a fish and Four looked like one because of his ponytail looking like the fish's tail

What orders do they have in there?

Coffee:

Normal Coffee

Special White Mocha

Matcha Gun Powder Latte

Soy Boy Flat White

Al Pacino

Wake me up before you cocoaf

Morning Brown

Cyanide Supreme Latte

Titanium Black (trust me you don't want to try this)

café minuit (midnight)

Bombs:

Tsar Bomba

Hydrogen bomb

Fat man

Little Boy

Refined uranium

Saturnist Capurn

NUKE CHONK (DONT-)

Displays/Collections/Accessories:

Eggdog plush

Smg3 mugs

Pride Bombs

Stickers

A button. (Do it at your own risk)

Foodies/Food/Snacks:

Non-Donut (its invisible but more of an air food)

Gun powdered donut (white or brown)

Shinkled donut

Pieced- cake

Chompstick (chocolate stick)

Breed Bread (it has raisins)

KWASON (croissant)

Waffu Daffus (waffles)

DEADLY DUNGLE (its a spiciest donut I warned you.)

Nomul Chaki (a "normal" chocolate...)

Whats something that was mentioned from the design?

Terrance.

Did you plan on making this au?

Nope but for some reason we're here thanks to my artwork and shay :DD

Does PuzzleVision or TV Adware exist in this?

No.

Will the side characters make an appearance?

...

Is it true that Karen and Meggy both gossip about the boys?

Yep- kinda hilarious now that Karen's here, she observes.

Where'd you get that idea about Karen and Meggy?

@anartisticalniche

Where can I see the fanarts section?

In my Introduction Page :)

Why don't you post this to twitter?

Twitter is for talking/rants

Tumblr is to share the post you want to share.

Plus twitter for me is a "not-safe-app" regardless on people sending death threats and doxxing. (Even elon musk.)

I'm not tryna reach out for Luke's attention when it comes to CnB I just did this for fun :3

Are you still hyped that they're still making the cafe shop's appearance?

Yes. You have NO idea.

How do you and shay feel about it?

Very- super- brain- storming ideas on the gays and the plots also the notes- we love this progress ^^

The gayness/fruitiness of these two

Will you and Shay be planning on something more than just CnB?

Shh-

Funny to ask but how old are you while collaborating this work?

I'm a minor-

Don't you find it weird to be friends with adults? Or having them as your fans?

(I get these asks alot) my final answer is no.

There are some other adults who are predators out there but not in my sight. I keep a closer eye on that. And I don't allow pedos or groomers here.

I don't really see what the problem is about when an adult likes a minor's work. It's artwork and most of ems crave for the ship and the ship itself its basically a free fun type for people who likes it. (Age regressor say no more cuz its all free to have fun here)

I have no idea why I made this too long but please carry on your glasses people-

[snowdice]

Tea: Just Tea (Cuffed Universe)

Relationships: Janus/Patton (kinda ambiguous/future romantic), Patton & Roman (background) Janus & Roman (background)

Characters: Patton, Janus

Summary: Detective Janus Lial meets with Patton Heart for tea. Just like he does every week.

Notes: A missing child case is mentioned.

This is a Cuffed Universe fic.

Previous fics in this series:

Tea, Cookies, and Handcuffs

Matboards and Subway Sandwiches

Espionage and Iced Coffee

Popcorn and Podcasts

Rats, Pizza, and Supply Closets

Kisses and Thai Noodle Leftovers

Road Trips, Chicken Parmesan, and Handcuffs: Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8

Extras:

Moving Day

Police Statements

Virgil’s Many Jobs: Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

The door was stupid, Janus thought not for the first time. Without fail, the thought had crossed his mind every single week in the brief moments he stood in front of it. It did not matter that the door had gone through multiple paint changes since the first time he’d knocked on it. It was always stupid and ugly.

Currently, the door was painted a bright yellow with little white flowers hand painted all over it. He noticed that some of the lower flowers were much messier (though he could almost read the enthusiasm that contributed to their creation in their petals). Each flower had a stupid little smiley face drawn on it.

Janus knew the design would change within the month and it would be just as stupid. The only thing that ever stayed the same about the door was the mid rail. The strip in the middle of the door was always painted baby blue. When Janus had first come here there were two handprints on it, relatively fresh. Now there were three, two old and chipping and one only about a year old.

Janus leaned on his cane and waited in front of the door, though he didn’t have to wait long. He was expected after all. The door swung open only a few moments after he’d knocked, just long enough to get from the house’s kitchen to the front door.

“Hello Detective,” the man who answered the door said even though he often didn’t use Janus’s title anymore. Patton usually just used his first name. However, these first interactions every week were a well-worn pattern now. Janus may as well have been watching a recording of the first few times they’d interacted over and over every week. “Please come in.”

Janus obeyed the request, removing his hat as he stepped through the stupid decorated door.

“Would you like some tea?” Patton asked, heading back towards the kitchen without a glance back. He trusted Janus to know his way by now.

“Sure,” Janus agreed, though it honestly didn’t feel like a choice anymore. It was part of the script. It would be wrong to refuse.

Janus followed him into the kitchen and took a seat at the table without invitation. Patton puttered about his kitchen grabbing sugar and cream for the tea.

Patton’s kitchen table was quite large, but always felt cramped. Patton liked to do all of his daily tasks at the kitchen table from paperwork to crafts to reading. Yet, instead of putting the objects used for each activity away when he was done with them, he simply switched seats and started up his next task there. The result was that the 8-person table had barely enough room for a plate and cup in front of two of its chairs. (If Janus was lucky that week.)

The tablecloth was as chaotic as the mess atop it. Janus was almost glad he’d never seen the multicolored ugly thing in its entirety. He knew there were (at least) three sets of novelty salt and pepper shakers hidden among the balls of yarn and stacks of papers. There was a dinosaur set, a set that looked like science flasks, and a pair of flowering cacti. Considering two people lived in this house, it seemed a bit excessive.

