#For anyone reading the tags I'm sorry for the flashbacks

[the-art-cave]

Triceratops's mouth just looks like a featherless finch with a fashionable horn

[johnslittlespoon]

morning reblog + snippet <3 need to get in the habit of doing this but somehow once the chapter is actually posted i get nervous despite sharing bits and pieces the whole time i'm writing lol?? silly!

sappy but waking up to the ao3 comment emails had me giggling kicking my feet twirling my hair this morning, i rly do tear up reading them, i'm so so thankful for every interaction on this fic and ik i repeat myself every time i post a new chapter but i just. appreciate the love so much and i'm so grateful for the patience i've been shown as i navigate a proper long fic for the first time!! wowie

idk what i did to deserve stumbling into a fandom so kind and sweet and supportive and INSANELY creative and talented (simultaneously thanking barry and hating him for getting me attached to that precious little lieutenant and then ripping him away just as fast fml), i genuinely feel so lucky to have something to be excited about every day and as much as i love writing this fic, i can't wait to be done so i can lock in and pour over all my friends' fics and give back so much love :')))

You're A Dog (I'm Your Man)

Ch. 5/8 – 'I Count My Time In Dog Years'

[WC: 27K | Gale Cleven/John Egan, Pining, Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Friends to Lovers, Slow Burn, Requited Unrequited Love]

John Egan loves like a dog.

[AO3 LINK]

[xoxo-ren-xoxo]

Hermitcraft / Life Series Fic Recs

Because I love so many of them...

I'll split the fics into completed and updating fics, and try to only recommend currently updating fics (i.e., not abandoned). I'm going to write a little about why I like each fic and what the general vibes are - so this is also a kind of review I guess?

I've tried to @ the authors if they have a public tumblr. Sorry to anyone who didn't want to be tagged, I can remove any @ if you ask (or if I have embarrassingly tagged the wrong person). Anyway, enjoy, and I appreciate reblogs because I want as many people to see these fics as possible!!

This ended up being incredibly long so I'm putting a divider here. Click to keep reading!!! Also, fair warning: shipping ahead! Some fics will have mild sexual content, please read the tags if you are unsure <3

Updating Fics

I have already recommended Help Me To Breathe, lost in the dark (he's got a heavy heart), and There Are Monsters Nearby in this post, so I won't explain why I like them a second time, but definitely check them out!!

Death's A Good Gig by @mawofthemagnetar is probably going to be finished by the time this post gets to you, reader, but I'm putting it here anyway. It's short and sweet, one of my favourite representations of Zedaph (or, Zedeath) I've read, and just a joy to experience. If you like grim reapers and discussions of unions, this one is for you. Also I need more Zedaph in my life.

Look, I'm Sorry, Please Stop Scaring Everyone by @cat-in-the-desert reminds me a lot of a particular TV drama I liked when I was younger, which followed a similar premise. This fic follows Mumbo (vampire) and Grian (ghost) as they get up to various housemate shenanigans and meet their local magic-expert and salesman Scar. This fic is fun, but still includes a nice amount of Feelings and hinted-at Angst which I really love. It's lighthearted, but never boring.

It Hurts To Hope by Inquillitory is my favourite of the "Grian crash lands into Hermitcraft and causes problems for everyone" genre. Seeing how many fics there are with that premise, I think that says a lot. It handles Grian's weird Watcher stuff really well. Honestly, I just want to know what happens next!

killing the boy in the tv by @raspberrystruck is like a sickfic on steroids. If you want Grian with so much past trauma he forgets how to function in society, this is basically the fic for you. I really love how hybrid traits affect the characters' interactions in this fic, and how everyone is kind of messed up because of the imbalance Grian brings. It is wonderfully descriptive in all the right places!

Love Me Like I'm Dead by @daniofcrows is such a gem. You know how hard it is to find good Xisuma whump? It's impossible. I absolutely love how Xisuma and Evil X are characterised in this, and I am obsessed with the unique take on hanahaki disease which I have never seen handled in this way before. The balance between flashbacks and present day is maintained wonderfully and I cannot wait to continue reading this one. Wow.

Oh, you wanted me to do a verse? by @bugbbear is... kind of indescribable. It's horror. It's comedy. It's the apocalypse. It's boatem. Scar eats someone. One of the most interesting and unique apocalypse stories I have read. Slowly updating but worth the wait, in my opinion. This one NEEDS more attention.

So Much For Stardust by @a-plethora-of-peters is basically one of my all-time favourites. Which is a damn good achievement seeing as I don't usually read ZITS fics. Like, ever. In this fic, Skizz is a human abducted and hurt badly by aliens, now recovering in the care of good aliens who don't know how 'sentient' he is. Every update of this one makes me smile, it is wonderful. I love how the characters are written and how the different perspectives are shown. It is just great.

Solar Waltz by @raspberrystruck and aroundtheclock is a brilliant and very very sad regression fic. I love fluffy regression fics as much as the next guy, but this one just... hits different. The hurt/comfort levels are off the charts. Grian is so damn cute the whole time, while also being harrowingly complicated and sad. I am so ready for whatever comes next.

Tango's Castle of Cards by @evilrat-sabre is the one where Tango is a BUG. He's just a little guy (horror). This one is so beautifully written, with poetry-type interludes and perspective changes that really make everything feel so much more impactful. Finding out your buddy is a murder bug isn't the easiest thing in the world. I love this so much.

Traveling Thieves {Dark Fantasy AU} (series) by @amethystfairy1 is basically one of the series of all time. I know I keep saying that but it really really is. I love a good fantasy au, and I love an au with hybrids even more. In this world, hybrids are treated like slaves, but it isn't all doom and gloom for the main characters of each installment. There is a lot of hurt/comfort and the different stories feed into each other in really interesting ways. I try to read as much as I can, though I've missed a few because my emails are buggy. Definitely worth reading these fics, especially since now they're all starting to come together!

Completed Fics

Solving Counting Sheep by @theminecraftbee might have rearranged my brain chemistry a little. Another strong contender for 'fics that inspire me to kill Grian', this time with a more concrete notion of "replacement". Three is my favourite fucked up living weapon. It's so rare to find Evo fics in this day and age, too. This fic had me immediately clicking on every update as soon as I got the emails.

Rescue Fire by @imaginethat0327 is one of the most unique takes on a fictionalised life series game that I have ever read. The whole concept is explained in a realistic and easy-to-follow way, as we learn what's happening with the characters. There are several brilliant storylines happening in this one, but my particular favourites are Jimmy & Tango, Joel, and of course Scar & Grian. This fic is full of whump and, well, read the tags, it isn't always pleasant, but those are my favourite things ever. Definitely worth checking out this fic and its currently updating sequel.

don't you know about me? by takenbadgering is a wonderful comedy of errors with just the right amount of angst for a realistic setting type of fic. If you enjoy polyamory miscommunications, rave aesthetics, kandi, school teacher dynamics, and a lovely blend between grumbo, cubscar, and mumscar, this is the one.

Eventually the Birds Must Land by @milo-hypno follows a polyam ship I would have never thought of, and I cannot believe how much I loved it. This married-as-friends fic premise is wonderful, and captures the main trio (Grian, Mumbo, Impulse)'s personalities so well, while balancing them with the incredibly terrifying descriptions of the Watchers and their power. There's a lot of angst here, but it is ultimately hurt/comfort to the maximum degree. I loved reading it as it updated. Yay for gay marriage!

From The Archives (series) by @sixteenth-days was the absolute inspiration for my own Comms AU, and I will never forget its influence on me. As someone basically unfamiliar with TMA, I thought this series might be hard to follow, but it was not! I read all 57 parts in the span of two days, and I think it altered my brain chemistry. Please read it, even if (especially if) you don't know anything about TMA. The Cleo and Grian storyline lives in my head rent free. I mean it. This is horror at its finest. Also there's an audio series of this fic being released rn, which is very cool.

SUPERCRITICAL by @masque-of-plague hits different. It is such a wonderful take on the superhero/HotGuy trope, and it gets so super dark at some points! This one really takes swings at it's fictional government, which of course I love, while at the same time building this brilliantly emotional relationship between Scar and Grian. I do enjoy a bit of enemies to lovers, but the actual plot mixed into the story makes this one extra special. It is thrilling, with action that I don't get to see too often! Great work.

I am weary with contending! is one of the mumscarian fics of all time. From 'this house has people in it'-type horror, to magic gone wrong, to childhood trauma, to attempted assassination, to gender fuckery, this fic has it all. Usually I don't go for convex siblings, but this one is good enough to get a pass from me. Amazingly detailed worldbuilding alongside a brilliantly creative story.

It Spreads by @foxxology may not count as a fic, actually. It's a comic. But it's posted on ao3 so it counts. I was obsessed with this one as it was updating, honestly. It rocked me to my core. The art is phenomenal. The writing is brilliant. I love sculk.

Luck of the sea by Sleepy_Duck is a lovely take on mermaid and human interactions, with Grian as a marine life conservator and Scar as a very neglected mer. This one takes us emotionally in all sorts of directions, and offers lots of hope for the future of the characters. I heavily enjoyed this fic - if you like mermaids and marine biology, check it out.

there are many downsides to being a marine biologist by donnerstag is another mermaid fic but with a pretty different vibe. First of all, it follows what I would consider a rarepair Doc/Martyn. Second of all, reading this as it updated was a thrilling experience that nearly made me cry at certain points. I love how the relationship builds in this fic. It is honestly amazing. The whole idea of experimenting on a sentient sea creature, learning that he can communicate, then losing funding and having to save him from being dissected?!?! It's crazy. I love it.

Thus concludes my fic recommendations. I hope you enjoy at least some of these, and consider reblogging to spread these wonderful fics around <3

[kamaluhkhan]

ours are the moments i play in the dark

pairing: conrad fisher x fem!reader

summary: you come back to cousins beach after a few years away. conrad is not particularly happy that you're back - and you aren't particularly thrilled, either. too bad there's a history (chemistry?) neither of you can deny.

warnings: ANGST (im so sorry in advance...); flashback is from conrad's POV and the rest is from reader's perspective; mentions of sex + losing virginities (nothing too detailed/graphic); reader has an ex who's referred to with gender neutral pronouns; reader and other characters drink alcohol (pomegranate margaritas ;) ); hints of alcoholism (reader's mother); jealous reader who's trying her best; pining conrad who's a bit of a jerk; reader and conrad fight A Lot (they will make up eventually i promise!!)

tags: @stargirlsirius-recs, @ifilwtmfc, @qwertyb2577, @allnrsnz, @baconeggndcheez, @peanutbelley, @imogen-skye, @geekinthefuschiahair, @tvije, @drikawinchester, @maybankslover, @junnniiieee07, @elcpsstuff, @fangirl-kimora, @redbierd, @starkeylover

a/n: thank you so much for all the love on my conrad series so far! i love these characters and writing their stories, and it means so much that others are enjoying reading my work. there is one more part left and i promise it will be happier so stay tuned :)) i haven't watched the last two episodes of season 2, but i'm planning on writing a bit for that, too!! thank you x infinity ♡

part one | part two

i lost a friend / like keys in a sofa / like a wallet in the backseat / like ice in the summer heat (finneas, "i lost a friend")

now — summer, age 18

“you know, you guys aren’t fooling anyone.”

