#And there's the funeral next week too
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amethystina · 1 month ago
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Hi <3 I just wanted to reach out and wish you all the strength and comfort in the world as you navigate this difficult time. Your writing brings so much joy to readers like me, and I hope you’re surrounded by support and love.
If you don’t mind, could you share a bit more about Yohan's thoughts in "Thou Shalt Not Covet"? I’m intrigued by your take on him as someone with darker thoughts and sides, and I’d love to understand your perspective. (you previously mentioned that he had not-so-nice thoughts, which intrigues me greatly! and i wanted to ask if u could talk a little more about them)
Thank you for all the effort you put into your stories, they’re truly inspiring!
Thank you so much 💜 Admittedly, things are still pretty rough. I keep feeling stressed and disoriented and that just adds to the overall exhaustion I'm already struggling with. But I'll get through it eventually. I always do :)
As for Yo Han and his thoughts during Thou Shalt Not Covet?
WELL.
He's a right bastard, that's what he is x'D I mean, aside from the more obvious things he does to Ga On? Like taking his phone away — which is Ga On's only way of getting a taxi AND calling someone for help should the situation escalate — more or less blocking the door to keep Ga On from leaving, and interrupting whenever Ga On tries to speak?
As if that's not enough, Yo Han also does a lot of subtle manipulations to make sure that he maintains the upper hand and that Ga On is easier to nudge in the direction Yo Han wants him. Because while Yo Han starts out confused, unsure of what's going on, he soon realises that a) Ga On is now aware of the attraction between them, b) Ga On is very insecure about said attraction, c) Ga On is unhappy with Yo Han's commitment to their attraction, and d) Ga On is outright jealous.
And that's something Yo Han can work with.
Because this is Yo Han from around episode 10 of the drama and he's not a kind or considerate man at that point in time. So while he does give both himself and Ga On what they want in the end, make no mistake — the way he goes about it is problematic.
Aside from the aforementioned physical ways Yo Han is directing the situation, he also bluntly says: "Yes, I did have sex with him." And that right there? That's him trying to throw Ga On off balance. He wants to keep Ga On in a heightened emotional state so that he's easier to manipulate. And sure, while they both want the thing Yo Han is aiming for with his manipulations, that's still a red flag. Because Yo Han doesn't have to take that route. He could be much more understanding and gentle.
But he chooses not to be.
And the main reason for that is that Yo Han still has limits to how far he's willing to go — and how much of his own pride he's willing to forsake in order to keep Ga On with him. He chose to follow Ga On back to his room, sure — which I agree is pretty monumental — but he's not giving an inch until he's sure he's actually going to be gaining something from it. He keeps asking Ga On questions, figuring the situation out, then basically launches an attack to discombobulate and convince Ga On to give a relationship a try. During the majority of that conversation, Yo Han is intentionally making Ga On more desperate because he knows that'll make Ga On more likely to succumb.
And the fact that Yo Han wants Ga On to succumb isn't just because he cares about him and wants to smooch him — far from it. Because this is Yo Han and, naturally, he's already thought through every scenario and reached the conclusion that, hey, being in a relationship with Ga On will probably be beneficial for his revenge plot because it'll tie Ga On to him more firmly. It'll make Ga On less likely to leave and Ga On is very useful to Yo Han.
(not to mention that Yo Han wants to own every tiny fraction of Ga On's body, heart, and soul)
Starting a relationship with Ga On is a good strategic move, in other words.
It's a tactical decision more so than it's an emotional one.
And, in a similar vein, Yo Han would have chosen not to pursue Ga On if he'd reached the conclusion that it would risk his plans. Because, at this point in the drama, in Yo Han's mind, Ga On — and Yo Han's own desires — are below his revenge on his list of priorities. If their relationship jeopardised his plans, he'd end it. Without hesitation.
So while it may seem pretty romantic that Yo Han follows Ga On to his room and asks him those questions that prove just how many exceptions Yo Han has made for him, you gotta remember that nothing Yo Han does is accidental. He knows just what to say to make Ga On more dependent on him and, when you look at everything he said? Yo Han never once mentioned his own emotions. It was all Ga On reading between the lines and giving Yo Han the benefit of the doubt. He even dodges Ga On's attempt to trap him with the "What do you want it to be?" question by turning it on Ga On, asking if he hasn't figured it out yet.
Not once does Yo Han give an actual verbal answer — he just asks questions and allows Ga On to fill in the blanks.
Because Yo Han knows that he's made Ga On desperate enough that Ga On will fill those empty spaces with what appeals to him the most. By not offering any words himself, Ga On will add the ones he wants to hear instead — and they'll be sweeter, more emotional, more romantic — without Yo Han having to do a thing or surrendering any more of his pride by actually admitting to caring about Ga On.
Ga On does it all by himself.
That doesn't make the emotions any less true — Yo Han does care about Ga On a great deal — but he's not willing to say it at this point in their relationship. He's not willing to leave himself vulnerable or at Ga On's mercy. Because, deep down, Yo Han isn't ready for that kind of commitment, nor does he feel that level of trust towards Ga On.
So, instead, Yo Han makes sure to remain in charge during that whole conversation and uses every trick in the book to manipulate Ga On to his liking.
And sure, that may sound harsh, but that's who Yo Han is. If you look at the drama, that's how he behaves. He is this much of an asshole. He would use Ga On's emotions against him and exploit every weakness he can spot, just to get what he wants.
He's just lucky that, this time, Ga On wants the same thing.
That's not to say that Yo Han comes out of this unscathed, by the way. He thinks he has, being all aloof and untouchable, not realising that he's put himself in quite the pickle once they actually start growing even closer, both physically and emotionally. Which they'll do much quicker than in canon.
Because suddenly Yo Han will be getting fond little kisses whenever Ga On is near. And soft, warm smiles whenever Yo Han does something that makes Ga On happy. And he'll find out what sounds Ga On makes when he's so overwhelmed by pleasure that he can't even form words anymore. And he'll be struck dumb by how angelic Ga On looks in the mornings, sleeping peacefully next to Yo Han.
In short: Yo Han is doomed.