The only decoration choice Janus felt he could approve of was the arrangement of daises and sweet peas in a vase. The flowers were always fresh from Patton’s shop, and even though he had no eye for color in any other aspect of design, he did know how to design a good bouquet.

Patton was back with the tea so quickly that Janus was sure it had already been steeping by the time he’d knocked. Janus could smell the familiar blueberry scent before the tea was even poured.

“Is there any news?” Patton asked as he poured the tea, though Janus knew he knew the answer already.

It was part of their script, but it was never any easier to answer. “No,” Janus said. “Not this week. I’m sorry.”

Patton did not respond. He never did. How was someone supposed to respond to that? Instead, he finished pouring both cups of tea in silence.

Janus cleared his throat as Patton settled down in his seat. He’d found Patton had a hundred solutions ready to dispel almost any awkward silence or social misstep. This awkward silence, this heavy silence, however, was always Janus’s responsibility to break. “How’s Roman?”

The topic brought a small smile to Patton’s lips. “He’s good,” he replied. “I’ll have to pick him up from school in an hour and a half.”

Janus knew. This meeting was the same time every week. He wondered if they’d change the time of it when Roman eventually left elementary school for middle school and his dismissal time changed. It would be strange. They’d been meeting at this time long before Roman.

“He wants to take ballet,” Patton continued.

“That’s new,” Janus said. Janus had picked the kid up from school last Friday and there hadn’t been any mention of that. (And with Roman there would have been a mention of it.) “Are you going to let him?”

Patton shrugged. “Probably, but I’ll only buy him a couple of lessons. Knowing him, he’ll lose interest within the week.”

“Roman can be a bit flighty,” Janus said, a fond smile on his face.

“Eh, I think most kids are like that,” Patton replied. There was a moment of silence as the man took a sip of his tea.

Janus… did not understand how he did this. He did not understand the decorated door or the elementary school worksheet left on the table. He couldn’t comprehend the new child sized shoes when there were old ones in the attic.

Janus had been the one to bring Roman to Patton, desperate and knowing only one person who was a parent. He’d hated himself for asking at the time. He could never have anticipated how Patton had opened up to the child.

How had the man cleaned out his old office to make room for a child’s bedroom when another childhood bedroom’s door remined shut tight next door? Janus didn’t think he’d ever know even though he’d witnessed it himself.

Janus did not know how Patton kept living. He did not know how he’d managed to be a dad again (and a very good one at that).

Janus had met him as the detective assigned to the missing persons case for the man’s first child. It had broken Patton in a thousand ways Janus couldn’t even begin to comprehend. Janus had watched it happen, had seen the moment he was informed his child was missing. He’d watched all the moments after that too.

Yet, somehow, despite being shattered, he was still here.

Janus had always admired that about him. It was what drew him back every week without fail to drink the same hot tea even as the case he was here for grew impossibly colder every time.

At one point there had been updates every time they’d met (never good ones). Then there had been an update every month. Then every few months. Now it felt like Janus had been telling him there were no updates for an eternity. The time he would continue to do so stretched into eternity before him.

Yet, Janus knew he would keep coming here even though he was technically off the case now. Everyone was technically off the case now.

“Well,” Janus said. “If Roman decides to stick with ballet, let me know. I’ll buy him the right shoes.”

Patton smiled at him warmly. “Thanks.”

If there was even a chance that Janus might one day have an update for Patton on the whereabouts of Logan Heart, it would all be worth it.

[foundtherightwords]

The Road Forgotten - Chapter 3

Pairing: Arthur Havisham (Dickensian) x OFC

A/N: I made Arthur bisexual and paired him with a female character in this. I know some writers have gotten flack for pairing Arthur with a female character (or reader), so if it's not your cup of tea, please walk away.

This is mostly based on the events of "Dickensian", but I've also incorporated some elements and characters from "Great Expectations". Most notably, Satis House is in Kent (as in the book) instead of in London.

Summary: A few years after his plan to swindle his sister ended in tragedy, Arthur Havisham is a shadow of a man, living in guilt and fear. When Elsie Bradford, a young woman also wronged by Compeyson, enlists Arthur's help to hunt down his former partner-in-crime, Arthur must face his demons and other strange, new feelings, to redeem himself.

Warnings: slow burn, angst, guilt, revenge, psychological trauma, mention of prostitution, mention of suicide/suicide ideations, some violence, a bit of smut

Chapter word count: 2.6k

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Elsie agreed to meet Havisham on Little Britain to visit the office of a Mr. Jaggers, the Havisham's family lawyer. According to Havisham, Jaggers knew of his dealings with Compeyson and therefore might have discovered some useful information.

Elsie had walked again, choosing to save money over the safety of a hackney cab, yet she still arrived way before their appointed time. She cast her eyes up and down the gloomy street, taking in the anonymous façades of the many offices and shops that lined its sides, and noting, out of habit, where the best escapes were. A knot of people was mingling about, all looking desperate, restless, or both. She saw the sign MR. JAGGERS painted on a door nearby and realized they were there for a similar purpose as she. She chose a spot a little farther on, near a pawn shop, and pretended to browse the meager offerings on display while keeping an eye out for Havisham.

He had asked her to meet him outside the office at two in the afternoon, but he didn't show up until well after the bells of Great St. Bart's had rung the half-hour. From her position, Elsie saw him approaching on unsteady feet, and she felt a sense of annoyance. She had taken care never to order brandy for him again, not wanting to make the same mistake that she had in their first meeting, but he clearly had other ways to procure it.

As he drew near, however, her annoyance faded, for she saw now that his stumbling gait was due to nervousness rather than drunkenness. He was too alert for a man who was drunk or had recently been drunk. His shoulders were hunched as usual, his head turned slightly to the inside of the street, his grip on the top of his cane was white-knuckled, and under the brim of his top hat, his eyes kept their frantic darting motion. He looked a man permanently in fear. Elsie's conscience pricked when she remembered Havisham's white-faced horror at seeing Marianne. She hadn't planned to use her sister to appeal to his decency, and she certainly hadn't planned to bring on one of Marianne's attacks—Mrs. Gordon had spoken so encouragingly of Marianne's progress at her last visit—but she couldn't shake off the feeling that she had ill-used both of them.