“and what exactly do you mean by that, steven?” you challenge, taking another sip of your soda. 

it’s the fourth of july and susannah invited you over for her annual celebration. susannah always hosted fun parties, so you were more than happy to accept because it meant eating some good food, listening to an upbeat playlist, watching some fireworks, and just relaxing. essentially, susannah always delivered the best of summer, rolled into a carefully planned event. 

the sun was shining, and everyone was having a good time, including you — at least, until you saw conrad and nicole in the pool, engaging in some serious PDA. you immediately got out of the pool and went to sulk near the drink table, where you were happily alone until steven came over to join you.

“i’m just saying, man. you and con are definitely going out of your way to prove that you’re mad at each other,” steven explains. “but we all know how much you care about each other.”

steven is right about the first part: you and conrad had done your best to avoid each other since the incident at nicole’s party and its fallout. if you and jeremiah had planned to go surfing and he invited conrad, you would always back out at the last minute. if you were over at the fishers helping belly pick out an outfit for a date with cam, conrad would conveniently stay in his room. not to mention, any time the two of you did cross paths — which was rare, but jeremiah and belly were persistent in requesting that all five of you spend time together, like the old days, they would say — it resulted in meaningless, petty arguments. the two of you had always been competitive and very comfortable teasing each other, but the difference was that now, your interactions were no longer good-natured.

you thought steven, belly, and jeremiah hadn’t noticed, but you should have given them more credit. to anyone who knew you, it was pretty obvious that something was up between you and conrad, even if they didn’t know what exactly it was.

“there’s a thin line between love and hate. and right now you guys are that line.”

“thank you for your insight,” you say sarcastically. “be sure to include that in your college essay — i’m sure princeton would love to have you.”

steven rolls his eyes at you, just as nicole arrives at the drink table.

“hey guys,” she greets. she reaches over to grab two cans of peach iced tea before you stop her. 

“conrad’s allergic to peaches,” you say. “so you might wanna get him something else.”

nicole looks at you for a second before nodding and reaching for a can of sprite instead. 

“thanks,” she says as she walks away. 

once she’s gone, steven gives you a pointed look.

“what?” you scoff. 

steven just shakes his head. “love and hate,” he muses, leaving you to join his parents and shayla near the pool. 

you then decide to go inside briefly, where you find belly and jeremiah, pouring vodka into a blender.

“we’re making pomegranate margaritas!” belly exclaims, practically giddy. 

“well, you gotta use the good blender for that.” conrad seems to appear out of nowhere from behind you, instantly reaching for the aforementioned good blender and placing it on the counter.

you were already in a sour mood from seeing him with nicole earlier, but belly looks at you with hopeful eyes, and you remember what steven said earlier, so you mentally promise that you would play nice with conrad. you owe belly and the others that much after being absent for so long: a carefree summer, just like the ones you used to know. 

you imagine that jeremiah sent conrad a similar pleading look because, miraculously, you and conrad don’t argue with each other as you help mix pomegranate margaritas for everyone. you actually engage in playful banter and laugh at the other’s jokes. you even feel sorry for him when his father, who wasn’t supposed to be here, walks in. you can feel the good mood slipping, so you suggest heading to the beach for a change of scenery.

belly had invited cam and a few more girls who are doing the debutante thing with her, and with steven bringing shayla and conrad bringing nicole (which, you are totally fine with, of course, especially after a pomegranate margarita), you had a pretty solid party forming on the beach, away from the adults. 

of all people, belly suggests some drinking games. it’s all a blur of sand, laughter, and vodka spiked fruit juice. once you were all the perfect amount of tired and tipsy, the group settles down, and gigi suggests a different game.

“we should play truth or dare.”

“oh my gosh we should!” belly smiles, tapping your leg enthusiastically. “remember? we used to play it all the time!”

you smile back. “of course i do.” 

when you were kids, you, belly, steven, jeremiah, and conrad would play truth or dare any chance you got. it was never very serious, mostly goofy pranks and harmless questions. you had all grown up since then, and somewhere along the way, truth or dare had become less innocent than it used to be.

“y/n,” one of the debs — dara, if you remembered correctly — turns to you. it was the first time your name had been called, and in all honesty, you were perfectly happy just sitting back in the sun and sipping the rest of your drink. “truth or dare?” 

you choose truth, mostly to avoid having to get up from your very comfortable seat on the sand.

“are you a virgin?”

your mouth suddenly feels dry. you’re not ashamed of your answer, but it doesn’t help that you can see conrad glaring at you from the corner of your eye. you take another sip of your drink before answering. 

“um, not really.” 

“it’s yes or no question,” nicole says. 

“then my answer’s no,” you declare.

“what?” belly screeches. she sits up straighter to turn towards you, and in the process spills some pomegranate margarita on her dress. “i can’t believe you had sex and didn’t tell me? when? with who? what was it like?” her cheeks are slightly flushed. a sober belly would have likely asked you in private, or at the very least, not in front of people you barely knew. in that moment, you almost regret the pomegranate margaritas.

almost. because maybe it’s the silence and everyone’s expectant stares, or the adrenaline you feel from winning most of the drinking games, or the effects of the drinks themselves, but you convince yourself that it’s as good a time as any to tell the story. a sober you would have known to tread more carefully given the context; that would have been about three pomegranate margaritas ago, though. 

“it’s kind of a cliche story, honestly,” you start. “it happened last summer. it was raining that night, so we were hanging out in the back of my teammate’s van, just talking, and one thing led to another….we didn’t plan to do anything, but we got caught in the heat of the moment.” you choose your words carefully, deliberately avoiding eye contact with conrad.

“how was it though?” belly asks, leaning in closer.

you shrug. “a little awkward, i guess? neither of us had sex before then, and we were both figuring stuff out. like, he couldn’t open the condom wrapper because he was so flustered, so i had to help him. it was nice, though,” you admit. “when the rain cleared, we went out to stargaze and fell asleep on the beach.”

belly sighs. “so romantic.”

“you’re right about it being cliche,” steven laughs. he has an arm thrown around shayla, and uses the other to gesture towards conrad. “conrad, man, that sounds almost exactly like your first time.”

you feel your entire body heat up, and it's not because of the sun shining down on you. conrad’s gaze finally meets yours — for a split second only, but it’s enough for steven to notice. 

“holy shit! it all makes sense now!” steven exclaims, suddenly standing up.

jeremiah frowns, looking between you, conrad, and steven. “what makes sense?”

“i’ve been trying to figure out why y/n and conrad have been so weird around each other this summer, but it’s obvious now: they lost their virginities to each other. they had sex!”

nicole stiffens and narrows her eyes at conrad. “you told me you never hooked up with y/n.”

“well, that’s definitely not true.”

“belly,” you warn, looking over to conrad once more. his cheeks are turning red, and you imagine a storm brewing beneath his dark blue eyes. 

“i don’t know about last summer,” belly continues, completely oblivious to the tension building. “but i do know that they kissed at your party.”

“i knew it,” nicole scoffs, pushing away from conrad. “i knew it.” with one last poisonous glare towards conrad, she storms off.

conrad sends you an equally poisonous look before chasing after her. the party dissolves shortly after.

feeling defeated, you lie back in the sand, close your eyes, and let the sun shine down on you once more, taking deep breaths to slow down your heart rate.

call it karma or a cruel twist of fate or just a really shitty coincidence, but you’re finally the one left alone on the beach.

then — summer, age 17

conrad was more than a little surprised to see your name appear on his phone. it wasn't like you were completely off the grid — you texted, though infrequently, and followed each other on socials. he scrolled through his instagram feed and saw the occasional picture of you wearing a costume at a halloween party or sipping hot chocolate on a snowy day. photos that never quite fit the image he had of you in his mind: in cutoff denim shorts and a swimsuit and layers of sunscreen, with sand in your hair and popsicle stains on your lips.

“hey,” he answered after only three rings. 

"hey fisher, any friday night plans?"

he told you he was working on his college essay.

“homework on a friday night in the middle of summer,” you tsked. “i never realized how much of a nerd you are.”

conrad laughed. “i mean, that’s on you for just realizing that.”

 “fair enough,” you hummed, and conrad could practically hear your smile through the phone. “if you’re in the mood for something more fun, look out your window.”

conrad wasn’t quite sure what to expect, but you standing in the driveway of his summer house was pretty low on the list. you waved at him frantically, telling him to hurry up and open his window.

he was still in awe as you climbed through. conrad tried to memorize the image of you then and there, standing in front of him in his bedroom: wearing dolphin shorts and a light jacket, with chipped turquoise nail polish and a bright smile.

"you drove all the way here?" 

"well, they haven't cracked the science behind teleportation yet," you say playfully. "so i didn't have many options."

"i can't believe you're here," conrad smiled, and that’s when you finally hugged him. he held on tightly, afraid you would leave at any moment if he let go. you smelled the same, like chlorine and vanilla sugar.

once you broke away from the hug, you pointed towards something behind him, pinned to his bulletin board. conrad followed your gaze and felt his cheeks heat up.

“i missed you, too, connie,” you teased, eyes lingering on the newspaper clipping of your swim team making it to nationals thanks to your record time. 

“mom showed it to me,” he explained, the smile on your face making his heart beat out of his chest. “she’s so proud of her little mermaid.”

your smile fell, just a bit, but enough for conrad to notice a shift in your mood. you always did a good job at hiding the weight of the world on your shoulders, at least around the others. not so much around him.

you sighed and sat down on his bed. “you know, after that swim meet, my dad lectured me about not being fast enough,” you explained. “winning by only a millisecond apparently wasn’t enough to impress college scouts, at least according to him.”

“your dad’s a jerk,” conrad said instantly. he sat down next to you. “and an idiot, if he can’t see how amazing you are.”

“thanks, connie,” you whispered. it looked like you were going to say more; instead, you picked up his laptop. “wow, you weren’t kidding when you said you were working on your college essay. you really are a nerd.”

“shut up,” conrad laughed, nudging you with his shoulder and trying to grab the laptop from you.

you nudged him back. “it’s a compliment! schools go crazy for trust fund nerds.”

“yeah, yeah.” conrad waved you off. “so, you’re in cousins for the summer?”

all you did was smile softly and close the laptop, finally handing it back to him.

conrad’s heart burst with joy. because not only were you there — finally there, after all that time away — but you were staying. his mom would always muse about summers in cousins being magical, but conrad didn’t quite believe her until you were gone and he felt that magic fade away. 

“do you wanna go downstairs? belly’s watching it happened one night with my mom and laurel.”

“as much as i love susannah’s favourite movie,” you started, and conrad’s heart soared again at you remembering his mom’s favourite movie. “i thought maybe it could just be the two of us tonight? maybe we could go for a drive.”

that’s how the two of you ended up at mermaid grove — a secluded stretch of beach about an hour away from your houses. it was near the mall your mothers sometimes went to, and during one of those excursions when you were young, all the kids wandered off and found it. the only time you’d been there was during the day and with jeremiah, belly, steven, and your siblings, so it felt different then, at night with just the two of you.

it started raining on the drive over — which only took 45 minutes without traffic — so you were hanging out in the back of your van. the van actually belonged to one of your teammate’s cousin who was somewhat of a hippie, you said, which explained the smell of weed and bohemian decor — battery powered rainbow fairy lights, colourful pillows, an elaborately patterned tapestry. the space was definitely intimate, or maybe it felt that way because you and conrad were sitting as close as possible to each other, shoulders touching and one of your legs tangled with his. he was scrolling through the pictures on your phone of your last swim meet in california, where you'd gotten the chance to visit stanford, while you were peeling an orange. 