He'd soften a lot quicker than in the drama and his priorities might start shifting without him noticing. Because we all know he's helpless against Ga On's doe eyes and, sooner or later, he'll become that sappy, lovesick old man we all know and love.
So sure, Yo Han is abusive and toxic during this fic — which I don't think should be forgotten or excused — but he's also given Ga On the opening to manipulate him back. And while Ga On won't do it knowingly, Yo Han still won't stand a chance.
And I don't know about you, but I love that for him.
Yo Han won't know what hit him until it's already too late and then his only option is to accept his fate and love and cherish Ga On for the rest of their lives.
A+ scheming there, Mr. Abyss.
That didn't backfire on you at all.
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gunkbaby · 8 months ago
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people who weren’t around for tokyo ghoul re releasing weekly can never understand the anxiety of the entire community being wholeheartedly convinced shuu was absolutely gonna croak it at any moment
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chromoluminary · 5 months ago
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I cannot stay at this job for a second longer than I have to this sucks so bad holy shit
#ember talks#my supervisor keeps saying she wants to bring me on as a contractor after the internship ends and I have no way of telling her uh#respectfully I do not think I’d live through the semester if I did that#it’s not even grueling work I just hate the content and the company culture is a funeral at best#I can do corpo culture w layoffs or I can look at photos of necropsies for 8 hours a day#I can’t do both but I have to this summer#especially with the continued assumption I’m cis and straight and neurotypical in such a weirdly aggressive way#I have a presentation that I’ve been putting off building the slide deck for bc I just. I don’t know how to spin my project#it’s basically a grunt labor project but I’m qualified enough to speak to the principles behind it#but I was told to not talk abt the principles#or about what an archive is#and I got flack for not working 20 extra unpaid hours last week but there’s no way for me to do that without getting fired#I hate it so fucking much I’m so tired#I’m so tired of being tired#I know every job is going to suck but at least the other ones don’t have me staring at viscera trying to figure out how I can upload it#I know I should feel fortunate to have this job but I’m just lying on the floor sobbing rn#I’ve been working since 6:30 this morning I should just. stop#log the fuck off give the fuck up try again next week#(Monday I have an interview for a hopefully chiller job in the fall and I’m very excited for it tbh)#the team seems cool and it’s . idk it’ll be something I can live with doing#and I can work my other school year gig and I miss that team so much and they said they missed me too and#god I just rly wanna work full time at the library I work at during the year
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tariah23 · 7 months ago
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I’ve seen this niggas disgruntled, anti Yuuta tweets for weeks in passing, he is fed UP
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starshinc · 1 year ago
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want to be here for a while as i can’t sleep + need a distraction. i’ll pop more info into the read more
as some of you are aware, tomorrow is my grandma’s funeral. grandma was like a mum to me, she was amazing and wonderful person and i have been severely struggling with her loss. tonight, i was given some of her clothes - shirts i can have made into a memory bear, her favourite green cardigan, some old pictures. we discussed her funeral and i have been pre-warned on some music choices. this is so, so painful, and i am….not knowing what to do with myself really so here i am. we are having her service and wake tomorrow, then i head back up to my home across the country on thursday. family want me to stay until sunday but realistically i am going to want my own space and time to process this.
i am also heavily regretting not bringing my cat morgana down for cuddles, but i didn’t want to stress her out (3 hour drive), and poor morgs has a condition which is triggered and brought on by stress so she is staying home…i miss her
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after-nine-at-the-oasis · 2 years ago
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When your mom's going to get a job for the first time in over 20 years while you're still in school because even though she doesn't think she quite needs to your dad's stressed about money and you know what she's not saying is that your medical bills are a huge part of it :p
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honestlyawesome · 4 months ago
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I do still wake up very early and most of the time with a great weakness in my heart. But it’s ok
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six-improbable-things · 4 months ago
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I forgot to post anything about this, but I did the scene where I had to read some of my writing to the dnd party (twice!) and they were SO nice about it. I couldn't stop smiling. (which was kind of a weird disconnect since the scenes were super dark, lmao.) But augh, I'm so glad they were nice to meeee. My poor boy Rook is Going Through It right now, and things are about to get worse.
Next session we also might get to do our first version of ship combat using the rules I made which is kind of wild. I'm very nervous, but I feel like after this last session and sharing stuff I wrote with them (out loud!!!) I can handle it. Probably.
#morrigan.text#I literally couldn't sleep saturday night because I was too nervous-cited for the session. But it actually went really well.#for everyone tbh. Not just me. Everyone knocked it out of the park with their obituaries for the dead PC and it was great.#we even made his player cry asdkjaskdjasd.#Rook's obituary was a train wreck but that's the whole point of it so like I accomplished my goal lmao.#everyone was SO mad at him it was kind of funny.#he stared down a FUMING ancient moon dragon and didn't get turned to ice so that's good.#my beloved idiot bastard man. he does NOT deserve the shit I'm putting him through right now.#mmm maybe I'll rewrite the scene where he stared down the moon dragon bc it was really intense and is much less monologue-y than the eulogy#which will make it easier to write. I suck at writing monologues into proper prose form.#anyways.#morrigan plays dnd#campaign: the vanguard#also... the fact that Rook literally JUST got done saying how no one needs him and then this fucking dragon (who is FURIOUS with him rn) is#like ''I'm not killing you because your friends need you and I need you''... god. My oblivious little baby boy. What the fuck Rook.#Accept that your friends love you goddammit.#and then the party bard who Rook has been beefing with for weeks was actually really nice to him??? and that fucked him up too.#but he still left the party (intending to only be gone a day) to think about shit and also grieve for his mentor who turned out to be evil.#since he knows no one in the party liked that guy anyways and they did violently murder him in front of Rook...#So next session Rook has ANOTHER funeral (kind of) and he also is gonna get kidnapped.#and Val gets to show up!!!! Val my beloved!!! I'm very excited to play them but I have no idea how the fuck to play them off.#they're the complete opposite from Rook in every way and Rook is easy for me to play. So Val will be... a challenge.#I'm not cut out to play characters who are genuinely good people lmao.