Havisham walked right past Elsie without seeing her. She gently put a hand on his sleeve, and he jumped, almost flying off the curb and into the street. "Mr. Havisham, it's me," she said quietly.

Havisham visibly relaxed. "Miss Bradford, apologies for my late arrival," he said.

"It's all right. It looks like the office isn't even open yet," Elsie said, indicating the waiting queue.

"Jaggers must be in Court then. His clerk will let us in." Havisham straightened up and squared his shoulders, trying to put on an imposing air but only ended up looking like he was trying on an ill-fitted coat. He led her past the queue.

"But they've been waiting long before us!" Elsie spluttered in protest.

"Isn't this why you need my help, to get you into places?" asked Havisham, rapping on the door with his cane. Elsie tried to smile apologetically at the people still waiting, and only received some sullen stares in return.

A clerk with a square, wooden face and small, glittering black eyes opened the door.

"We're here to see Mr. Jaggers," Havisham announced.

"And you are...?" the clerk said.

Havisham tried to look indignant. "Do you mean you do not recognize me?"

The clerk squinted at him. An uncomfortable moment passed, and Elsie could almost see Havisham shrink within himself. Too aware of the resentful eyes behind their backs, she took pity on him and stepped forward. "It's Mr. Havisham," she said.

The clerk's eyes widened. "Oh, it's you, Mr. Havisham! I do beg your pardon, it's been so long since you... do come in, sir. And you too, ma'am."

He opened the door for them. Angry voices rose behind them in protest, and the clerk stepped out to talk them down. Elsie could hear snatches of his words, "Mr. Jaggers will see all of you as soon as he returns... one of his oldest clients... yes, that Havisham... yes, such a shame what happened..."

He then returned and directed them into an inner office, a small, rather dismal place, dimly lit by a single, patchy skylight, and filled with odds and ends. There were a few uncomfortable-looking chairs of black horsehair studded full of brass nails, and Elsie and Havisham sat down on these, facing the lawyer's empty desk.

"I thought you needed my help," Havisham said petulantly.

"It doesn't hurt to be a little more polite to people, Mr. Havisham," was all Elsie said. She glanced at Havisham. Even in the dim light, she noticed that he had made some effort to clean himself up - he had shaved, put on a clean shirt, and brushed back his unruly curls. His eyes were still slightly sunken, but the glassy film covering them had lifted somewhat. However, he seemed rather nervous - he was alternating between tapping his cane on the floor and twisting it in his hands. She wondered what he had to be nervous about. Talking to a lawyer would not be her first step in the search for Compeyson. She had rather hoped Havisham would take her to places he and Compeyson had frequented or to their mutual acquaintances. But asking "So where did you meet the man that ruined your life?" would not be a good conversation starter, so she kept quiet.

There was a commotion outside. It appeared Mr. Jaggers had returned, and the people waiting now crowded around him, all vying for his attention. Jaggers was barking orders left and right, while the clerk scurried off to do his biddings, and the clients, having had their questions answered and their worries relieved, left one by one, shaken off by Jaggers like a man taking off his outer clothes upon entering his home.

Jaggers walked into the office, a burly, imposing man, very dark. He looked not much older than forty or fifty, but the top of his head was already balding, and he seemed to make up for it by cultivating a pair of bristling eyebrows over his deep-set, suspicious eyes. Havisham stood up, then sat down, then stood again. Elsie was uncomfortably reminded of her own uneasiness before seeing Marianne, and she found herself drawing back, blending in with the dark, greasy wall of the office, wishing to give Havisham some room as he had with her and Marianne. Jaggers stopped upon seeing Havisham.

"Arthur," he said, looking none too pleased. "What are you doing here?"

"I have a question for you," replied Havisham.

Jaggers threw the papers he was holding onto the desk. Some sheets fluttered to the floor to join their fellows, but the lawyer didn't seem to care. Elsie wondered how he got any work done at all, in such a mess.

"If this is about your allowance again..." Jaggers said, sounding annoyed.

"No, no, I know the board has been more than gracious in that matter," Havisham said through gritted teeth. Again, Elsie could almost see him writhing in humiliation and felt a surge of compassion. Perhaps, like her, it wasn't easy for him to meet someone from his old life again. No, it was even worse for him, because he was the direct victim and had to take the brunt of judgment, like her poor father, who hadn't been able to bear the shame.

"So what is it?" Jaggers asked tetchily. He still had not seen Elsie.

Havisham looked back at Elsie. This alerted Jaggers to her presence, and his bushy eyebrows merged together quizzically as he looked at Havisham for an answer. Havisham grabbed Jaggers's sleeve, pulled him toward a far corner of the room, close to the desk, and dropped his voice. Elsie was unwilling to follow. She didn't want to hear her story told by another. But she could tell when Havisham's mouth formed the name "Compeyson", and Jaggers's expression turned thunderous.

"You ignored all my warnings, and now you have the nerve to come here and ask for my help?" he grumbled.

"I'm not asking for me," Havisham said. He looked toward Elsie again.

"And since when did you become such an altruist? Or are you cooking up another one of your foolish schemes? Haven't you learned your lesson?" Jaggers was actually shaking his finger at Havisham, who hung his head like an admonished child, his earlier bluster at the door was completely gone. "Who is this woman? What do you even know about her? She came to you with some tragic tale and you fell for it..."

"She didn't—" Havisham began, but Elsie could no longer keep quiet. It was one thing for this man to bully his client, but she wouldn't stand his insult.

"Excuse me," she said, stepping forward. Jaggers barely gave her a glance. "We came here because Mr. Havisham believed you could help us discover Compeyson's whereabouts. If you can't, just say so and we'll be on our way. You need not berate Mr. Havisham or slander my honesty. It wasn't our fault that we fell victim to Compeyson's deviousness!"