"you would love it there, connie,” you gushed. you dug your fingers into the orange peel, and the smell of citrus started to fill the air. “the beaches are beautiful and the waves are amazing. it’s like, always summer.” 

conrad sometimes felt like summer was the only season of the year that he was truly awake, truly living. everything else felt like a dream, one that he would always describe to you in mundane detail; conrad even kept a small journal throughout the year, writing things down that he needed to tell you once you reunited every june. but one journal had turned to two, almost three, and conrad was trying really hard to not resent you for that.

“anyways, i think i’m going to apply in the fall.”

conrad stopped scrolling through your phone, pausing at a picture you had taken of a lemon tree. “doesn’t your dad have princeton lined up?”

“you make it sound like he bought my way in, when it was actually hours and hours and hours of training to get that scholarship. on the national best swim team.” you mimicked your father’s patronising tone for that last part; conrad hadn’t seen him in years, and he could still recognize it. 

“you’re right, though. my dad would flip his shit. even if i got in with a scholarship, it’s so far away and i have the twins to look after, but a girl can dream, right?”

“i feel that,” conrad assured. you gave him a sad smile, knowing that his dad was as intense about football as yours was about swimming. the worst part was that you both loved your respective sports, until they became a burden. you both had other burdens to deal with, too, when it came to your families. 

“in an ideal world, the two of us wouldn’t have to worry about anything else. we’d live in a place by the beach, surf every day, and hang out in the sun while sipping ice-cold, fresh lemonade.” just like we used to, conrad added in his head.

“in an ideal world,” you agreed. “we’d also adopt four dogs, each named after one of the beatles. you can teach them how to play the guitar.”

conrad laughed. “if i couldn’t teach you, there is no way i can teach one dog, let alone four.”

“well, they wouldn’t get distracted by your dreamy blue eyes like i did.” you winked at conrad, and handed him the freshly peeled orange before he even had time to blush.

“take it,” he protested. “you drove all this way — you should eat something.”

you shook your head and placed the orange in his hand before you pulled out another fruit from your bag. “i picked some of these up on the way here — best peaches on the east coast.” you took a big bite. “remember the summer we found out that you had a mild peach allergy?” you asked, juice dripping down your chin. you wiped it with the sleeve of the varsity jacket you wore.

conrad laughed at the memory. belly and steven had brought back candy from their trip to toronto. conrad practically inhaled an entire bag of fuzzy peaches, and didn’t realize that they weren’t supposed to make your mouth itchy — the “fuzzy” part wasn’t literal. that felt like so long ago, but there you and conrad were, settling back into each other like no time had passed.

as the night grew darker, you and conrad shifted closer to each other. conrad ate orange slice after orange slice as you devoured your peach, all while looking through the photos on your phone. you’d occasionally interject with a short story or comment, and there were still raindrops falling on the roof, but for the most part, there was nothing but a comfortable silence between you. 

you moved to wrap the orange peel and peach pit in a napkin, just as conrad swiped onto a photo of someone kissing your cheek.

“who’s that?”

you leaned over to check. “oh. that’s sam.”

“are you dating?” conrad asked, trying to seem casual about it. just a friend asking another friend about their romantic situation. as a friend. 

“we were,” you explained, sitting back next to him. “they broke up with me a few months ago.”

conrad sighed in relief, which he hoped you didn’t notice. “sorry.”

you shrugged. “it’s fine. apparently i’m emotionally distant.”

that wasn’t much of a surprise to conrad. sam might have been an idiot for breaking up with you, but they were spot on with the emotionally distant part. out of all the time you’d known each other, conrad had only seen you cry once, maybe twice. you were usually the one wiping away tears and putting on a brave face, inadvertently, or maybe purposefully, hiding your own vulnerability. 

still, that wasn’t something conrad was about to stir up.

“what? you?” he joked instead.

“shut up,” you said, rolling your eyes, but the wry smile on your face gave you away. “how about you? broke any hearts this past year?”

conrad thought for a moment. there was aubrey, who his football teammate said had a major crush on him. they had been texting for a while now, and were on the edge of maybe becoming something. but then, there you were, stirring up feelings conrad had long buried — or, at least, tried to. if part of his head was always in summer, then part of his heart always belonged to you. 

“no.”

“got your heart broken?”

he thought back to a few weeks ago, when he ran into your mom at the grocery store, and she said you wouldn’t be coming to cousins again that summer. you hadn’t spoken at all to each other for a month or two before that.

“no,” he lied.

you hummed, and took your phone away from him. 

“wanna hear something trippy?” you asked suddenly. you always had a knack for changing the course of a conversation to where you wanted it to go.

“what?”

“well, since it takes a while for light from space to reach us, when we stargaze, we’re actually looking back in time. like, the star that’s closest to earth — other than the sun — is four light years away. or is it five?” you paused. “anyways, if the sky was clear and we could see that star, it would mean we’d actually be looking at that star from summer, five years ago.”

“very trippy,” conrad agreed. “it’s like a cosmic time machine.”

you hummed. “do you ever wonder what our past selves back then, at like 12 or 13, would think of us now? i think about those summers and how magical they felt.” 

magical. you turned to smile at him softly, and conrad couldn't help but agree.

“i always thought you’d be my first kiss,” you whispered. 

that threw conrad off guard, and it took him a few seconds to regain balance. the van suddenly felt too small and the lingering scent of fruit shared between you two, mixed with the familiar smell of chlorine and vanilla from how close you were sitting to him, became overwhelming. his heart was beating out of his chest — not because he didn’t feel the same way, but because he did.

conrad knew what his 13 year old self would think of him now: he’d be up in arms over his awkward pause, screaming to finally tell you how he felt then, and how those feelings hadn’t really left. how you made him feel safe, excited, confused and angry. how there was a space in his heart just for you, and it was painfully empty when you left, but now that you’re there again —

“sorry,” you said, cutting through the silence. you subtly shifted away from conrad. “i didn’t mean to make things weird.”

“you didn’t,” conrad answered instantly. he registered how you were now slightly hunched over and brought your knees to your chest, how you bit your lip and avoided eye contact — a few hints that you felt uncomfortable, deflated even at his lack of response. 

so, he moved closer to you and gently placed a hand on your knee. 

“you didn’t make things weird,” conrad assured once more. you were brave, he decided: for a lot of things you did, but right then for being so honest, so vulnerable. it inspired him to do the same. “i mean, this might make things weird, but i always thought you’d be my first…you know. at least, ever since i knew what sex even was.”

you finally turned towards him, your lips slightly parted. 

“yeah,” you breathed. “me too.”

conrad’s eyes flicked to your lips, then back to your eyes. 

“do you still want to —”

“yes. i - i mean, no pressure, but if you still want to —”

“i do.”

you smiled then and conrad felt himself do the same. 

when you kissed for the first time, it was like rainclouds parted and the stars came out, shining bright in infinite darkness. the two of you became tangled up in each other: you sat in his lap, legs on either side of his waist, your chests pressed together and your fingers tangled in his hair, which drove him crazy. conrad let his hands explore your body, gently grazing the skin under your shirt. his lips tingled from the remnants of peach juice on yours, but he kept kissing you. 

it was awkward and exhilarating at the same time. you asked each other if what you were doing felt good and right and were slightly embarrassed if the answer was no, but still adjusted if needed. at one point, conrad was fumbling with the condom wrapper and you had to open it with your teeth; he jokingly pointed out how you used to do the same with packs of sour patch kids and you giggled before kissing him again.

the two of you lay down on the floor once you were done. your head rested on conrad’s chest and he had his arm around you, idly tracing shapes on your skin with his fingertips. he craned his neck down to look at you.

even in the dim lighting and after years apart, you looked the same. even if you’d never been that close before, at least not in the same way you had just been, you felt familiar. 

you tilted you head towards him and smiled. 

“what?” 

there was something about the way you looked at him that still made him blush, and conrad hoped that with the lack of bright light, you wouldn’t notice. 

“sounds like the rain stopped,” he said. “wanna go stargazing?”

it was slightly chilly, so you let conrad borrow your varsity jacket, even if it didn’t fit perfectly. the sky was clear and full of stars. you spent the rest of the night there together, on the beach. 

in the morning, conrad woke up before you. he watched as you took slow, deep breaths with your eyes still closed. you looked so peaceful — until the sound of your alarm prompted you to wake up.

“shit,” you exhaled, your eyes wide once you noticed the sun had risen. “what time is it?” 

you searched frantically for your phone, only to find it right next to you.

“shit,” you repeated once you checked the time. you stood up right away, sand kicking from underneath your feet. “this is bad.”

“what —”

conrad didn’t have time to even ask you what was wrong because you bolted to the van. he followed you.

“what’s wrong?”

you looked at conrad, brows furrowed. “i have to go. i don’t want to leave you, but i have to go.”

“it’s okay,” conrad reassured. he stepped closer to you and placed a hand on your cheek. “i’ll be here when you get back.”

“i’m…” you step away from him. “i’m not coming back.”

“what do you mean?” he tried to steady his voice, but a dangerous mix of hurt and anger threatened to wash over him. conrad’s heart dropped, knowing all too well what was likely coming next, but he hoped, wished, that it wouldn’t be like before.

“i’ve got a swim meet in boston,” you exhaled. “but i can drive you home on my way there.”

“you’ll come back to cousins after,” conrad declared, as if saying it out could change what would happen next. “you said you’d be here for the summer.” 

you shrugged, stumbling over your words. “technically, i didn’t say that. you just assumed and — ”

“and you wanted me to believe it, right?”

you closed your eyes and took a deep breath. “just — let me drive you home, connie.”

the use of his childhood nickname — the one he secretly despised, except when it came from you — was what made him snap.

“i should have known,” he snarled. “god, i should have known. you don’t care about me, about us. swimming over everything, right?”

“that’s not true.” your eyes opened, but you still wouldn’t meet his gaze. “i do care, but you know the pressure i’m under —”

“fine. you want to talk about pressure?” conrad laughed, bitterly, all his frustration bleeding out and pooling at your feet. “my mom had cancer, and you couldn’t even be there for me. texts and phone calls only do so much when you’re watching the woman who raised you wither away to nothing.”

your eyes softened slightly, finally looking at him. you took a step forward, but conrad took another two back. 

“conrad —”

 “no. don’t,” he snapped, making you stop. “why did you even come here?”

“i was close by and…” you paused. “i guess i just needed to come back, even just for a bit.” 

"figures," conrad scoffed. “you only care when it’s convenient.” 

“that’s not true,” you repeated. 

conrad waited a second for you say something more, but you didn’t. 

“well, i’m really glad you got what you needed,” he mocked. “tell me, does nostalgia and sex help you swim faster? impress college scouts? make daddy proud of you?” 

you stiffened slightly. “don’t be an asshole.”

“no, no. congratulations!” he clapped to emphasize his point. “i’m so glad i could help you! guess you just needed a quick fuck before your big competition for some good luck. hope it works out in your favour.”

there was so much venom laced in his words, and he could tell you noticed. you looked at him like he was a stranger. 