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kutyaharapas · 8 months ago
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not to be uber dramatic and corny but i do think something in me died along with him when he passed last year
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analogboii · 8 months ago
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aaaaaaand i think i have a fever whoops
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punk-rock-kitten · 1 year ago
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definitely the worst weeks leading up to christmas I've ever had
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evvlogetarian · 1 year ago
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Burnout is so very real and unfortunately it couldn't have come at a worse time for me...like genuinely </3
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danielnelsen · 1 year ago
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grandpa just died :/
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itneverendshere · 2 months ago
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LOVED YOU AT YOUR WORST - r.c series - FIVE
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pairings: ex!sweethearts; rafe x thornton!reader; rafe x sofia. chapter warnings: mention of pregnancy; abortion; lack of self-care
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You’ve had to make a lot of unfortunate decisions in your life.
Choosing a place for your entire family to rest for eternity, picking the caskets, the headstones—it felt like deciding which curtains to buy for the house, except you were burying your entire close family.
After the crash, your parents were gone instantly, just like that—no goodbyes, no warning, just there one moment and gone the next.
But your sister survived. Three days. You thought maybe that was a sign, she’d live despite everything, and you wouldn’t be left alone.
Two weeks later, the doctors told you it was time, but you couldn’t accept it. You held her hand, begging her to stay, telling her every promise you could think of if she opened her eyes.
When the monitors finally went flat, you couldn’t feel anything but desperation. Rafe had to pull you out of there, his arms locked around you while you kicked and screamed, sobbing and begging your sister not to go, not to leave you here.
You fought him with everything you had left, clawing, crying, pleading for just one more second. You were screaming so loud you didn’t even recognize your voice. Everything good had been ripped away from your hands, there was nothing left of the world you’d known.
After that, you remember sitting in some stuffy funeral home office, skimming through catalogs and hardly seeing the pages through your tears. The caskets all looked the same, the types of wood made no difference to you, fabric linings, all of it felt so wrong. 
None of it was a choice you should have to make. 
It was unthinkable to be contemplating about gravestones. How could you sum up your family in limited words or dates, let alone choose a font for it?
You just picked something neutral and blank, something that didn’t require thought or emotion because, by then, you had nothing left to give. 
Now you were trapped again, caught between a rock and a hard place.
Your first thought had been telling Topper, your only real family left, but he was as much Rafe’s as he was yours, and when it came down to it, he was still his best friend. Loyal to him since they were five, and jesus knows how he’d react if he found out about this. He’d most likely freak the fuck out and tell Rafe everything, thinking he was doing the right thing, or worse, letting it slip to Ruthie.
Ruthie—no chance you’d involve her. She’d just see this as another fucked up piece of gossip she could hold over your head, another way to judge or control you. She was “friend” only in the loosest sense of the word.
Kelce was the last person you’d consider turning to for something this serious. He has always been there, but you never got close. He was too much of an instigator, always pushing Rafe to do reckless things he’d regret later, peer pressuring him in ways that made you wonder if he even knew what loyalty meant. He had this weird loyalty to Ruthie, defending her comments as if she was some misunderstood angel when really, she was just… mean.
So that left Sarah. 
It felt weird, thinking of her as the person you’d call on for something so serious, she was the only one who felt… safe. She wouldn’t judge, wouldn’t pry, she’d seen what the worst kind of family conflict could do, and she’d keep this private, just for you.
It’s then you recognized how small your world was. How few people were truly yours.
You were pretty sure no one in this town would fully understand, they’d just offer their "advice," as if they knew you, seen what you’d been through. 
The truth was, they didn’t know shit. They hadn't seen you holding your sister’s hand, begging her to stay alive. They didn’t know what it was like to bury everything that made you feel like a person, like you belonged somewhere, and have to get up the next day like nothing happened.
Nine days, you would be halfway across the country, and you needed someone. You pictured saying it out loud: “I’m pregnant", just those two words, to someone’s face, you had no idea what to say next.
Maybe you’d tell them that it wasn’t about wanting it gone out of spite or shame, but because you couldn’t bring a child into a world where you felt this alone.
Earlier that morning, you’d stared down at your phone, thumb itching to click on Sarah’s name, like just pressing "call" could fix everything. You despised how needy it made you feel—reaching out, when you’d prided yourself on surviving alone. 
You didn’t have much time to ponder about it, because you were stuck at the beach cleanup.
Just like every other summer, another "social responsibility" event that your late father’s foundation insisted you smile through. Even back then, when they were alive, your summers were a carousel of charity galas, fundraisers, endless hours of small talk, and impeccably arranged seating charts.
The board members of the foundation probably thought it would “ground” you—remind you of your privilege, of your “responsibility” to give back. As if a couple of hours and a few bags of garbage would somehow balance the scales. They never seemed to understand how much of it was all for show, this shallow idea that if you looked the part, no one would care to learn more.
But, still, you’d show up. You always did. Smile, make just enough small talk to appease the right people. 
Today, it was just you, a few kids and teens dotted along the beach with oversized trash bags. It wasn’t even noon, but the sun felt like it was scorching you alive. It was laughable, really, standing under this blistering sun with a cheap trash bag and an endless stretch of sand to clean. 
Kie, who was so genuinely invested in this whole “save the planet” thing it was almost enviable was there too with JJ, who was running around her as usual, wearing his ‘I’m just here for the ride’ expression but enjoying himself. The love between them made you miss having someone who cared in ways that weren’t just calculated moves.
She waved at you from the shoreline, her eyes moving to the trash bag you were barely half-filling.
You weren’t friends, but if Sarah liked her, you did too.
You offered a faint smile back, tired, because between all the shit you’d been thinking about, you'd forgotten to eat, to drink anything, and every time you leaned down to grab another crumpled plastic bottle or a bit of seaweed-laden garbage, you felt like your legs were about to give out on you. 
Every now and then, she would throw a quick, appraising glance your way, like she was expecting you to miraculously become invested in the beach’s ecosystem.