"Wasn't your fault?" Jaggers repeated, finally looking at her. "Forgive me for speaking the truth, ma'am, but the moment you let a man such as Compeyson into your life, you knew you were making a deal with the devil." He gestured toward Havisham. "Ask him! Ask him what he—"

"We should go," Havisham interrupted, taking Elsie's arm.

Jaggers went after them. "I'm giving you true counsel," he said. "Forget this ill-advised quest for revenge. Both of you. Go home, Arthur."

A look of despair came into Havisham's eyes. "You know I can't," he said in a small voice and guided Elsie out of the office.

"He has no rights to blame you—blame us!—for what that... that fiend did to us!" she fumed, futile tears stinging her eyes. She hated herself for crying, for showing weakness, and tried to tell herself that people who did not know about her father or Marianne would be quick to judge, but she could not stop the fiery anger from flaring up within her.

Without waiting for the clerk to see them out, Elsie shoved the front door open, nearly colliding with a man loitering outside. "Beg your pardon, miss," he said, quickly moving off. There was something familiar about the man, but she couldn't quite place him, and she was still too furious with Jaggers to remember.

Havisham seemed defeated. "I'm sorry, Miss Bradford," he said. "I really thought Jaggers would help. He did warn me about Compeyson, but I didn't listen to him, like the fool I was. After I... lost my share of the Havisham brewery, it was only thanks to Jaggers that I retained a small allowance. Not enough to live on, but enough to starve away in gentility, if I so wish. It's too bad that I don't." The corner of his mouth lifted up in a self-deprecating smile. "He has every right to be angry with me."

His self-loathing saddened her. "There is nothing to apologize for, Mr. Havisham," she said, laying a hand on his arm. He peered at her tear-stained face, and his smile brightened briefly with gratitude. Then he fumbled in his pocket for a rather wrinkled handkerchief, which he offered to her.

Elsie stared at it. "Why are you giving me this?"

Havisham was discomfited. "Isn't... isn't this what a gentleman is supposed to do when a lady is in distress?" he said, his pale face turning pink.

Elsie had to laugh. It was a clumsy gesture, but she was thankful for the thought. "Thank you, but I'm not in distress. I'm just mad," she said, digging in her reticule for her own handkerchief and wiping her face. "So what do we do now?" she asked.

Havisham looked back into the dark mouth of the office, lost. Then his eyes landed on the clerk, still bustling about to carry out Jaggers's various orders. A look of recognition, of remembrance, came into Havisham's eyes. He took a decisive stride toward the clerk. "Didn't Jaggers order you to look into Compeyson, five years ago?" he asked.

The clerk paused, his brow furrowed in recollection. "No, that wasn't me, Mr. Havisham. That was Lowten. He left Mr. Jaggers's employment soon after."

Havisham slumped down, only to perk up again when the clerk said, "Though he did give me a few papers to keep before he left. Said he'd come back for them, but never did."

"What papers? Do you still have them?" Havisham all but seized the clerk by the neck of his jacket with such an intensity that surprised Elsie.

The clerk looked confused. "But I remember Lowten telling me—didn't you—"

"Never mind that," Havisham interrupted, casting a furtive glance at Elsie. "I want it now. Do you still have it? Or remember what was in them?"

"It's been such a long time, Mr. Havisham..."

Elsie approached them. "Please, Mr...?"

"Wemmick, at your service, ma'am." The clerk tried to balance a stack of papers with one hand and touched his forelock with the other.

"Mr. Wemmick. Please. Anything you remember at all would be a great help to us," she said, putting on her best ingratiating act, one she would often use whenever she needed to ask Mrs. Hill for a favor or some money she could send home to Marianne. It hadn't always worked with Mrs. Hill, who had taught Elsie some of the tricks herself, but it seemed to work with Wemmick. He puffed up his chest, proud of being wanted. Elsie guessed he didn't receive much appreciation from the bullying Jaggers.

"Wait now, I got it!" Wemmick's poorly chiseled features lit up. "I brought it home. I couldn't remember what possessed me to do it. I never brought anything from the office back to the castle, but that time, I thought, well, it wasn't of the office anymore, seeing how Lowten was no longer employed, so what was the harm..."

"Yes, yes," Havisham said impatiently. "Can you go home and retrieve it?"

Wemmick hesitated, looking rather uncomfortable. "Wemmick!!!" Jaggers barked from his office, and the clerk jumped. Elsie quickly realized the cause of his fear.

"Of course, we cannot possibly ask you to leave the office in the middle of the day," she said. "But we could come back tomorrow..."

Wemmick scratched his chin. "Well, now, if it's not a huge imposition, would you mind waiting until the end of the day and walking down to Walworth with me? It would do all of us good to stretch our legs. And I would be honored to introduce you to my castle and the aged."

Elsie shared a look with Havisham. The man was talking nonsense. But he was their only hope. Elsie was about to accept Wemmick's offer, when Havisham piped up, "Perhaps I could go with you alone, Wemmick. The walk may be too tiring for Miss Bradford..."

Elsie was not having it. "Not at all," she said, shooting Havisham a look to say she was perfectly capable of making her own decision, thank you very much. "In fact, my lodgings are close by in Southwark, so I'm walking that way anyway. Thank you, Mr. Wemmick," she told the clerk. "We'll walk with you."

Chapter 4

[imaginatorcreates]

Hold On, If Love Is The Answer, You're Home

09 May 2023 — 11 May 2023

Summary: The Neighborhood is beloved by each other, especially by a little necromancer. How far will he go for them?

Word Count: ~5.1k words

TW: Talks of death and corpses, and a mild bit of blood. This fanfic is based on a horror project, so just be warned overall.

Author's Note: The hyperfixation that this project has on me is strong. I chugged this out in 2 days. This is a Fantasy AU that was inspired by Discord chats about D&D and Welcome Home's cast. The cast are all living, breathing, bleeding creatures here.

Yes, the title is from "Touch" by Daft Punk. Yes, I listened to cottagecore playlists while making this. This is now my longest fic to date.

I'd also like to thank @/isleofair for helping me edit this! Your comments will forever feed my soul.