“fuck you,” you finally said. your voice was shaking slightly and it looked like tears were forming in your eyes. “you can walk home, for all i care.” 

without another word, you got into the car and drove away. conrad watched your car become smaller in the distance as he stood alone at the beach, wearing your jacket and replaying every word he said.

now 

it’s hours after susannah’s fourth of july celebration. the adrenaline and alcohol from early wore off, and you’re sitting on your front porch, sipping tea from your favourite mug. you were hoping to relax, but the sight of conrad fisher storming up to you threatens that.

“where do you get off, saying what you did earlier?” 

even under the low light of the porch, you can see that his face is red with anger. he came here to argue, but you’re too tired to really care.

“well, shit, conrad,” you sigh. “don’t blame me. blame — blame truth or dare and pomegranate margaritas and steven for being so goddamn perceptive.” 

“you lied,” he accuses, crossing his arms. “you said you didn’t tell belly about us kissing at nicole’s party.”

“at least i didn’t lie to my girlfriend,” you point out, your voice dull from exhaustion. conrad is momentarily at a loss for words, furrowing his brow even further, so you decide to steer the conversation in another direction — away. “look, i just had to pick up my drunk mother from the bar, so i’m really not in the mood for this conversation.”

you move to leave, but conrad grabs your left wrist before you reach the door. the sudden action startles you, and you release the mug you were holding in your right hand. it falls to the ground, the break clean, and the rest of your tea spills onto the porch. you exhale sharply, turning back to face conrad.

“i don’t care,” he snaps. “you fucked up earlier today. you never should have mentioned that night. talking about it like it actually meant something to you.”

“you know what, conrad? maybe it’s hard for you to believe, but that night actually meant something to me.” you laugh bitterly, feeling more awake than before. “and, yeah, now i’ve spent so much time regretting it. because maybe i hoped that we’d start dating, but even if that didn’t happen, i never expected to lose my best friend.”

conrad rolls his eyes. “i don’t know how you can stand there and call me your best friend. best friends don’t leave each other —”

“fine, i did leave,” you interrupt. your voice is slightly raised, and you can’t help but feel a new rush of adrenaline flowing through your veins. the fact that conrad is standing in front of you, suggesting that you were the one to blame for the hostility between you — that made you frustrated, angry, even. 

“i had other shit going on,” you continue. “and maybe i didn’t handle the situation well at first — that’s on me, sure. but i wasn’t the one who ignored texts and sent calls straight to voicemails. i’m not the one who’s spending the summer avoiding everyone who knows them because they’re too scared of others finding out the truth. i don’t know who you are this summer, but i know the real you, conrad.”

“no, you don’t.”

by now, you’ve walked closer, standing only a few inches in front of him. if you reached out, you’d be able to brush the bangs away from his forehead, but you don’t. 

“i do know you,” you assert. “in fact, i hate how much i know you. i know that “yesterday” by the beatles is your favourite song, and the first one you learned on the guitar. i know that you’re crazy good at chess, but let jeremiah win sometimes when your dad is watching. i know that you love playing football, but hate that you’re expected to play it. i know that i hurt you last year, so you had to ignore me because that was easier than admitting how you really feel because — because you’re scared.” 

“you’re wrong.” conrad stares at you, his gaze heavy on yours. 

you shake your head. “i know that you didn’t tell anyone about what happened between us because it meant something to you. and that really scares you, too.” 

“you’re…you’re wrong.” conrad’s voice wavers a bit, his eyes soften ever so slightly, and you know you’ve struck a chord. 

“i’m not,” you say. “and, honestly? i’m so fucking tired of waiting for you to realize that. i don’t care anymore. whatever was between us during all those summers, it's obviously not here anymore."

“you’re wrong,” he’s like a broken record, stuck on the same lyric. 

"stop blaming me for fucking this up," you continue. "it's your mess, too, conrad. and i’m so fucking tired."

it’s late, and it’s dark, and you can’t bring yourself to stay here anymore. without saying anything else, you step over the broken porcelain of your favourite mug and into your house, leaving conrad alone on your poorly lit porch.

when the sun rises and you go outside in the morning, the pieces are gone. 

[oflolth]

" that's alright, " says istvan. he watches lex curiously for a moment, struck not by his admission that he'd forgotten, but by the manner in which it was delivered. he focuses on the wrong thing, perhaps: lex has apparently slept well, and istvan, pleased by this, is content to move on.

breakfast is started. istvan feels a vague sense of unease, though he can't identify its source - and when he sits down and busies himself with fire and food, he finds he still can't piece it together.

" i think, " he says, brow furrowed, and then his mouth shuts, and ' i think, ' which was supposed to have some follow up, just sits there as a statement all its own.

he goes away for a moment, within himself, as he cooks. he realizes he doesn't like the grove. in it, he had felt the shadow of menzoberranzan. kagha in particular had unsettled him, but the rest, even the tieflings... the way they had looked at him.

brave to go around without hiding your heritage, one had said. as if istvan does not work every day to hide it. his braids are as gone as home is. the former, he may one day grow back. as for the latter - no going back. the way is shut.

he serves breakfast, and is privately glad he was too dead to get up earlier in the day. glad he was left behind. glad, too, that lex is the one who stayed with him. he finds himself smiling at lex, and then realizes he may need to come up with a reason to justify that smile. it falters. " your eyes look- good? " he blurts out, and then wonders where in the hells that comment came from. not that lex's eyes don't look good - whether or not they do is besides the point. why can't he hold his tongue?

lex was far less certain than istvan,   but he dropped it for the other man's sake.  he was curious what it was that drove him to drop such a thing so swiftly,  if it was forgiveness or something else entirely.  the wizard wasn't sure if he ought to admire or protest it.

he watched the warrior move past,  a little concern lingering still in his verdant eyes.  his gaze was searching,  watchful,  ensuring the other man wasn't too weak to fall in his attempts at standing and moving.  he wasn't,  mercifully.  lex relaxed a bit.  he was worried now what in the hells astarion was going to do about his meals for the future,   but the wizard could keep it to himself for now.   

“you know,”   the wizard said in response,   “if you did,   i already forgot.”   because he was losing his fucking mind.  the more time he spent on this plane,   the more he was losing his fucking mind.  the thought hit him like a sword hilt to the face.   it was absolutely mad,  and yet somehow it felt even less absurd than reviving a man who had just been drained to death by a vampire who walked in the sun.  “but,   yeah,   well enough.”   not as good as a dead man,   but pretty good.  he slept pretty soundly for a man a little unused to sleeping outside.   he went to the slab of rock where the rest had been eating earlier,  relieved when he found a couple of leftover honeyed buns squirreled away in a basket.  “wish they'd waited for us,  but i think everyone else went to trade with the grove.”   lae'zel had been adamant about getting more arrows.

[waynes-multiverse]

Polaris – Chapter 4

Series Summary: When Beau Arlen moved to Montana, he left behind a past he wasn’t proud of. But when a series of murders requires the FBI’s help, Sheriff Arlen‘s ghosts come back to haunt him one by one. With a wrong turn waiting at every crossroads, it’s hard to make the right choices and find his way back home – back to you.

Pairing: Beau Arlen x FBI Agent!Reader

Warnings: 18+, so many flashbacks, more awkwardness, more funerals, more drinking, more murder, some fluff and a sprinkle of smut too

Word Count: 6.3k

A/N: Life got a little busy, so I've been a bit absent recently, but I'm so happy and grateful you guys are enjoying this series so far! All your sweet comments really put a smile on my face during all the chaotic and exhausting times 🥹🤍

Series Masterlist || Main Masterlist || Tag List

Chapter 4: Rewind

A tequila hangover required copious amounts of coffee to battle the raging headache you felt. Your eyes stung when they met the blinding sun this morning, not even your darkest pair of shades bringing much relief.

Your whole body ached, a welcoming soreness between your weak and wobbly legs as you stalked inside the little bakery and coffee shop on Main Street USA. Beau had already scolded you for calling it that, but you couldn’t help yourself.

Helena’s sheriff then had sent you here for your morning coffee run, hoping this way you’d avoid the questioning and curious stares of Jenny and Cassie. Needless to say, you had never made it to Cassie’s place last night. Beau had been very convincing (and successful) in making you stay.

Hands, lips, teeth, and tongue – you clenched at the thought alone, cursing yourself for soaking through your fresh underwear. How good were your chances for a quickie during lunch break in his office if you promised to thoroughly lock his goddamn door this time?

“Y/N, hey.” Carla’s voice made you flinch and pulled you from your naughty reverie – about her ex-husband no less.

Had you mentioned how much you hated small towns?

“Hey, Carla,” you greeted her with a flushed smile, hoping you hid your blushed cheeks and fluster well. You definitely felt caught with your hand in the cookie jar, although it was thankfully impossible for her to read your mind.

Was there no safe place to quietly get coffee in this goddamn village?

“Listen, Y/N, again, I’m so sorry about yesterday,” she apologized and nervously fumbled with her coffee cup in her hands, her gaze focusing on her heels.

Carla was usually confidence personified. She was strong-willed, assertive, and dauntless – all the traits that made her a fierce and excellent lawyer and a force to be reckoned with in court. It was rare for her to lower her head, so you knew she must really be trying to make amends.

“No, don’t be. Like I said, we’re good,” you assured her and swallowed the lump of embarrassment down your throat. “I get it. I really do. For what it’s worth, I’m sorry, too. I never meant for any of this to happen, you know?”

You never had gotten a chance to say it before. You had always felt bad for the way the two of you had left things. Carla was by far not your closest friend, but the tight friendship between both your husbands and the nature of your jobs had forced you to spend time together occasionally. You’d meet at barbecues on the weekends, drinks after work, and life events like Emily’s middle school graduation. You never meant to betray her. You never meant to hurt her. And you never meant for your friendship to implode like it did.

“I know. It’s okay, really,” Carla said. “I already told Beau this yesterday, but I want him to be happy. That goes for you, too. I found my happiness after the divorce. At least for a while…”

Upon her sad look, you gave her a sympathetic smile. You knew she wasn’t married to Avery for long, but that didn’t matter. You understood better than anyone what it was like to lose someone you loved.

“Hey, if you ever need someone to talk, call me, okay? I feel like I owe you a whole pitcher of margaritas,” you offered with a chuckle.

She returned your kindness with a soft smile. “Thank you. I’ll take you up on that.”

“Well, if this ain’t interestingly awkward.”

Both you and Carla turned to Beau in surprise as he strolled through the doors of the coffee shop. Leave it to him to voice the uncomfortableness of the situation out loud.

“Hey, uhm… you,” you said with wide eyes and fist-bumped his arm. Obviously, you weren’t equipped to handle awkwardness very smoothly, either.

Beau sent you a tight-lipped smile that barely hid his amusement. “Do I need to pull out the sheriff’s badge here, or are you two good?”

“We’re good,” you assured him.

“Oh, relax, Beau,” Carla told him with an amused laugh and patted his shoulder in passing on her way out of the shop. “Don’t kid yourself. You could not handle either one of us, anyway.”

“Probably true,” Beau quipped in agreement as Carla waved you goodbye.

Beau waited till the door safely closed behind his ex before tilting his head at you, an amused smile tugging at his lips. “You really good?”