You didn’t have it in you to pretend this was enjoyable today. The “effortless” philanthropy your family loved was a lifestyle you’d never bought into. It didn’t matter how many smiling photos of you had ended up on some charity’s social media—you knew you’d rather be anywhere else.
You had to take a break every few minutes, leaning against a pier post, trying to get yourself together as a few of the younger kids gave you wary glances. You could have left—probably should have.
You managed a tight-lipped smile, giving a thumbs-up that said, Just doing great over here, guys!
You were in a long t-shirt, which hung over your bikini and shorts, the fabric slightly oversized, to help hide what was still a small change in your body. Paranoia was your new best friend, always worrying that someone would notice something different, even if you didn’t have a noticeable bump yet.
Bending down to grab another plastic bottle, you felt a stab of nausea hit you hard, rolling up from your stomach, thick and sour, but you ignored it. Not here. Not now.
You straightened up too fast, and your vision blurred slightly, that familiar sense of vertigo hitting you. You took a shallow breath, ignoring the burn at the back of your throat, your hands shaking slightly as you adjusted the bag slung over your shoulder.
One girl looked up at you with these wide eyes kids like to pull, “Are you okay?” 
You smiled, brushing it off as if you weren’t about two seconds away from collapsing. “Of course. Just... need a second.” 
The kids were watching you again, with that look of curiosity. You couldn’t look them in the eye. It wasn’t their fault. They just didn’t understand that sometimes the grown-ups didn’t know what they were doing either. 
Just a few more bags of trash and you’d be able to get back to your car, maybe grab some water from the cooler in the trunk, sit down, and think about it.
This used to be easy, you got a weird kind of enjoyment from these cleanups, running around with your sister, making it a competition to see who could pick up the most trash, laughing until your stomachs hurt over stupid jokes about jellyfish and sunscreen. Back then, this was just one of a thousand little family traditions, one of those things that felt effortless.
Now, sweat dripped down the back of your neck, making your skin prickle uncomfortably.
You’d long given up wiping it away, knowing that it would only come back thicker and hotter the next second. Every instinct told you to run off to the parking lot, and sit in the car with the AC blasting until your body remembered it didn’t hate you.
Leaning down for one last bottle wedged in the sand, your legs wobbled and gave way beneath you. Just like that, your vision was spotty, as if someone had turned down the brightness on the entire beach, and you pitched forward.
Just as you felt yourself going down, a hand caught your arm, pulling you back up.
"Whoa, whoa, you okay?" A teenage boy, maybe sixteen, gripped your arm firmly, keeping you upright.
How much longer could they realistically expect you to go on, plastering on that sweet, dutiful smile? How much “grounding” could one person take?
You blinked, trying to clear the haze in your eyes, "I’m fine. Just a little lightheaded, really, it’s fine,” you insisted, but then a shadow loomed beside you. 
Your vision was so foggy that it took seconds for you to register it.
You looked up slowly, feeling a familiar drop in your stomach as you realized who it was.
The last time you’d been this close to him, the two of you had been screaming insults across the room, Lily having to physically step in. She’d forced him to leave before you two killed each other. It was a miracle you hadn’t punched him then and there.
 “You should sit down.”
It felt like a sidekick to your chest.
The sound of his voice was grinding on your nerves, and just like that you were stuck back in your dream, a real memory, leaning against him, his hand playing with a strand of your hair as he laughed at something you’d said, the two of you carefree under a golden sunset. 
Except this was real.
Rafe was shirtless, with his board tucked under one arm, surf wax staining his fingers, and the sun glinting off his damp skin, like he was God’s gift to the Outer Banks. His buzzed hair was dark and wet, droplets trailing down his temples and catching along his jawline. His cheeks were flushed, a little red from the heat.
You looked away, somewhere over his shoulder, anywhere but at him, refusing to let him see you in this fragile state.
“Go away. I’m fine.”
But he didn’t move.
He’d been summoned from your absolute worst memories, catching you at your lowest when you least wanted his help. Typical. 
“No,” he refused firmly, with that stupid, stubborn look that made you want to throw something at his head. “I’ve seen you almost fall three times now.”
“Maybe if you stopped looking at me like a creep, you wouldn’t have to see me ‘almost fall.”
“I wasn’t—"
You grounded your teeth, “Just go back to surfing.”
Rafe let out a dry laugh, shaking his head as if you were the one acting crazy. “Yeah, 'cause you look perfectly stable right now.”
He'd always been a master of the passive-aggressive half-sneer, the art of making you feel like everyone else was imposing on his day, no matter the situation.
“Don’t act like you care.” you snapped, voice carrying over the sand, earning a few glances from nearby kids.
He ran a hand over his face, looking around as if he didn’t want to be there any more than you did, mouth pressed into a tight line. You wanted to scream that this was his fault too, that every choice he’d made led to you standing here alone, exhausted, and terrified.
“Water would help, y’know”, his tone just shy of patronizing “You can’t go around dehydrating yourself just to make a point.”
“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”
Your fingers twitched with the urge to send him stumbling to the other side of the beach, you knew that any sudden movement would make you light-headed again, and the last thing you wanted was to give him more proof of your weakness.
The kid—still standing there, eyes wide and darting between you both—looked like he was watching a reality TV show when Kiara appeared at your side.
“Let’s not do this here,” she begged under her breath, handing you a bottle of water she’d brought over, a kindness you didn’t want but couldn’t reject. “Just sit down for a second, please?”
JJ followed, always with that air of easygoing nonchalance, but his eyes were serious as he glanced from you to Rafe.
“She’s right. Just take a second, yeah?” He looked over at Rafe, “Maybe you should leave,” he said pointedly.
“Maybe you should mind your fuckin’ business Maybank.”
“Look, uh,” the kid stammered, knowing he could get caught in the crossfire. “I’ll… I’ll go see if anyone needs help further down the beach…”
You waved him off, your focus still locked on Rafe as the kid all but bolted away, you didn’t want anyone to think they had to “rescue” you.
You tried to take a step back, but the little strength you had in you disappeared as you felt your knees wobble.
"Jesus," you heard him groan, and then his hands were on your arms, board on the sand, holding you as you stumbled. "I told you to sit down."