If there was one thing that was clear among the large adventuring party, filled with all sorts of beings from different lineages and backgrounds, it was that they stuck together through thick and thin. Despite everyone’s differences, they all somehow melded together into a coherent and admirable group. The Neighborhood, they called themselves. Certainly, they acted like good neighbors would, bound together like a family.

When they entered a town, eyes always swiveled towards the party. Whispers floated around and through them as people wondered about them. Where were they from? How did they meet each other? How many of them, hypothetically, were willing to stay behind for another? Conversations related to the latter topic usually died down when the flash of a metal ring around two of the party’s fingers became visible or when a quick peck on the cheek was exchanged, but they would almost always start up again when eyes became locked onto a voluminous blue pompadour.

There was something about that being with the pompadour. Maybe it was his perpetual half-lidded eyes, covered in eyeshadow that feathered outwards into his skin. Maybe it was his easy-going grin, one that seemed to always be on his face as he walked among his party members. Maybe it was his short stature, making him seem so much more precious. Maybe it was the way he interacted with his neighbors, going along with them as they talked with him, with nothing but a quick yelp as he was dragged along to explore.

This time, the party had walked into town for a quick shopping trip, but had instead gotten dragged into the festivities. After hearing from the citizens that they had to stay over for the big bonfire at the end of the day, The Neighborhood decided to book a few rooms at a local inn, if only to celebrate with the town (and for a moment of relaxation for themselves).

“Wally! Look at this!”

Wally looked up from his spellbook, its pages more so covered in doodles and artistic renditions of how to cast spells rather than written notes like most others might expect. He felt a hand gently place something on his head. His field of vision became smaller as the object atop his head shifted. A giggle rang in his ears as he blinked in confusion.

“D’aww! It suits you!”

Wally closed his spellbook and fixed the wide-brimmed hat so he could properly see. His eyes locked with Julie’s, a big grin painted on the taller horned girl’s face. “Really neighbor?” he asked, his voice soft and monotonous.

Julie rapidly nodded her head and shook her hands in excitement. “Yeah! Doesn’t our wizard need a hat fitting for his profession?” She reached over and adjusted the hat for Wally, balancing it so it wouldn’t fall yet not ruin his pompadour. “Now you look like a real wizard!”

“Oh, I see.” He rolled his eyes upwards as far as they would go in an attempt to look at the hat atop his head, but to no avail. “Was I not a real wizard before this hat?”

“Nooooo,” Julie said in a sing-song tune. “But you look more wizardly now! Oh! I have to find Frank and Eddie now! I found some things for their anniversary!” The sorcerer gave Wally a big hug before she ran off into the crowd, the occasional shriek from others being the only indicator that she was halfway to throwing caution to the wind.

Wally watched her retreat for a minute before removing the hat — Oh! It had a pointy top! And were those silver stars on the dark fabric too? — and placing it back on the stand. He looked around the crowd before slowly walking in a random direction. Maybe he’d run into some of his neighbors like he did with Julie.

He had already seen Howdy haggling the prices down on certain supplies that “were overpriced as hell!” He had almost never heard the quad-armed neighbor sound so irritated, and a soft smile quirked at the corners of his mouth. It wasn’t as if Howdy couldn’t just steal the supplies away, but he instead chose to pay fairly. “From one businessman to another, I endorse being civil about it,” he said when Sally asked him one day.

Poppy, on the other hand, easily accepted the prices given to her for healing potions. The easily-frightened avian of The Neighborhood said that after she collected enough healing supplies, she would be in the inn’s kitchen helping out with baking. “If there’s something that helps me relax a little, it’s when my feathers are covered in flour and the smell of freshly baked goods are coming from the oven.” Wally certainly found the baking process delightful to watch, and could feel the anxiety that normally radiated off their cleric fade away as careful measurements turned into a delectable dessert.

If he remembered correctly, Sally was also in the inn. The goal of the little star of a performer was to write out the script for her next big play, which was the party’s free pass to staying in the inn if it was well-received. She had wanted to share the story of their latest adventure, as fully embellished as she possibly could; laying out the characters and the setting, bringing it to life first on paper, then with her neighbors the next morning. She was originally conflicted about it, as she wished to explore the bustling market with the others. However, the promise of licking the mixing spoons and getting first dibs on the baked goods seemed to convince her to stay. At how quickly her quill flew over parchment at that agreement, Wally couldn’t help but think that she was probably already done by now and keeping Poppy company.

Frank and Eddie were most likely browsing the market together. It was a bit of a surprise when outsiders first laid eyes upon the married couple. Frank with his perpetual frown, furrowed unibrow, and almost endless knowledge on Lepidoptera, was happily married to Eddie? Eddie, who always seemed to have a polite smile on his face and had trouble remembering certain things? It could be hard to believe at first. But the soft looks, gentle kisses, and quiet understanding between the couple was undeniable. Eddie had all the power in his body to easily down a fully armored person, but also had the gentleness of a butterfly as he folded spare parchment into complex shapes for his neighbors. Frank’s exterior could be described as spiky as the thorns he could conjure from the ground, yet out of everyone, Julie was the one who first romped freely through it without a care in the world.

“Hey buddy!” a deep voice lazily called out.

Wally shook himself out of his thoughts and craned his neck upward. His grin widened and his pace quickened. After a few bumps into others, he was considered close enough for his bestest friend Barnaby to reach out, slip his large hands under his armpits, and gently throw the wizard into the air before wrapping his arms around him in a tight hug.

“Barnaby! Hello my friend,” Wally said as he rested his cheek against the other’s shoulder. It was damp, and a familiar wet dog scent entered Wally’s nose. “Oh, neighbor. What happened to you?”

Barnaby chuckled and shrugged with minimum movement so as not to disturb the party’s wizard so much. “Oh, just got caught in the butt end of a joke. ‘M not hurt Walls, promise.” He pressed his short snout against Wally’s shoulder and let out a throaty rumble of content.