“No!” you exclaimed frustratedly.

Laughing, he slung his arms around you and pulled you against his chest. Embarrassed, you buried your face in his shirt, clasping it with your palms for good measure.

“Tomorrow I’m getting coffee in the next town over. I really hate small towns,” you grumbled.

“So, I’m guessin’ you’re not a big fan of staying after the case is over, huh?” he asked carefully and rubbed his beard.

Truthfully, you hadn’t thought about it until now. But Beau clearly had as he nervously chewed his lower lip and waited for your answer.

You glanced up at him through your eyelashes. “Well, uhm… Montana doesn’t have a field office. The next one’s in Utah, and I hate Utah.”

“Yeah, everyone does. It’s Utah,” Beau agreed jokingly. “Could always work here. Sheriff’s Department could use someone like you.”

You snorted. “Yeah, not gonna happen. You’re not gonna be the boss of me. That’ll have to stay a fantasy of yours.”

“Too bad. It was a good one,” he retorted with a cheeky smile and wiggled his eyebrows. Then, he became more serious. He scratched the nape of his neck in an anxious gesture. “But look, uhm, I was about to retire anyway, so I’m just putting that on the table, okay?”

“Alright, good to know. I’ll keep that in mind.”

You smiled softly up at him, thinking it was cute he wanted to follow you wherever you went. He’d never handled your relationship so open and secure before. In the past, everything always dangled in the air – his feelings, your future. Unlike the North Star, nothing was fixed.

You had always been a flag he’d never preferred to wave.

You let out a small sigh and pecked his lips. “But this case is far from over, so we’ve got time to figure it out, okay?”

He nodded, a bit more relieved at your answer. “Okay.”

August 2020

Beau rubbed his face clean as best as he could. His eyes were red and stung, his vision blurry as he stepped out of the church’s back room on shaky bow legs. He had to talk to you and make things right. He felt like he not only failed you but also his best friend. Again.

The funeral guests filtered out of the church one by one as he trudged down the red-carpeted aisle. Beau could feel their stares and judgments on him. He knew he looked like the biggest mess, his suit and tie in disarray, tousled hair, and bloodshot eyes. How many of them blamed him for his partner’s death?

“Dad?” Emily’s voice made his heart ache as his thirteen-year-old daughter looked at him with a mix of worry and disenchantment. He barely resembled the father she’d known all her life and held high on a pedestal.

“Emily, honey, go wait in the car,” Carla told her swiftly, taking immediate note of her husband’s disheveled status.

“But Mom–”

“Now, Emily,” Carla ordered more firmly and watched her daughter quietly leave the church.

“Have you seen Y/N?” Beau asked, trying his best to swallow any shame he felt down. He hated that his family had to see him like this. The disappointment and hurt were visible as clear as day in both their faces.

“You gotta be kidding me…” Carla scoffed in anger and disbelief, a part of her hardly grasping the current state of her husband. “Where the hell were you, Beau? Jesus, you reek! Have you been drinking?”

“I already went through this today, okay? I don’t need a replay,” he replied flatly, every part of him hating how she looked at him. “Have you seen Y/N or not?”

“Beau, what’s going on with you? Just talk to me, please,” Carla pleaded with him as the anger subsided, concern etched into her brow. “What happened during that shootout?”

Beau ran a hand over his face, his head spinning and his eyes burning. “I can’t do this right now. Just take Em home, okay?” he told her and pushed past her.

“Where are you going? Beau!” Carla called after him, but he stubbornly headed out the door to the parking lot.

Fortunately, you still hadn’t left, but what he was seeing didn’t put him more at ease. He watched as you put a clip into your gun, a duffel bag hurriedly packed with clothes lying in the trunk of your SUV.

You threw your black pumps carelessly into the backseat before slipping into a pair of worn jeans under your black dress, which you discarded next, leaving you momentarily in only a black satin bra. He averted his gaze and tried not to stare, even though you had your back turned to him, and he couldn’t see much anyway. Still, his heartbeat quickened as he approached you, while you pulled a white t-shirt over your head and tied your wavy hair into a ponytail.

“What are you doing?” Beau asked, the feeling in the pit of his stomach and the determination in your eyes already giving him a good guess.

“What does it look like? I’m going after them,” you said sternly and tied the laces on your boots. “DEA is going down to Mexico in a couple of weeks. Cody’s leading a task force. I fought my way in. They wanna scope out some locations tomorrow.”

“Are you kidding me? Y/N, just look at you! You’re not going after them alone in this state,” Beau snapped, throwing his arms up in utter incredulity. His gut ordered him to protect you no matter the cost. He owed as much to his dead partner to look out for you. It was a constant debt in his mind.

“My state?” You cocked an eyebrow and snorted caustically, shaking your head at him. “Have you fucking looked at yourself recently? Compared to you, I’m fine. And I also won’t be alone.”

“You’re not fine,” Beau gritted with anger in his eyes and worry in his heart. “We’re all fucking far from fine. You’re gonna get yourself killed like this!”

“I don’t have time for this right now,” you brushed him off with a roll of your eyes and slammed the trunk shut, hurrying to the driver’s side. But a rough grab of your arm stopped you in your tracks and made you spin and glare at Beau.

“Dammit, Y/N!”

Your features softened when you saw the desperation in his look. “I need to do this, Beau,” you insisted calmly and looked deeply into his watery eyes. Tears filled your gaze and threatened to choke you. “I want them to pay for what they’ve done to him. They can’t get away with it.”

His grip on your arm loosened before he let you go completely. He ran a palm over his face and carded it through his messy hair.

“Fine,” he barked resolutely, the despair replaced by determination. “But I’m coming with you. You’re not doing this alone.”

“What, so you can get me killed, too?”

You squeezed your eyes shut as soon as the words rushed out and pinched the bridge of your nose. Immediate regret flooded your veins.

When you finally dared to glance at him, he looked hurt and averted his gaze to the burning asphalt below. He smacked his lips, head bobbing. It felt like you had just thrown an ax to his heart, whipped him, bludgeoned him with a baseball bat, and shot him in the knee – all at once.

“Beau, I’m so sorry.” You could see in his eyes that your apology already came too late. He was spiraling, blaming himself for Randy’s death. “I know it wasn’t your fault. I didn’t mean it like that. I just-… It’s been a long day.”

“Nope, no, you’re right. Don’t apologize,” he rebuffed your efforts to patch the wound you’d opened with a dark chuckle. You felt like utter shit. “I let him down. If it weren’t for me, he’d still be alive, so…”

“Beau, don’t do this. He wouldn’t want you to. And neither do I for that matter…” You reached out and clasped his hand reassuringly. But it didn’t feel like it was enough, so you wrapped your arms around him, too, and pulled him into a hug.

Beau was frozen for a moment when he felt your body pressed flush against his before he wrapped his arms around you as well and held you tightly. Carefully, he rested his chin on top of your head, the scent of your shampoo winding its way to his nose. And for a mere second, he let go and allowed himself to be comforted, soothing warmth spreading throughout his body.

“I gotta go,” you said quietly as you released him. But Beau held onto your hand with his for a heartbeat before realizing the strangeness of his touch and withdrew his arm quickly with a clear of his throat, fingers ripping apart at the seams.

“Lemme come with you. Lemme help,” he stated.

“Beau, no offense, but you’re a mess,” you said with gentle honesty. “Can you even walk a straight line? Stand on one leg and touch the tip of your nose? Recite the alphabet backwards?”

He actually snorted at that, his lips forming a small smile. “Fair enough,” he conceded. “I’ll get better. Promise, okay? Just please… I need this, too.”

As you stared at him, you heaved a deep sigh. “Fine, get in,” you relented and gestured with your chin to the passenger’s side of your car. “But let’s hit a Denny’s first. Get some goddamn coffee and toast into you. Maybe a shower would help, too.”

Beau chuckled a little at that, nodding. “Yes, ma’am.”

February 2012

Randy groaned loudly as he passed Beau the football, letting his head fall back between his shoulder blades. “Ugh, I can’t believe the Captain agreed to give the case to the stupid FBI. It was our case, man. We almost had the guy!”

“Yeah, I know. But hey, we could still follow our own leads. Solve it before the feds do. What’s Harper gonna do?” Beau suggested with a cocky smirk.

“I don’t know. Suspend us? Fire us? Just to name a few,” Randy quipped sarcastically and threw his partner a raised look.

Beau scoffed playfully and rolled his eyes. “Always by the book. You’re no fun,” he said with a teasing smile.

“Well, I can still bash the feds who are stealing this case from us. It’s probably some dumb asshole in a suit and sunglasses,” Randy joked and laughed, not noticing Beau’s facial expression change as he lowered his gaze to the floor, lips pursing.

You cleared your throat behind the chuckling detective, causing him to turn around and blink up at you.

“Well, I’m an asshole. I can admit as much. Definitely not dumb, though. I hate suits, and I don’t wear sunglasses indoors. Only douchebags do that,” you quipped and sent him a complacent smile upon his wide-eyed stare. Then, you arched a brow at the guy. “And stealing, really? You guys haven’t made progress on the case for weeks. Probably because you keep playing football instead of working.”

“Whoa, hey!” Beau threw in, furrowing his brow. “It’s a brainstorming technique, okay?”

“Yeah, for dumbasses,” you retorted. “Did you already get a concussion? Would explain a few things, mainly how you screwed up this case so much. It’s not rocket science, boys.”

“Okay, listen, missy. We did not screw up this case. We have leads, alright?” Beau argued fervently and took a step closer to you, his shoulders tensing as he was only inches away from your face.

You had the urge to tiptoe just to keep up with him for a proper face-off. He was tall, gigantic really, and now you were left to glare more or less into his chest.

“Who? The buyer for the jeweler? It wasn’t him. I already checked him out,” you said dismissively and could tell by Beau’s frown that it indeed had been his only lead. You then glanced at his partner. “Is he gonna say something or just stare? It’s not helping to refute my concussion theory, you know?”

Beau knitted his brow and shot his partner a look. As soon as he realized what was going on, he rolled his eyes and sighed. His best friend was running hot for Agent Hostile. Granted, you did look very sexy with all that fire burning in your eyes.

“Ey, Randy!” Beau snapped his fingers in front of his partner and hauled him from his surely naughty daydream.

“Uhm… I’m Randy,” he told you, dumbfounded.

Your eyebrows shot up to your hairline, your mouth itched to smile in amusement. “Wow, okay… Does that come with a last name?”

Randy still gave you that same vacant and infatuated stare in his hazel eyes. “You can call me whatever you want.” He sent you an insecure smile with a halfway shrug.

“Oh, can I call you a moron?” you countered snappily.

Amused, Beau actually snorted into his shoulder as he dipped his head, but then decided to step in for his best friend. “Okay, c’mon, leave him be.”

“Look, just gimme the file, and I’ll be outta your hair,” you submitted your peace offering, which Beau accepted, handing you the folder.

“Uh… drinks?” Randy looked up at you hopefully, like a shelter puppy waiting to be adopted. You honestly found his fluster quite endearing.

“Is he asking me out?” you checked with Beau, a smile playing on your lips.

“I think so.” Beau chuckled and nodded. “Look, uh–”

“Y/N,” you provided, noticing him fumble for a name.