You shook his hands off, "Don’t tell me what to do.”
It was hard to believe the two of you had once burned hotter than any bonfire, two people who got under each other’s skin, in love, and in hate.
He let out an exasperated sigh while you took a sip from the water Kiara handed you, ignoring how your hands were still shaking around the bottle. 
She spoke again, trying to be the voice of reason, "We’re here to help the community, remember?"
JJ smirked, "Yeah, think the sea turtles are rooting for y’all to work out your issues somewhere else.”
You ignored his joke, keeping your eyes on Rafe, your pride and stubbornness refusing to let him win, “I’m fine.”
“Yeah?”
He looked you over, his gaze fixed to your warm cheeks and the dewy sheen across your temple, “You look real fine, don’t you?” He didn’t even try to cloak his sarcasm.
God, he could be so exasperating.
He couldn’t understand. How could he even think he could look at you now and know anything about who you were? Standing there, with that stupid board and that look, like he couldn’t imagine anything bothering him as much as this seemed to be bothering you.
As if he hadn’t already ruined you in so many ways that felt impossible to get over. 
“Don’t you have something better to do?” 
“Oh, believe me, I do,” he drawled, his eyes trailing from the waves back to you. 
You were tired of this game, of fighting him every time he showed up only to leave you feeling even emptier than before.
Your fists clenched, and you opened your mouth to hurl something back, but the dizziness hit you again. Before you could compose yourself, Rafe’s arm wrapped around your waist, strong and frustratingly secure, holding you upright with an ease that made your skin crawl.
He had seen you at your weakest, had been there at the hospital after the accident, keeping you together when you were certain you’d break. 
Yet, here you were, in a sick way, back in his arms, all broken apart.
“That’s it. I’m taking you to the hospital.”
“I hate to say it, but he’s right,” JJ chimed in, hand shielding his eyes from the sun.
The world alone had all kinds of alarms going off in your brain. You fought back instinctively, your hands pushing at his chest, freeing your arm. 
“I told you, I’m fine.”
He let go, but he didn’t back away.
Instead, he narrowed his eyes, “You think I don’t know what fine looks like? I was there.”
He was there. And you didn’t want to be reminded of it, not in front of other people. 
He meant the exhaustion and hunger pains you’d welcomed after your family was gone, embraced even, because it meant you wouldn’t have to feel anything else.
You’d wanted to disappear, and he’d been there—dragging you back, forcing you to drink water and swallow bites of food, even when you pushed him away. He’d seen you at your absolute lowest, where you didn’t care if you made it through the day. 
The thought of the hospital, tests, questions, you fought it, but your vision was already blurring.
You couldn’t let him find out about the baby. 
Your breathing felt tighter, each shallow breath only making the spinning worse, you could sense your body giving in to the exhaustion
“Shit,” you heard him curse, sounding distant now like he was farther away. 
You felt yourself sway as if the ground was opening beneath you, there was a ringing in your ears that made his voice sound muffled but you still felt his arms catching you again, holding you upright before you fell.
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Waking up in a moving vehicle was like emerging from a nightmare, except somehow, this was worse, because you were no longer at the beach. 
You blinked hard, desperate to wipe the fogginess in your eyes and when it did go away, you realized who was behind the wheel. 
Rafe. 
Your heart pounded—your desperation to keep the baby a secret, how you almost passed out at the beach, and the fact that now he was most likely driving you to the hospital.
“What the hell are you doing?” you practically screamed, your voice hoarse from the lack of water.
He didn’t spare you a glance, “You passed out, genius. I’m taking you to the hospital.”
Your whole body went rigid. “Are you insane?”
“Me?” He scoffed, as he kept his focus on the road. “You practically ate sand back there. You’re not fine.”
“Turn the car around. I’ll call my driver and be fine.” You huffed like he was too dumb to understand. “I don’t need your help.”
He let out a dry laugh, still not looking at you. 
“Yeah. You’re out of your mind if you think I’m letting you out of this car right now.”
“Rafe, I’m not kidding,” you warned, louder this time. “Stop. The. Car.”
He gave you a sideways glance, his grip on the wheel tightening.
“Not happening.”
Your heart hammered as you realized he wasn’t going to back down, you were driven by sheer desperation.
“Fine, then I’ll do it myself." you muttered, reaching for the door handle. 
Anything to get out of this suffocating car before he dragged you all the way to the ER and they found out you were pregnant—with his baby, no less.
His eyes widened, finally snapping from the road to your hand on the handle.
“Are you crazy? Get your hand off that, I’m fuckin' serious.”
You yanked at it anyway, twisting the handle and pulling with spiteful defiance, and Rafe’s expression went from annoyed to full-on rage. He swerved the car to the side of the road, tires skidding as he slammed the brakes and practically threw the car into park.
Before he could even stop fully, you flung the door open and stumbled out, sandals sinking into the gravel as you stalked away.
You didn’t get more than a few feet, he was already bolting after you.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” you muttered, digging your nails into your palms. 
How the hell had it come to this? You were stuck here, pregnant with his child, and he played the reluctant hero like you needed him swooping in to save you.
Rafe reached you in two strides, his fingers were digging into his forehead, pointing at it with exasperation imprinted into every corner of his face. 
“Are you out of your fuckin' mind?” He sounded like he was talking to some unruly child.
And the worst part? You could see that frustration in his eyes, the same look he used to give you when he’d reached his limit with you.
You wondered if he ever got to that point with Sofia.
What would he do if she was the one almost fainting? Would he still look like she was some colossal burden, or would he soften, maybe even smile as he fussed over her, acting like he wanted to help?
You hated yourself for caring at all.
Sofia—the one who looked like she'd been ripped off from some perfect postcard, all wide-eyed sweetness and gentle smiles. She probably never challenged him, snapped back, or made him want to pull his hair out.
There was no way he’d look at her like she was a mess, someone he just had to “deal with.” He likely saw her as easy, perfect, all soft and sweet words, everything you weren’t.
This wasn’t who you wanted to be, and yet here you were, stumbling around half-dead and pregnant with his child.