Wally nuzzled into Barnaby’s shoulder at this show of affection. His grin softened when he saw how fast Barnaby's tail was wagging. It took everything in him to not drop his spellbook on the ground. He willed his fingers to stay curled tight around the spine, willed his grip to not go limp like the rest of him every time he was embraced in a hug.

“How have you been? Did you find anything nice?”

“Oh, not really.” Wally's tone might’ve reflected discontent over this situation from how monotonous it sounded, but the pair had been friends for long enough that Barnaby could read his friend easily. The combination of a sigh and the willing lean into the hug (however that may be like for the smallest being) led to there being no need to worry.

“Ahh, it’s alright buddy.” Barnaby released Wally from his tight hug and set him back on his feet. “I found a joke book written by an up-and-coming comedian here. Some of the jokes are pretty funny.” A grin slid onto his face and an eyebrow quirked upwards as he asked, “Do you wanna hear a few?”

Wally nodded. “I always love hearing your jokes Barnaby. They’re the most.” He slowly started to make his way back to the inn, the setting sun causing their shadows to elongate on the cobblestone ground. The canine neighbor walked alongside him and started to share some of the jokes he’s picked up, with the shorter of the pair giving a faltered laugh after each of them. His eyes showed more of what he shouldn't fully express though. They furrowed slightly as he processed the punchlines, then lit up as understanding hit. He made sure his shoulders shook to show that his laughter was genuine, and for the funnier jokes, he added the action of closing his eyes.

Wally was at home with each and every one of his neighbors. He loved how each of them came together and formed not just an adventuring party, but a family. He watched each interaction made with each other with close eye contact, his dark eyes following them carefully. He would give up the world if it meant that they could all stay like this. Happy. Together. A family.

------

A gasp. Air got sucked into his lungs. Out. In. Out. Breathing was so hard. Shouldn’t it be natural? It certainly felt natural if Wally thought about it. But the more he thought about how natural breathing should come to him, the more difficult it became. It was as if his lungs were stuffed with cotton.

Where was he? The ground was cold and hard. He willed his limbs to move, slowly awakening as if they had come out of a deep slumber. They were numb, and moving them felt foreign, as if he didn’t have full control over them. Wally slowly got up, checking his belongings as he did. He still had his spellbook, as well as his traveling backpack. Catching his appearance in a mirror, he felt his heart skip a few beats at the state of his appearance. His perfectly styled pompadour was halfway to falling over, his hair already leaning over and threatening to cover half his face. His eyeshadow was smudged and were those dark circles under his eyes? He inwardly grimaced, his smile not faltering just yet, save for the corners turning downwards.

He fixed his red ascot as an attempt to ground himself as he muttered, “Where are your neighbors? Find them first. They’ve seen you like this, even worse than this.”

He turned his head around to fully take in his surroundings. He seemed to be inside someone’s house. The walls were painted bright red, black and white accents protruding through the almost garish color choice. A large, almost equally red plush chair sat in the middle of the room Wally was in. Next to the chair was a table that reached up to the armrests, and on the table was a red contraption that he never saw before. It was roughly trapezoidal in shape, with a round dial on the front. Atop it, a curved shape lay in a cradle with a coiled cord that connected it with the base.

The wizard looked around him. Where was the exit? He glanced at the window with yellow panes in the shape of a cross. Outside it was pitch black. Oh. It was probably nighttime then. Was this a special room the inn gave them in exchange for Sally’s performance? He could still remember the little star’s flushed face as the crowd gave a standing ovation.

But, wait. That didn’t make sense now, did it? The performance was in the morning, so why give a luxurious yet tacky-colored room before that fact?

As Wally slowly made his way to the window to try to take a closer peek outside, he felt his shoe catch on a loose floorboard. He yelped as he tried to regain his balance. He ended up taking a few feeble, panicked steps towards the plush chair, to which he felt the floorboards shift beneath his feet and confirmed his destination was in fact, the chair.

He fell onto the chair, his back hitting the backrest roughly and one of his hands knocking onto the side table. Not a moment had passed before — 

Ring! Ring!

The contraption was ringing.

Ring! Ring!

Wally didn’t know what to do. He reached for the ringing device, then paused in midair. What would happen if he touched it, much less picked it up? He’s had his fair share of magical items end up being cursed or otherwise having unwanted side-effects. What if this was another one of those?

Ring! Ring!

It kept ringing.

Ring! Ring!

It wouldn’t stop until he did something about it, wouldn’t it?

Ring! Ring!

His throat felt dry. A heavy pit started to form in his stomach. Why was he hesitating so badly?

Ring! Ring!

A sharp, unseen object pierced through his hand. He cried out in surprise, then hissed in pain as he felt something like string wrap around his wrist. It forced his hand down, forced his fingers to curl around the curved part of the contraption, forced him to pick it up and bring it close to his ear and mouth.

The ringing stopped.

His breathing still felt heavy.

“Hel – ” He paused. Swallowed. Then, he tried again. “Hello?”

A pause.

Then, a voice on the other end. “Hello.”

The voice was smooth and deep, with creaks and thumps throughout the room almost accentuating it. Wally unconsciously curled inwards as the hairs on the back of his neck rose. The pit in his stomach grew heavier. It felt as if someone was watching him. If only some of his neighbors were here! While he wasn’t as much of a glass cannon as someone might make him out to be, it was undeniable that it was easier to land a hit on him if he didn’t give his full attention to a fight.

“Where am I?” he asked. He hoped that whoever was potentially watching didn’t see how his smile wavered, nor hear how his voice wavered.

“You died on my land.”

Wally’s heart nearly stopped right there. His hand gripped the talking device tighter, and his other hand curled into a tight fist. His eyes darted around the room, looking for any indication that this was a dream. He didn’t dream very often, for sleeping was a tough thing for him. He still remembered the first time he had to explain to the other neighbors that him murmuring “I’m sleeping, I’m sleeping” was to help him achieve sleep. Insomnia was never a good thing, especially when it would last for what felt like forever.

“Oh. Ha ha ha. That’s a funny joke.” It had to be a joke, right?