“Y/N,” he repeated with a warm smile that reached his green eyes. “Maybe we got off on the wrong foot here. We could help you with the case. We know it better than anyone. Could save you some work.”

You smirked slightly, recognizing what he was doing. First of all, he wanted in on the case, clearly having a hard time letting go. You knew the type all too well. Sometimes people in law enforcement behaved like bratty toddlers when it came to cases – they all hated sharing their toys, but you knew how to play nice. And secondly, Beau wanted to ensure you got to spend more time with his partner – the perfect wingman. He deserved a medal for his efforts.

You lifted a knowing eyebrow at him. “Didn’t your captain already say no?”

“But what d’you say, darlin’?” He shot you a mischievous grin.

“You’re a troublemaker,” you noted and received an acknowledging shrug in return. “Are you gonna behave, Ferris Bueller?”

“Yes, ma’am. Hand on my red-blooded and beating heart,” Beau promised charmingly and did as advertised, placing his palm on his chest like he was swearing a Boy Scout oath.

Rolling your eyes, you groaned and caved. “Fine. I’ll talk to your captain. You guys can come along, I guess.”

Beau handed you their card with their numbers on it before you disappeared out of the station again. Comfortingly, he patted his partner’s back as soon as you had left, Randy still staring after your goddamn shadow.

“I wanna marry her,” Randy sighed dreamily.

“Whoa… Moving way too fast here, buddy,” Beau tried to rein him in. “Maybe try speaking a straight sentence to her first.”

“I can’t. I’m in love with her. She’s the one.”

“She called you a moron,” Beau countered and crossed his arms over his chest, although he kind of understood where Randy was coming from. If he hadn’t been married, he would’ve given you his best shot as well.

“That only made me love her more,” Randy insisted.

Sighing theatrically, Beau rolled his eyes back. “Dear Lord, help me…”

Randy then went on a long tangent about everything he loved about you. The words he’d been missing when you were around suddenly spilled out of him. And while Beau acted annoyed, he smiled internally for his friend’s happiness. He’d never seen him before like this.

June 2013

“Oh God, I think I’m gonna puke,” Randy said and swallowed what felt like bile in his throat. With his hands on his hips, he took a deep breath, but it did nothing to calm his nerves. “Can you give me that trash can?”

Beau handed him the bin next to him with an amused chuckle. “Alright, but just remember – no matter what you do, don’t puke on the suit.”

Randy scowled at him, panic taking over as he nervously paced the fancy dressing room. “Not in the mood for jokes right now, man,” he huffed.

Beau laughed heartily and raised his hands in surrender. He got up from his seat on the small and uncomfortable sofa and patted his friend on the back, squeezing his shoulders encouragingly. “Okay, calm down. Everything will work out fine. Why are you so nervous anyway? Is this you having cold feet? Should I do somethin’? Start a getaway car?”

Taken aback by the suggestion, Randy’s brow furrowed, close to offended. “What? No! I love Y/N. I can’t wait to marry her,” he stated with absolute certainty. “I just-… I don’t wanna stand up there and, you know, look like a moron. I want today to be perfect for her.”

Beau snorted a laugh. “Alright, you won’t, okay? That’s what I’m here for. If you do somethin’ stupid up there, I’m gonna distract everyone with somethin’ stupider. That’s basically my duty as best man.”

“Yeah, Y/N’s gonna love that,” Randy quipped sarcastically and chuckled. But the lighthearted distraction didn’t last long before his nerves burned through him again. “You think I can make her happy?”

Beau smiled at him warmly. “The way she looks at you, you already are. Trust me.”

“Okay, good.” Randy nodded in relief. “‘Cause sometimes I really wonder how I got so lucky. I swear I didn’t speak in straight sentences for, like, the first three dates.”

“Oh, I remember.” Beau snorted.

“Man, were you this nervous, too, when you married Carla? I swear this is killing me,” Randy asked with his wildly beating heart in his throat. “I think I’m having a heart attack… Or a stroke. My head keeps spinning. Is that normal? Doesn’t feel normal…”

Beau hesitated for a moment before he nodded with a light swallow. “Yeah, sure. Everyone’s nervous,” he assured his partner, although the truth was a little different.

Carla was already pregnant when they tied the knot, so they did the right thing to appease their parents. But sometimes, Beau wished they would’ve waited. He could tell Carla did, too. They were both young. She had still been in law school, chasing her degree, and Beau had barely finished police academy and had still been working patrol.

Sure, he was nervous on his wedding day, but it wasn’t a puking-your-guts-out-and-jittering-to-your-bones kind of nervous. But Beau loved his family more than words could say and wouldn’t trade his daughter for anything.

“Hey, uh, can you ask Y/N about the marriage certificate? I’m supposed to give it to the officiant or something,” Randy said with a confused brow, scratching his sweaty neck.

“Yeah, of course. Be right back,” Beau replied with a saluting gesture and strutted to the door, encouragingly patting Randy’s shoulder once more on the way out. “Try not to soil yourself,” he teased, chuckling.

Beau then strolled down the lavish hallway of the five-star hotel and stopped in front of your dressing room door. He knocked twice and heard a “Come in!” bounce through. But when he opened the door and peeked his head carefully inside, he wasn’t prepared for the sight that greeted him.

“Wow… uh…” Beau’s forest-green eyes went wide as he blinked at you. He was rendered completely speechless. How did he turn into Randy so quickly?

As you sat in front of your vanity, you glanced at him over your naked shoulder before you stood up and greeted him with a bright smile.

Your white dress hugged your curves perfectly, strapless but with a bit of cleavage, giving a perfect view of your clavicle and shoulder blades. It wasn’t one of those puffy princess dresses. It was smooth, uncomplicated, and delicate just like you.

You looked absolutely stunning.

“Wow,” Beau repeated and felt like a moron. He cleared his throat to haul himself out of his shameless staring and tried to recover his composure. “You look beautiful, Y/N.”

“Thanks.” You beamed with blushed cheeks. “You think Randy’s gonna like it?”

Beau smiled kindly, unable to take his eyes off of you. “Yeah, he’s gonna love it. It’s gonna make him even more nervous,” he replied, chuckling.

But your brow creased in concern, your lips parting. “He’s nervous?”

“Yeah, but don’t worry,” Beau swiftly brushed your concerns away, “He’s nervous in a good way. No cold feet or anythin’ like it. He might just pass out and puke at the altar when you walk out. That’s all. Maybe some stuttering, too.”

You laughed softly, nodding. “That’s all, huh?” you teased. “Kinda like when we first met then,” you remembered fondly. “Or our first three dates, too, I guess.”

Musingly, Beau pursed his lips, his head bobbing in thought. “Hey, uh, can I just ask… Why did you keep going out with him? I mean, like you said he didn’t really speak for the first three dates. Don’t get me wrong, he’s a good-looking guy, but, you know, you’re, well… you.”

You snorted lightly and cast your gaze down as your cheeks flushed even deeper red. “Thank you, I guess? But, uhm, to answer your question – I kinda liked that he was so flustered. It was endearingly sweet,” you replied and smiled to yourself at the memory. “‘Sides, every time he did say something, it was oddly complimenting. He’s also the only guy who ever bought me flowers after our first night together. It came with an extensive ‘thank you’ card.”

“Oh, Randy, you sweet little idiot…” Beau sighed affectionately.

“He never told you that?” you asked curiously.

“Ha, no. For obvious reasons.” Beau laughed. “But hey, it’s great material for my best man speech later.”

“Oh God,” you groaned playfully and laughed. “Just so you know, though, I’m gonna cut you off after fifteen minutes.”

Beau threw his head back, laughing loudly. “Alright, I hear ya. Your loss, though.”

You watched him for a moment when your laughs quieted down. He scratched his bearded chin, gazing down at his feet and making no efforts to move.

“Beau?”

“Hm?” His eyes found your arched eyebrow.

“Did you come here for a reason or just to chitchat?” you asked with curious amusement. He seemed obviously lost.

“Oh, uh, right! I’m supposed to ask you about the marriage certificate and the officiant thingy,” he remembered.

You smiled. “Tell Randy it’s already taken care of. He doesn’t have to worry about anything, okay?”

“Alright, I’ll-, uhm, I’ll do that,” Beau said and awkwardly cleared his throat, walking to the door.

“Oh, and Beau?” He spun on his heel when you called his name. “Make sure Randy doesn’t puke on his suit.”

An amused smile shaped on his lips at that, and he nodded. “Oh, I’m on it. Trust me.”

When Beau left your room and wandered down the hallway again, a weird sting plagued his heart. Deciding it was a feeling he didn’t particularly care for, he pushed it deep down, not even admitting his true thoughts to himself under duress and torture.

He’d feel like an ass if he ever did.

Beau looked up from his files on his desk when a knock ripped him from his reverie. It was already getting dark outside, the sun setting behind the mountains. He smiled up at you from his chair when you peeked your head inside.

“Hey, Jenny and I are back from the crime scene,” you informed him as you stepped inside his office, closing the door behind you.

“And?”

“It’s definitely the woman from the video,” you confirmed sadly.

“We got a name yet?” Beau asked, his face stern, concern and compassion carved into every crease.

“Yeah, Addison Hughes. Husband reported her missing four days ago in Jefferson County. I already talked to the sheriff there. They’re handing us over the case,” you told him and noticed his suspiciously cocked brow.

“Uh-oh, I know what that means,” he quipped teasingly. “Were you nice?”

You gasped in mock-disbelief at his accusation. “What d’you mean? I’m always nice.”

Beau snorted in amusement. “Uh-huh, that means no…”

“Wha-… Anyways,” you continued with a clear of your throat and a playful little glare at him, “Jenny and I talked to Mr. Hughes afterwards. He didn’t wanna admit that he cheated at first, but Jenny and I kinda went in on him till he fessed up.”

“Poor fella…” Beau muttered under his breath.

“Hm? What?”

“Nothin’. I said nothing.” He shook his head and gave you an innocent smile, but it didn’t stop your eyes from narrowing at him.

“Careful,” you warned and ambled over to his side of the desk. He pushed his chair back, making room for you between his thighs. “You don’t wanna defend a cheater. He got his wife killed. I have little sympathy for that.”

“Well, he’s definitely an ass for cheating, but even you gotta admit he didn’t really kill her. That’s still on the psycho running around out there,” Beau argued, placing his hands on your hips and pulling you closer to him. You involuntarily clenched when his face was in front of your crotch.

“Fine,” you conceded with a roll of your eyes, sliding your hands up his arms till they locked around his neck.

“‘Sides, I kinda get how quickly a mistake can happen, you know?” he said thoughtfully.

You arched your brow. “Do you mean me with that?”

Beau’s eyes widened, immediately shaking his head. “What, no! I mean, yeah, a little,” he stammered. Your frown deepened. “Not like that, obviously. Just remembered some stuff today… But we never cheated. I know that.”

“Do you?” you questioned rhetorically.

“I do,” he assured you and took your hands in his, kissing your knuckles in an attempt to soothe you. “Just sometimes feels like I betrayed him, you know?”

“I know. I get that. But you did nothing wrong, okay? You did not seduce me and steal me away from him, nor did you take advantage of me when I was a vulnerable and grieving widow. I’m a grown-ass woman. I make my own choices. And I chose you like you chose me. After Randy’s death and all those months in Mexico, I fell in love with you, too.”