“I’m sorry, am I bothering you?” You spat the words, watching his jaw clench tighter. 
He exhaled sharply, rolling his eyes. 
“Unbelievable. Only you could take me trying to help and turn it into this.”
You were done. You were done with the memories, with the torment of seeing him be something better for someone else. 
“Help?” You laughed bitterly, the anger engulfing you so hard it felt as if it choking you. “You think this is help? That I need you, of all people?”
He took a step back, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “I'm trying to help."
You hated how calm he was, how rational he sounded.
It was maddening when all you wanted was for him to get angry, to let that icy surface crack, to give you even a glimpse of something real, something that wasn’t just irritation or sarcasm.
You wanted proof that he still was affected by you, that this was the same guy who used to be everything, who’d promised you everything.
But you swallowed it down, straightening up, because there was no way in hell, you’d let him see even a hint of weakness.
“Trust me,” you shot back, “I’ll be just fine without you.”
He raised an eyebrow, a bitter smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, “Get in the car.”
“No,” you said, firm and unyielding, every inch of you screaming that you wouldn’t let him decide anything for you ever again.
“Fine. Have it your way.”
In one swift move, he reached out, his hands gripping your arms with enough pressure to pull you forward, lifting you clean off your feet. Your breath caught in a furious gasp as he practically dragged you back to the car, his fingers warm against your skin, like you were just a mild convenience. 
“Put me down!” 
You struggled against his hold, jabbing at his chest with what little strength you could muster, but he didn’t even flinch, didn’t so much as hesitate. 
“Rafe, I swear—”
He opened the passenger door with one hand, keeping a firm grip on you with the other, before finally setting you down—not gently—onto the seat. Without meaning to, tears began falling as you struggled against his hands. You could feel them wetting your cheeks, your voice was breaking, jumping to distress as you tried to twist out of his hold, feeling so small under his unrelenting strength.
He almost knelt in front of you, reaching for the seat belt with one hand, while his other remained firmly on your shoulder, holding you still. You felt trapped, impresioned as you tried to turn in every direction, hands weakly pushing him back, but he caught them effortlessly.
“Stop!” you meekly choked out, failing to shove him, the words coming out shameful.
You could feel your heart breaking all over again.
You hated that he was seeing you like this, how he dared to act like you needed him—it made your skin crawl. You hated that he could do this, like he had any right like you’d ever wanted him involved in this part of your life, let alone now.
This was a version of you only Rafe could bring out.
You glared up at him, practically shaking with rage as Rafe ignored your protests like you were nothing more than a child throwing a fit. 
“Get your hands off me.”
His jaw tightened, ignoring the flailing punches and slaps grazing him, and you couldn’t stop the sob that escaped, loud and ugly.
“I’m not letting you kill yourself out of spite.”
Your chest hurt like you’d been run over a hundred times—it felt suffocating. “I hate you.”
For the first time, you thought he might actually leave you here. 
His fingers stopped as if your words had made an impact, his lips pressed into a thin line. Your vision blurred as he leaned in, his touch hovering as if to wipe away the tear running down your cheek, but he didn’t, instead, he closed his hand into a fist and drew back, his face just inches from yours. 
A faint, humorless smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as he clicked the seatbelt into place. He made a low humming noise, that thing he did when he was getting ready to make someone feel two inches tall. 
 "Yeah? Get in line."
Without another word, he pulled back, slamming the door shut, and walking around to the driver’s side.
You wiped at your cheeks, furious that he’d seen you like this, that he had the power to break you down. It was humiliating, sitting here in his car, every part of your body screaming to escape. 
He got in, started the engine, neither of you spoke.
Rafe drove fast, every rev of the engine matching the churning in your stomach perfectly. You sat there, trembling, the dread building with every mile that passed. You gripped the seatbelt so hard it felt like your entire body might go numb, and stared straight ahead, breathing shallow, trying to ignore the sting in your eyes.
You bit back another wave of nausea. Weakness.
You’d already shown him too much. 
You didn’t need a lecture from some doctor on how you “should’ve taken better care of yourself", let alone with Rafe there, watching, scrutinizing, acting like this was his business when he’d made it clear long ago that it wasn’t. He was in your space in the worst way, reopening all the wounds.
You were seething. He had no right to do this.
The thought made you want to drop dead—doctor would walk in, casually drop the news about the baby, and you'd be left watching his reaction in real time.
You looked at the entrance to the ER. The vision of anyone running tests, of some well-meaning nurse, coming in and spilling everything about the baby in front of him—no way. You wouldn’t let that happen.
He wasted no time getting out, moving around to your side, while you sat rigidly, staring straight ahead. His hand was already on the door, yanking it open, looking down at you like he was ready to drag you inside if he had to.
You weren’t moving. You knew the second you stepped inside, it would be over. 
“C’mon,” Rafe pressed, his hand outstretched, hovering there like he thought he could compel you to listen. “Stop being so stubborn.”
You crossed your arms over your stomach, refusing to meet his eyes.
“I’m not going in.”
Rafe let out a sigh, nearing his limit, and knelt down to your level.
“Look, you passed out. I’m not leaving until you get checked out.”
“You’re gonna be here for a while then.”
“Would you stop?” His voice softened for the first time, as if he was trying to reach some part of you that he thought still cared. “You look like you haven’t slept in days, like you haven’t eaten anything that wasn’t out of a vending machine. I know you don’t want my help, but can you just stop for a second and—”
“And what?” you interrupted.
“And think! If you don’t get in there, I’ll drag you in myself.”
Your heart raced, “You wouldn’t dare.”
Rafe stepped closer; his jaw set in determination. “Try me.”
“You’re not coming in."
He blinked like the idea hadn’t even occurred to him. “What?”
Maybe he was seeing the protection you’d built up around yourself since he left, how there was no longer any crack left open for him to slip through.
“I don’t need you. I don’t want you in there.”
“Fine.” His tone was clipped, restrained. “But I’ll be right here.”
You slammed the door shut behind you, not letting him your legs still shaking. You’d rather collapse face-first into the concrete than give him the satisfaction of listening to him. 