Clearly the being on the other end didn’t find this to be a laughing situation, as the strings around his wrist tightened. He cried out in surprise, but bit his tongue to prevent himself from crying out further. He mustn’t show weakness, even when the invisible strings around his wrist dug deep into his skin, drawing blood. As he felt the crimson liquid start to run down his arm, soaking into his clothes, he exclaimed, “Okay, okay! So, what if I’m dead? What about my neighbors?”

The strings stopped digging into his skin, but he could still feel them there. Waiting for him to misbehave again. A pause on the other end. “You all died on my land. Fifty years ago, you all died on my land.”

“That’s…not true, right?” Wally nervously chuckled. “We always make it out alive. Injured, cranky, tired. But alive.”

“Delusional fool,” the being on the other end spat. “How confused are you to believe your own lies? Must I show you undeniable proof?”

It didn’t wait for Wally’s answer. Before him, the floorboards flipped onto each other, parting and making way for a hole to appear. A putrid stench rose from the hole. Wally was deeply familiar with it, being a necromancer. Something was dead and rotting in there. Normally, it wouldn’t bother him. But the ominous way that the being spoke made his stomach churn, a cold sweat breaking out across his body.

Something — no, someone — rose from the hole in the room. It was humanoid, large. Wearing clothes fit for a jokester who could easily pummel someone with their bare fists. Light blue, slightly curly fur.

Their head detached from their neck, rising alongside the body.

Wally’s smile dropped.

“BARNABY!”

Wally leapt out of the chair to reach towards his best friend, ignoring the way the strings dug into his skin. This was a bad dream, was it? It was only a bad dream, right?

His fingers brushed against Barnaby’s arm. It was cold.

His head spun. He felt nauseous. His knees buckled under the revelation setting in. Another sharp piercing through his other hand, more strings around his wrist. Wally felt himself being lifted up by the strings around his wrists, yet he had no energy in him to fight back. His mouth was contorted into a deep, forlorn frown. The ground blurred, but he rapidly blinked it away. No. He mustn’t show weakness here. Not now.

He was alive. Somehow. He was talking to someone. He was The Neighborhood’s necromancer! He could revive them all! That thought wormed its way into his mind and burrowed itself deep. It grew roots so ingrained within him that if someone were to try to remove it from his mind, one might as well be removing his entire brain.

“I can bring them back,” he whispered. The idea slipped past his lips and into the air. It sounded viable now. “I can bring my neighbors back. I can bring them back!” He thrashed against the strings, ignoring the pain and the blood. “I can bring them back!” He stared at Barnaby’s cloudy eyes, his own wide eyes with feverish energy. A smile wormed its way back onto his face. “I can bring you back, Barns. I can bring you all back.”

The room shook. The floorboards rattled and the walls creaked. Windows and doors opened and slammed shut. The voice from the end of the device laughed loudly, echoing through the room. It sounded closer, not restrained to the device. It sounded like it came from everything, everywhere, all at once.

“AH HA HA! What a delusion you live under!” the voice sneered. “This could be an illusion I’m showing you! Didn’t you hear me? You’ve been dead for 50 years!”

“Then why am I awake, talking to you?” Wally asked back. His voice was strangely calm. Gone was his initial panic, instead replaced with resolve for his goal. He tilted his head. “I would be dead too.”

The voice paused, as if contemplating what to share with the wizard. “The combination of your party’s magic, combined with the natural enhancer of my land, prevented your bodies from rotting normally. It prevented you from being found. It prevented your souls from departing. It prevented me from contacting what was left of you. It took fifty damn years before the magic had faded enough for me to contact any of you.” A slam of a door enunciated the being’s frustration.

Wally mused this over, then looked around the room. “So, my friend’s bodies are still relatively well preserved, correct?”

A creak. Wally hummed and asked, “So I could revive them. Then we would move off your land, and we won’t bother you again. How does that sound?”

“Your bodies and magic have already infected my lands. There’s no point in your offer.”

Wally’s smile dropped at the edges before rising back up. He wasn’t going to lose his second chance at life, at seeing his friends’ wishes come true. They died all too soon for that. They were all still so young. “Then you join us in our adventure. You become part of our neighborhood. You become our neighbor. You are welcomed here, you are home.” If he had inadvertently given this being a name, no one had to know but himself. He widened his hands as if offering a handshake. He widened his smile, put on as much charm that he had in his disheveled appearance.

One minute of silence lapsed into five. Five turned into ten. Wally’s smile started to drop, and his fingers slowly curled inwards. “Please. I’m begging you.”

Another minute of silence passed before he felt his feet touch the floor, then the strings around his wrists relaxed until he didn’t feel them anymore. He rubbed the thin cuts and wished that Poppy were here to heal them.

“I’ll allow it. However, you must hold up your end of the deal. I’ll join your little party, until you die again. And you won’t die again in the same way you died before, oh no.” This time, a more visible string formed and wrapped around Wally’s neck. It tightened, yet didn’t raise him off the floor. Just a threat. “Your magic will be supplemented by my own, but there’s a time limit on how long it’ll last. Slowly, your friends will rot again. It’ll be your job to make sure they’re unaware of that, for only you will be aware that you’ve died for 50 years.”

To be burned by such knowledge made Wally’s head hurt, or maybe he was getting tired. After all, he had woken up from a 50-year slumber.

But for his friends, he agreed. “Deal.”

The string around his neck disappeared, and Barnaby's body was lowered back into the floor, the floorboards flipping over the hole. “Deal. Never forget this,” the being said.

Wally felt his stomach drop, his head spun. He dropped to the ground and struggled to keep his eyes open. Between heavy blinks, he saw the room disappear, black fading over the red. The floor became colder and foreign. The last thing he remembered was staring at the window as a large black eye shook and stared at him, red running down its lower pane.

------

When Wally awoke, it took everything in him to not immediately throw up. Everything around him smelled like death and rot. He untied his ascot from around his neck, cleaned it with a quick spell, then cast another spell to make it smell like Poppy’s apple pie as he tied it around his nose and mouth. Cinnamon, apples, and warm pie crust filled his nose as he took deep breaths to calm himself down.