A coy smile clawed at his lips. “Yeah?”

“Yes, you idiot,” you confirmed, your smiles matching.

He then pulled you onto his lap and claimed your lips in deep passion. You straddled his thighs and rocked against him, feeling the blooming erection in his jeans rub against your clothed cunt.

You unbuckled his belt and opened the zipper, Beau pushing down his jeans over his ass a little. Supporting one palm on his shoulder, your other hand climbed inside his boxers and grasped his dick. You thumbed his head and dribbled a few drops of spit down on his cock before moving your hand down his shaft, spreading it like lube on his velvety skin.

“Fuck,” he groaned, his head falling back against the backrest. With hooded eyes drunk with lust, one hand snaked under your shirt and pulled down the cup of your bra, palming and massaging your breast and rolling the nipple between his fingers. Your moan of pleasure was his reward as you pumped him with a tightening grip.

Both of you jerked up, however, as the door to his office suddenly flung wide open. Beau and you froze in your place, your fingers still wrapped around his cock, but luckily, neither of you was fully naked and your back hid most of the explicits. To your visitor, it just looked like an intense and very heated make-out session.

As you peeled your gaze over your shoulder, you recognized a woman in her mid-thirties who covered her eyes and quickly retreated through the door.

“Oh my God! I’m so sorry. I’ll wait outside,” she excused and shut the door behind her again.

Beau gaped at you, green eyes wide in disbelief. “Y/N, did you not lock the door?”

You clasped your mouth with both hands, shaking your head with pupils as blown wide as his. “No, I thought everyone had already left when I came in here.”

“That’s the second time in three days,” he reminded you scoldingly. “Three days, Y/N! Twice!”

“I know! I’m sorry,” you whispered apologetically, still in shock, but a laugh of amusement escaped your throat. “Who was that lady?”

“I don’t know.” Beau’s brow furrowed in the same questioning manner as yours.

The two of you then sorted yourselves quickly, pulling pants back on and smoothing out shirts. You then stepped outside the office, where your female visitor was still waiting in the hallway.

“Uh, so sorry for that little, uhm…” Beau stopped mid-sentence, clueless on how to proceed and describe the scene while still sounding professional. “Anyways, how can I help you, darlin’?”

You threw him a small sideways glare at that and crossed your arms over your chest, Beau giving you one of his charming “can’t be helped” shrugs. Did he have to put so much flirt into it?

“Oh, uh, I apologize. I should’ve knocked,” the woman replied with a keen giggle, her cheeks blushing in fluster. She cleared her throat and regained her composure, introducing herself. “My name is Diane Newton. I’m the new DA for the Lewis and Clark Sheriff’s Department. I got assigned the serial killer case and wanted to look through your files on it. See what you’ve got so far.”

“Oh, uhm, sure,” Beau spluttered and swallowed the lump in his throat, his mind jumping back into work mode. Of course, it had to be the new prosecutor to find him with his pants down in his office. What a great first impression.

“Hi, uh, Sheriff Beau Arlen. Nice to meet you,” he said and reached out his hand for a shake. He then glanced at you. “This is actually Special Agent Y/N Y/L/N. She’s leading that case,” he introduced you before he nervously chuckled. “She’s, uh, my girlfriend. That’s why we, uhm… Wouldn’t want you to think that we-… I do this all the time.”

“No worries and no judgment here,” she said and waved off his concerns. “What you do after hours is completely your business.”

“Well, uhm, how about I show you the files now?” you offered and ushered her to your desk in the main room of the station.

“Oh, that’d be great!”

You threw Beau a wide-eyed look over your shoulder as you walked down the hall, mouthing “Why would you say that?” with a chiding shake of your head.

Beau only twitched his shoulders in a comical apology like a cartoon character and swiftly disappeared back into his office.

Diane stayed for two more hours before finally leaving. You went over every victim in Montana with her, not sparing any excruciating details, and told her a little about the other victims in the other states as well. By the end, you were exhausted and almost fell asleep at your desk, your head resting on the pile of files with closed eyes.

Just a few minutes…

“C’mon, let’s go home. You’re tapped out,” you heard Beau’s deep voice and soon felt his grasp around your arm, hoisting you gently to your feet.

You slung your arms around his neck and tiredly rested your head on his warm, broad chest, listening to his heartbeat underneath. He’d always been the best pillow. “Mmm, I don’t have a home here,” you murmured sleepily.

“Well, you know what they say, home is where the heart is, and I’m going back to my trailer, so…” He shrugged and grinned down at you.

“You’re such a dork,” you quipped. As you looked up at him, you bit your bottom lip. “You introduced me as your girlfriend earlier.”

He licked his smirking lips. “Well, you are my girlfriend.” His brow then creased momentarily. His insecurity was somewhat cute, you thought. “Right?”

You beamed and nodded, giggling. “Yes,” you confirmed and tiptoed up to plant a sweet kiss on his lips to seal it.

“How about before we go home, we finish what we started in my office,” he suggested cheekily and added, “I’ll even teach you how to lock a damn door.”

You snorted a small laugh and gave him another gentle kiss, this one lasting a bit longer and swinging with promise. “Alright. Teach me, Sheriff,” you agreed and smoothed your palms up his chest, smirking up at him.

“Oh, this just took a turn. Now, I know what I’m gonna do with you.” He chuckled wickedly and scooped you up in his arms, bolting down the hallway to his office as you squealed and giggled.

Chapter 5: Illicit Affairs – MAY 29

Will they ever learn? Probably not... 😆 We've had some juicy flashbacks these week... Past scenes that include Randy always make me sad 😭

More murder stuff and flashbacks next week! See ya 🫶

(Also I've been a bit slow with comments these days. It's been crazy busy life things, but I hope I can catch up with everything this weekend 🤍)

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[hypnoneghoul]

Sundown: Chapter 13

WC: 1,7K

Relationship: SwissAlps

Tags: AU; Cowboy!Swiss x Barmaid!Mountain, Transfeminine Mountain, Blood, Injury, Flashbacks/Retrospection, Near Death Experience, Hurt/Comfort, Healing, Fluff

“Funny! I doubt anyone would wanna put up with the little ol' me.” “You're not so bad,” Sunshine admits and pulls another chuckle out of Swiss with it. “Why, that is high praise indeed, dear sister!”

Playlist here. / Chapter 1 here or on AO3.

Read chapter 13 under the cut or on AO3.

“Swiss!” Mounty yells, throwing herself on her knees next to him, patting his cheeks and begging him to wake up. Rain and Dewdrop look at them with confusion and worry as Phantom jumps into action. “Swiss, stay with me, please, wake up!”

The medic is silent as they check his vitals. Mounty can’t take that, “Tommy, what’s wrong with him!?”

“Dunno yet,” they mumble. He’s breathing and his heart is still beating, but it’s weak. “It’s not his head, that’s just a scratch. Help me undress him.”

Mounty obliges, all but tearing Swiss’ bloodied clothes off of him. Now that she thinks about it, there was no way of knowing if at least some of all that blood was his own or not. Tears well up in her eyes, she can’t breathe; if she thought she was scared before, she’s paralyzed with fear now.

Phantom peels Swiss’ wet shirt away to reveal a deep laceration, nearly a stab wound, through half of his stomach. Mounty gasps and puts a hand against her mouth, now sobbing in earnest and shaking.

“Shit,” the medic mutters and similar expressions can be heard from Dewdrop and Rain, the latter turning to hide against the other’s neck as he holds him.

“Can you fix him?” Dewdrop asks, whispering. Mounty hears it anyway and looks up at Phantom with pleading eyes, needing to hear the answer; needing it to be a confident yes.

“That’s a lot of blood and it’s so deep, I don’t…I don't know,” they admit instead.

“Swiss! Don't be mean,” Sunshine pouts, but it’s obvious she can barely hold back her laugh.

“Sorry, sis, it's just a little silly to me!” Swiss, on the other hand, doesn’t even try to get rid of the bright grin on his face. “Why would you be planning it all now, you've never even had a boyfriend.”

“Because when it's time I want it to be perfect!” she exclaims. Her brother found her with a small journal, sketching something that turned out to be Sunshine’s dream wedding venue.

“You do realize any guy would have to pass my super secret and scary are-you-worthy-of-my-little-sister test first, right?” Swiss teases, though both of them know it’s not entirely a joke. He’ll be the last to ever let his little sister’s heart be broken by a man.

“Shut up!” the girl finally laughs fully. “You ain't gonna scare my future boyfriends, I want to have a husband before I'm eighty!”

“I absolutely will scare your future boyfriends and you might get a husband before you're eighty. If you pick the right guys, that is.”

“Idiot,” Sunshine grumbles under her breath, huffing and glancing back down at her notebook. “Don't you ever think about how you want your wedding to look like?”

“Eh, I don't know, Sunny,” Swiss sighs and sits down next to her with his legs crossed. “I don't think I'm a marriage kinda dude.”

His sister hums, “You'll change your mind when you find the right one.”

“Funny! I doubt anyone would wanna put up with the little ol' me.”

“You're not so bad,” Sunshine admits and pulls another chuckle out of Swiss with it. He wraps an arm around her shoulders and brings her closer. She squirms but giggles as he ruffles her already unruly hair.

“Why, that is high praise indeed, dear sister!” the man laughs. They’re quiet for a bit, when it dies down, both enjoying their little moment.

“But you would invite me,” Sunshine interrupts it after a while, “right?”

“What?”

“To your wedding?” she clarifies.

“I could consider it.”

“Swiss!” his sister wriggles out of his hold and playfully punches him in the chest.

“Oh, fine! Yes, I would invite you, and knowing you you'd somehow end up a bridesmaid.”

“Or a best…woman. I could be your best woman!” Sunshine cheers, clapping at her cleverness.

Swiss shakes his head but there’s so much fondness in it. “Sure, sure.” 

“‘Tis settled.” The girl nods with a face of a fancy businessman that has just made a billion dollar deal.

Swiss furrows his brows in somewhat of a challenging expression. “Only if you bring every man you wanna date for an interrogation with me beforehand.”

“Deal.”

“Deal.”

First thing that Swiss notices is how dry his mouth is. He breathes heavily through his nose and feels pain radiating from his middle as his chest rises. He’s slow to come to full realization of himself, each sense waking up and tuning in to his surroundings separately.

Finally, Swiss opens his eyes. They’re sticky and his vision is blurry, but he can see.

He can see his girl.

He clears his throat before rasping with his voice gravelly from unuse, “Hi, Momo.”

The vague shape of Mounty raises a hand and suddenly it’s on his cheek, slapping him across the face with all the barmaid’s might. The additional pain that blooms because of it makes him sober up in a second.

“Don’t ever scare me like that again!” Mounty scolds him; well deserved.

He's not dead, then.

“Not planning to,” he admits and lets out a chuckle that hurts him all over. “Ow…”

The next thing he knows it’s the barmaid’s lips on his own chapped ones as Mounty kisses the breath out of him. She doesn’t pull away for what feels like a small eternity and he couldn’t be more grateful. He can’t really grasp—and he doesn’t want to, anyway—the events of the previous day, but the relief of being there safe with his girl could still just about make him cry.

It indeed is a while before they really part and it’s only because they’re interrupted by Phantom accompanied by a man that looks familiar, but Swiss is sure is a stranger.