“Yeah, you do that,” you replied, turning and walking toward the entrance, refusing to look back.
Stepping inside, you felt a slight tremor run through you—part relief, part panic. The lights were too bright, almost white. Your heart wobbled, replaying how he’d been such a fucking asshole to you.
You’d forgotten how mean he could be, how easily he could go from angry to something so frigid it made you want to cry yourself to sleep.
“Hi there,” The receptionist greeted, her eyes moving over you with a professional once-over, “What brings you in today?”
You forced a small smile, knowing she wouldn’t buy it.
“Just…got a little dehydrated, that’s all.”
“Okay…let’s just get some basic information.” She clicked into her computer, her fingers poised over the keyboard. “Name?”
You cleared your throat, rattling off your full name, she nodded, typing it in.
“Have you experienced any other symptoms besides dizziness?”
“Nothing serious,” you replied, dismissively. “It’s just the heat, like I said. I just need some water and I’ll be good as new.”
This had to be a fucking nightmare you got sucked in, you could sense your blood pressure spike.
She tapped her screen and glanced back at you.
“Alright, Miss Thornton, it looks like we’ll just need a few quick details here to get you all checked in. Can I start with your insurance provider?”
A chuckle almost slipped out of you. Insurance—God, you were fine with insurance. What you weren’t okay with was everything else. You answered, “Blue Cross.”
She asked for your birthdate, which you gave on autopilot, hoping she’d skip any weird or invasive questions. “Any allergies?”
You shook your head. Please, just let this be over. 
“It’s really not a big deal,” You blurted out, giving her a thin smile and forcing calm into your voice. “I just need the IV. You know, standard stuff.”
“Of course, dear. We’ll get things started, it will include routine tests, like bloodwork, just to be safe.”
Bloodwork. Perfect. You were doing everything you could to keep from falling into that spiraling panic mode. 
Please, just get me in, get me out, and don’t find anything.
“Just head down to Room 12.”
All you could think was that you wanted this to be over—before the whole town, or worse, he, found out. It made you want to scream. He was the last person who should be outside.
This was his fault. You’d never be here if he hadn’t shown up.
The next hour passed in seconds—questions, forms, an IV drip.
They’d done blood work, too, but you’d sighed in relief when they’d told you the results wouldn’t be ready immediately. As far as they knew, you’d just overdone it, and now, as you lay on a cot in a room that reeked of sick people, all they’d prescribed was rest, hydration, and food.
When the nurse asked if anyone could pick you up, the thought of calling someone, asking them to see you like this, made you delirious. You didn’t need anyone; you were perfectly fine on your own.
But you also didn’t want Rafe and his delusional ass to barge through the doors.
The nurse moved around you awkwardly, eyes still expectant, as if you were just a button away from a reliable “someone” to come running.
You looked at her, controlling the compulsion to yell. Little people ever bothered to check on you, to show up for more than just the drama or gossip.
Out of them, only one face bounced around in your head.
“Yeah, I got someone.”
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readwritealldayallnight · 2 months ago
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Yours, Mine, Ours
Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x Reader
wc: 1.5k words
warnings/tags: fluff
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“So did the other two actually say no or did you just never invite them?”
“‘Course I invited them, you asked me to, so I did.” Simon replies with ease, keeping his eyes fixed on the road ahead of him. “They’re smart lads, lovie, they knew to say no all by themselves.”
You shake your head at him in disbelief but the smile that’s been plastered across your face ever since the two of you pulled out of your flat’s parking doesn’t budge. Simon’s been driving for a few hours now, and as stressful of an experience as that is alone, you’re too excited to mind the long journey in the car.
Simon is on leave for the next two weeks, something about Price having to attend a funeral following a death in the family, and deciding that everyone on the force was due for a bit of time off. Seeing as the Captain was going to be preoccupied during his time off duty, he had asked if Simon wouldn’t mind checking in on his house for him, making sure things were alright. He’d even offered for the two of you to stay in the guest room for the duration of their leave.
Simon had explained how Price knew that the two of you were living in a small flat in London, and apparently his home was in a beautiful, forested, isolated area which meant he had essentially no neighbours, something he also knew would appeal to Simon. He offered for the two of you to stretch your legs out there at enjoy the property, including the privacy that came with it.
Wanting to be polite, you’d told Simon he should extend the invitation to Soap and Gaz, thinking they might enjoy a nice, quiet stay-cation as well at their Captain’s place away from it all. It would appear your lover had different ideas in mind however. Though you couldn’t blame him entirely, the thought of having the cozy cabin all to yourselves was certainly more appealing.
Every which way you look outside the car, your vision is filled by endless blurry trees as you zoom by, the colours of the leaves having finally changed into the warmer, more vibrant colour palette that came along with the autumn chill. If the drive up to his property was any indication of how beautiful the area really was, then you were in for quite the treat.
Entranced by the beauty of the landscape in comparison to the city lights you’ve grown so used to, you fail to notice the glances Simon keeps sneaking your way, the smallest of satisfied smiles seemingly permanently etched upon his face beneath his balaclava. He was grateful that after explaining the situation and Price’s generous offer to you, you had been too excited to ask many questions, instead getting a jump start on packing a duffel bag or two.
You were one of the most intelligent, clever, curious people he’d ever known, and it was normally quite difficult to get anything by you. He was therefore feeling rightfully proud of himself as he drove you nearer and nearer to the home you believed belonged to his Captain. In actuality, there was no funeral for Price to attend, the sergeants had certainly not been invited along on your getaway, and the home you’d be staying in wasn’t Price’s.
It was yours.
Yours, and Simon’s.
The two of you had been living in that shoebox of a flat he’d considered as ‘satisfactory’ when he was only staying there as a bachelor, for far too long. As ideal as the location might have been, there simply just wasn’t enough space for two people to live together, even considering Simon’s absences for work and that fact that when he was home, you two were essentially always on top of one another anyways.
You’d both been searching for a new flat for what felt like ages now, none of the places you visited feeling like the right fit. Simon would be weary about a certain neighborhood, you’d be concerned with the lack of any balcony or outdoor space, he’d ignore the price tag that felt your eyes bulging, and you’d shake your head as you walked through doorways that had him needing to duck down.