Fifty years.

He and his neighbors were dead for fifty years.

And only he should know of it.

He steeled his nerves and slowly got up. He had his spellbook, he had the help of the being. He just needed to trust in his magic. It was dark outside. Perfect. If he did this quickly enough, he should have enough time to revive them before the sun rose. It wasn’t as if he needed sleep anyways, his mind was too loud right now.

Julie. She needed to find her sisters again and see how they were all doing. She had three of them, right?

Sally. She still needed to have a play fit to perform for the galaxy. Something only fitting for a star like her.

Howdy. He needed to have enough funds to replace his destroyed shop. Then, he needed to send extras back to his very large family.

Poppy. She was looking for her cousin, right? She had mentioned him a few times as she baked, a sad smile etched on her face.

Eddie. He wanted to remember where he was from. He knew his mother was waiting for him, but where?

Frank. His greatest dream was to document a rare butterfly he’d heard about as a myth since he was a child. To prove it was real.

Barnaby. Ever since his mother died, it was as if his jokes were an attempt to connect to her again. He said she’d always loved and laughed at his jokes. So, his wish was to make the best joke ever, enough to make her spirit laugh from the afterlife.

And Wally’s wish? He just wanted more time with his neighbors. The time he already had didn’t feel like enough. He loved them all too much for their adventures to end so suddenly. He didn’t even have enough time to blow them all goodbye kisses.

He gently pulled his friends closer together, every one of them cold beneath his hands. Every one of them preserved unnaturally by magic, but nonetheless putrid-smelling. He occasionally retouched on his ascot when his mind couldn’t numb the sensation or when the smell of happiness started to fade away. His mouth tasted like metal, so somewhere in the process of preparing for his biggest spell he had bitten his cheek or tongue.

He took out his paintbrush, opened his book, and channeled his magic through it. It flowed from the bristles like paint, and he painted the magic circle exactly like in his notes. The complex insignia was next. The spell listed several rare and expensive materials for a singular resurrection spell for a singular being, but would it work with all of them?

He had to try.

Wally stepped into the middle of the magic circle, surrounded by his neighbors, his friends, his family. As he continued to paint his magic into reality, he started to chant the spell. It was long, and a singular mistake could result in tragedy. A few minutes into the casting process, his magic circle suddenly surged with extra power. His eyes widened but he didn’t falter.

More magic, more chants. Something felt as if it gripped his heart and squeezed it like a stress ball. He gasped in shock but he had to recover quickly. His throat was becoming dry, but he couldn’t stop now. Magic continued to flow from his brush, the strokes becoming wider and sharper.

His friends’ bodies were reverting back to their normal selves. Gone were their grave wounds, their limbs were being stitched back together. He could even see a bit of color in their cheeks. His grin widened. It was working!

Almost as if the being that was lending him its power sensed his excitement, his heart clenched again. Something dark was crawling up his body. Cold, thick, liquid. It edged around his eyes before digging itself behind his eyelids, behind his eyes.

It hurt. It hurt so badly. It was like lemon juice was being poured in. He wanted to stop and cry and tear whatever this was out. But to lose concentration of the spell?

Never.

At the crescendo of the spell, his friends’ bodies started to rise. He rose as well. He was reviving all of them. He would do it.

Then, it was over. He painted the last symbol, said the last word. Their bodies slowly floated down, the insignia and magic circle disappeared, and the second his feet touched the ground, all the extra magic that had flowed through him temporarily left him. His body, starved for energy, started to shut down.

Perhaps he should do this more often. It would certainly cure his insomnia. “Ha ha ha,” he whispered. Before his eyes closed, he remembered his neighbors stirring, a hand pressed against his forehead, and a cry of “He’s burning up!”

------

According to Poppy, he had used so much magic that he contracted a magic-induced fever for a week. Magic-induced fevers were a tricky thing, as the use of healing spells only seemed to aggravate them, especially in the beginning days. So each neighbor had to wait for their wizard to naturally break the fever.

“Oh honey,” she murmured between his waking moments, “it’s okay. I don’t know what you did, but shhh. Focus on healing up, okay?” A handkerchief dabbed at his eyes and cheeks. Was he crying? He couldn’t remember the last time he did.

When his fever finally broke, and he could handle walking around without looking as if he would tip over if he took one too many steps, The Neighborhood packed their things and set up to travel to their next big town.

Wally was quiet on their first few days of traveling. He smiled and nodded and laughed when his neighbors talked with him, but speaking actual words was difficult for a bit. It was as if the excess of magic he had to use had chased away his voice. Or maybe it was the shock of seeing, hearing, feeling, his neighbors around him again. Alive. Happy.

Unaware.

He couldn’t let them know. He could never let them know.

When he started to speak again, Barnaby was the first one to give him one of his bone-crushing hugs. Wally remained as limp as ever in them, but he nuzzled into them harder than before.

“Missed hearing you buddy,” Barnaby whispered to him.

Another thing that bothered Wally was that his eyes hurt. They starved for things. In private, he found that if he stared at something for long enough with the intent to consume it, almost comical bite marks appeared in the object and that craving was reduced. He could also blink to initiate the eating process, but blinking scared him. In the dark of the night, if he widened his eyes enough, yellow crosses appeared in them.

“Hello Home,” he whispered, when his neighbors were fast asleep and snoring. “We’re forgotten Home. It’s as if we never existed for 50 years. I don’t think they remember that either.” He picked up an apple that he had bought earlier that day. He stared at it, and bite marks appeared in the flesh. “Do you see our adventures? I hope that you enjoy what we do Home.”

In his head, he heard a creak, like a door swinging on its hinges.

“That’s good, I think.”

Wally placed the apple core down and curled up to sleep. He closed his eyes, and murmured “I’m sleeping, I’m sleeping, I’m sleeping” until his consciousness faded away.

He had his neighbors back. He had a new neighbor. And he would cherish them for as long as he could.

Until death did them apart.