Little did you know, Simon had been doing his own house hunting, outside of the city. You had told Simon you were fine with staying in London, understanding that it’s convenient to have everything near by. But Simon didn’t want to give you just ‘fine’. He wanted to give you a home. The home he intends to spend the rest of his life with you in, plans on carrying you over the threshold in your wedding dress, hopes to carry sleeping newborns in their car seats through the door.
For months now, Simon has subtlety been learning more about what that home looked like to you. He’d look over your shoulder as you scrolled through Pinterest, casually asking if you could show him your boards, you know just for fun, and paid very close attention when you showed him the one named ‘future house’. On his phone, he had a list a mile long in his notes app, from secretly writing down every comment you made while watching your home reno shows. He’ll casually ask you what you think of the houses you drive by, jotting down your answers in his mind, remembering likes and dislikes.
He believes that like you, it’s the people filling the home that matter more than the structure itself, as proven by the way you continue to put up with his minuscule flat. He knows you mean it when you say you’re alright with another flat. But he has the money goddammit, he has the means to do this for you, and when the listing came up for a home in what you’d revealed as being your ideal area to settle down in one day, the house resembling the amalgamation of everything he believed you’d described as being your perfect place, he knew he had to put an offer in.
And if there ever was anything about the house you didn’t like or wanted to change, he’d gladly do it for you, no questions asked. You want to paint the bedroom? Just tell him what colour you want. You want to change the railing on the wrap around porch? He’s on his way to the hardware store already. You need him to dig a stump out of the backyard to make room for your garden? Sit back and enjoy the show lovie, he’s on it. And when the time comes to build a crib? Well he may as well baby proof the whole house while he’s at it too.
He’s pictured your reaction a thousand times over in his mind. He imagines you’ll maybe give a small gasp when he turns the corner of the long driveway and you first see the cozy, two-storey home, surrounded by never-ending foliage of red, orange, and yellow leaves, the time of year perfect for appreciating autumn in the UK, as well as the privacy the tall trees grant you. He thinks the first thing you’ll comment on will likely be the windows, an item high on your priority list he knew to adhere to.
He imagines you kicking off your boots as you step through the door, pace quickening to explore every room, spinning in the kitchen as you joke about how jealous you are of Price. He pictures you groaning with envy when you spot your dream master bathroom, insisting to Simon that since you’d been tasked with checking in on the home you may as well see every room, right? He plans to explain away the obvious sparseness of the home as the Captain not having lived here long, as being very non-materialistic after all his years in service.
He’ll continue to play along for as long as he can, part of him knowing that you know him well enough that you’re likely to catch onto his deception at some point. However he hopes that before you start rummaging through kitchen cabinets and find them empty, too empty even for an absentee captain of a homeowner, that you’ll mention something along the lines of wishing you could stay here longer. That’s when he plans to slip a key into the palm of your hand, revealing that you might be able to stay longer than you believe.
The small piece of metal that’ll unlock the rest of your lives together, sits heavy in his pocket, in contrast to the light feeling in his heart when his hand reaches across the dashboard to grab a hold of yours, knowing that the content, lovesick smile you offer him is likely stretched across his face as well, staring right back at you.
Though you’re unaware that Simon is currently driving towards your home, and not away from it, you’re gently stroking the scarred skin across his hand, feeling as though your home is sitting right next to you, holding your hand and your heart at the same time.
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gremlingottoosilly · 2 months ago
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Mafia!König x Florist!Reader?
You sell flowers. Nice little bouquets for teachers and housewives who want to make their routine a little brighter. Cheap ones, mostly wild things - you'd have to swat at the bees trying to get a bite, apologizing for messing with the natural pollination. You sell big, expensive things - graduation gifts, consolidations roses. Man coming in and trying to count how much their cheating was worth - and how much they could pay in ribbons for missing an important date. Then Konig came in, and brought at least 10 orders for funerals. Crimson-blood roses, expensive white lilies. Died black ribbons and some nice plastic dark plants to finish the composition. At first, you said you were really sorry for his loss, then you thought he ran a funeral home - he looked the sorts, a bit creepy and big. His mask covers the lower half of his face, the hood of his nice jacket - Patagonia, you think, out of your pay grade - dropping over his eyes. He ordered expensive bouquets of funeral flowers every other week - never the wreaths, just bouquets. Sympathy arrangements. The first he paid in cash - crispy new banknotes, looking too good to be true, made you look at them through the light and apologize - he grazed your hand in his when you gave him the change. Konig wrapped his fingers around yours for a second, held a bit too long - you didn't know what to say, so you said nothing. He grumbled something and left. He buys funeral flowers, and you aren't sure if you're curious or terrified. One night you went home a bit too late - boss asked you to close for a bit more of cash, and you can't really disagree with your late for a week rent - and you came across some weird guy. Dangerous guy. You clutched your hand around your pepper spray - useless, EU-safe kind - and then shrieked when a bullet got through the guy's skull. You think it was the first time you actually saw a gun. Heard a gun. Konig holds your hands as you scramble to your feet, and this time, he doesn't let go until you stop trembling. Pockets the gun like it's a normal Friday, and puts a worried hand over your waist. He still doesn't talk - a slight tremble in his head gives away his nerves - but he silently follows you home like a big dog. You have half a mind about letting him in, but he just stares, his head not dipping into your apartment. Next time, he buys flowers - red roses, pink lilies, dyed whites and tiny pink ribbons. He sets the bouquet on the counter for you - you don't have the heart to tell him you're sick of flowers after working with them all day, but he gets it without words. Sees your expression, nervous twitch of your lip - and silently leaves. You aren't even surprised when you're dragged into an undisclosed vehicle after your shift, your head dropping on the wide lap of a man in a suit, his red hair slightly messy from the hood he pulled off, and his Patagonia acting like a blanket over your trembling form. Konig drapes a hand over your ass and settles it near, tapping on your asscheek in a nervous rhythm. Something tells you you're about to find out where all the bouquets went.
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