“I'm Aether, Phantom's brother,” he introduces himself and the feeling of familiarity suddenly makes sense. “The two of us patched you up. Literally, you’ve got a bunch of stitches in ya, so no moving around for now.”

“Ah, heard a lot about you,” Swiss grunts with a nod, indeed feeling the sore skin around his wound being pulled by the stitches, “And a simple thank you ain’t enough for saving me, but…well, thank you.”

“No worries,” Aether smiles kindly. He’s got the same cunning, yet kind, glint in his eyes that Phantom does and the cowboy thinks he’d like getting to know him. “I’m just glad I was here to help, you got Phantom scared shitless.”

“Yeah, you’re a fucking madman, you know that?” Phantom throws their arms up. They do look rather agitated, even though they had time to calm down since the initial incident. Apparently it’s been nearly twenty-four hours. “I have no idea how you’re alive right now, do you understand me, Swiss?”

“Sorry…” Swiss grumbles. He really does feel guilty, he was behaving like a feral animal and scared them all more than it was necessary. Not that he could’ve really helped it when Mounty was in danger, though.

“Okay, now, kid, give him a break,” Aether pats his sibling’s shoulder, “he’s got his punishment for scaring you all.”

Swiss nods and  Aether insists on leaving him and Mounty alone (after informing that the former should heal nicely provided he rests properly, and that the latter’s sprained ankle should be forgotten about in less than a week) and Phantom ultimately obliges, but not before cursing the cowboy’s madness once more. Everyone agrees that they do have a point.

Rain and Dewdrop pop in for a moment after them, bearing gifts in form of warm dinner and booze—apparently approved by Aether the doctor. They also curse Swiss’ madness before leaving, naturally.

Once they’re really alone again, Mounty heaves out a tired sigh and lays down with her head on Swiss’ chest. Neither of them falls asleep nor closes their eyes, but the minutes—or hours—they spend like that are the most restful either of them had in what feels like ages.

Mounty is the first to move again, of course. Swiss won’t admit it out loud—at least not seriously—but he’s in a lot of pain; his biggest wound isn’t the only one. She leans over him and pressed their lips together again—and the kiss gets more heated with every second; they both need the closeness.

The barmaid is gentle when she throws a leg over his lap and raises on her knees to straddle him. She descends slowly and carefully so as not to jostle the wounded man too much as she sits on the top of his thighs.

Swiss instinctively raises his arms to touch her but pauses, hanging his hands in the air between the two of them.

“In the barn, did you–” he mutters, but can’t bring himself to spit the question out fully as he stares at his hands. They're clean now, but the cowboy can't wipe the image of them all bloodied from his mind.

So much blood on his hands and yet the barmaid places her own delicate ones over his and brings them to her hips.

“I ain't seen nothing, cowboy,” Mounty tells him; calmly, softly—knowing what is going through his head, “all I know is that you saved me. You saved me, Swiss. Alright?”

He wishes it were so easy to overlook what he’s done, but for the time being it’s fine. He’s fine and so he nods and gives himself up to his girl in entirety once again.

Mounty takes her hands off of Swiss’ and reaches for his hat that’s resting on the windowsill. She puts it on her own head and the cowboy knows exactly what she’s trying to say. She brings her elegant fingers to the buttons of her shirt and starts popping them open. Swiss can't tear his eyes away from the growing bit of exposed skin as his cock begins to chub up in his pants.

“I'm gonna ride you tonight, cowboy,” Mounty whispers and finally opens her shirt to reveal her gorgeous tits, “and you're going to just lie still and take it like a champ. We don't want to pop your stitches, do we?”

“Boobies…” he sighs as he lets go of the barmaid’s hips to make grabby hands at Mounty’s chest, his mind cleared of everything but her tits now.

“Yeah, you're gonna watch ‘em bounce and forget about everything else, darling, aren't you?”

Swiss drools a little as he nods.

.

.

.

.

.

edit: about the cowboy hat thing

[scoonsalicious]

Unwanted: Chapter 21, Unacceptable - Pt. 2

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Avenger!Fem!Reader

Summary: When your FWB relationship with your best friend Bucky Barnes turns into something more, you couldn’t be happier. That is, however, until a new Avenger sets her sights on your super soldier and he inadvertently breaks your heart. You take on a mission you might not be prepared for to put some distance between the two of you and open yourself up to past traumas. Too bad the only one who can help you heal is the one person you can no longer trust.

Warnings: (For this part only; see Story Masterlist for general Warnings) Language, Non-explicit sexual content (some over-the clothes stuff)

Word Count: 1.5k

Previously On...: Bucky saw you leave with Steve last night. He saw Steve leave your room this morning. And now he sees you wearing Steve's shirt. Of course, there's only one conclusion he came to.

A/N: A flashback!

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Banner By: The absolutely amazing @mrsbuckybarnes1917!

Thank you to all those who have been reading; if you like what you've read, likes, comments, and reblogs give me life, and I truly appreciate them, and you!

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As soon as you and Steve got into the elevator to head down to your room, you were all over each other. Hands and lips exploring every inch of bare skin you could find. You barely managed to make it to your bed before you were unbuttoning his shirt, tossing it to the floor as your hands ran over his muscles. 

“God, Pocket,” Steve moaned as he sucked into the skin of your neck. “Want you so bad. Wanted you for so long.”

You didn’t answer him, just moaned as his hand began snaking its way up your thigh to cup your covered heat. You stayed like that for a bit, kissing one another as Steve’s hand rubbed against your sensitive clothed flesh and you palmed him through his pants.

“I’ve been dreaming about this for so long, doll.”

The word, coming from Steve’s lips, froze you, your entire body tensing up as though you’d been caught doing something you weren’t supposed to. Sensing your loss of enthusiasm, Steve pulled away. “Calling you ‘doll’ was a mistake, wasn’t it?” he asked, running a hand through his sandy hair. 

Coming back to yourself, you put your face in your hands. “I’m so sorry, Steve, I can’t do this. You’re drunk, I’m high as fuck… it would be a huge mistake we’d both regret in the morning.”

Steve sighed, repositioning himself to sit up against your headboard. “Part of me says ‘fuck, let’s make a mistake,’ but the part of me that I know I’m going to listen to knows that you’re right. Besides,” he added, “as much as I lo– care about you, I don’t want to hurt Bucky.”

“Ugh,” you groaned, hitting your head against the headboard with a crack, “don’t say his name. I don’t want to think about him.”

Steve readjusted his positioning so he sat facing you. “What the hell happened between you two, Pocket? One minute, you’re both the happiest I’ve ever seen you, and the next you’re screaming at each other from across the conference table.”

You turned to face him, skeptical. “You act like he hasn’t told you everything already,” you said, not buying his ‘I know nothing’ act.

Steve shrugged. “He hasn’t. When the two of you started dating, he and I, we, uh, we made a promise that we weren’t going to talk about it, about the two of you.”

You rolled your eyes. “Oh, cool, so you just acted like I didn’t fucking exist?”

Steve looked abashed. “No! Not at all; I’m sorry– I should have worded it better. What I meant was, we didn’t talk about your relationship. Bucky knew how I felt. He loved you too much to step aside–not that I ever would have asked him to, anyway! But he didn’t want to rub it in my face, so he kept it private. He didn’t want to cause me pain.”

You snorted “Wish he would have afforded me the same courtesy,” you grumbled.

“What happened, Pocket?” Steve asked again. 

You thought about it for a moment, torn between wanting to share the truth with someone who cared enough to ask, but also wanting, in a weird, sick way, to protect Bucky from having his best friend think any less of him. But you didn’t owe him anything anymore.

So, you told Steve everything.

You told him about the weird way Bucky had fixated on Jade’s profile when Tony had first presented it, how he had made so many sweet promises to be the best goddamned boyfriend, yet had broken them again and again. 

You told him about Jade’s increasing demands on his time, and how he couldn’t seem to say no to her, his claims that he was only interested in getting to know her as a friend because of their shared Hydra history. 

You told Steve about the sparring match you witnessed, the intense, almost sexual energy between them, and the way other agents had picked up on it. About the way he left you, alone and forgotten at Central Park. How he stopped in the middle of having sex with you to answer her phone call. How you begged him to understand how it was making you feel, but he promised you there was nothing there, that you were being irrational. 

You told him about that horrible night when he’d brought Jade’s kinks into your bedroom, and the words he’d spoken because she told him that’s what she liked to hear. And you told him about what you found in his texts, about what happened between them on the Russia mission, how he had come home after and made love to you, had lied to you, betrayed you. You told him everything.

When you were finally done, Steve stared at you in silence for a moment. Eventually, he spoke: “I… I had no fucking idea, Pocket. I am so, so sorry.”

You shrugged. “It’s my own damned fault,” you said. “I should have never even slept with him in the first place. I let him break my heart over and over again, because I loved him so fucking much, and I was so scared of losing him. I did this to myself.”

Steve gently (for him, at least) knocked your shoulder with his own. “Hey,” he admonished, “stop that. You’re not the one who lied, who cheated. God, I can’t believe he would do that to you. He had the most perfect, amazing girl, and he just– Sorry.” Steve’s cheeks turned a shade of red. “If it makes you feel any better, I don’t think he loves her, or has any real feelings for her, not the way he does for you, anyway.”

You tilted your head. “It actually doesn’t, Steve. I could almost understand it, if he loved her. You can’t help who you fall in love with. But, if he did all this, without having any real feelings for her? It just means that he didn’t actually give a shit about me, doesn’t it? He was willing to give up everything we had, willing to break my fucking heart, for someone he didn’t really care about.”

“I don’t think it’s that simple, Pocket,” Steve said with a sigh. “I’m not making excuses for him, but Bucky’s been through literal hell. More than we’ll probably ever know, because there are things he just won’t share, and there are things his psyche remembers, but his waking mind never will. I know that, with Jade, Bucky thought he finally found someone who could truly understand all the trauma he’d been through, all the agony. It’s one thing for him to tell you or I, but we can never really get it. I think he came into this looking for a friend, and she was looking for something entirely different.”

You thought back to the suspicions Sam had voiced after the disastrous mission that had left Rhodey so gravely wounded. “Are you saying you think she has some kind of ulterior motive here, Steve?”

Steve looked at you, puzzled. “No, of course not. I just meant– I think she saw him, and she wanted him. I did end up watching the security footage from her tour, you know.” He smirked at you. “I heard what she said about him. I think that she saw an opening, a way to get close to him, and she took it. She used it to do whatever she could to drive a wedge between the two of you, and push him closer to her.”

“He’s not a puppet anymore, Steve” you spat. “He has agency. He’s responsible for his own actions.”

“I know,” Steve said placatingly. “I’m not saying he isn’t a complete dumbass. He made some terrible decisions. I’m just saying I think he had some bad influences working on him that may have pushed him in a certain direction he never would have taken without them.”

“It doesn’t excuse anything,” you told him, crossing your arms over your chest. “It just means I can’t trust him. That he doesn’t deserve me.”

“I’m not arguing with you, Pocket,” Steve said. “I’m just… I’m just trying to understand where he was coming from, why he would do something like that, when I know for a fact he loves you. Wants to spend the rest of his life with you.”

You scoffed in an attempt to hold back the tears that you were afraid were on the way. “Well, he sure has a fucked up way of showing it,” you said with a sniffle.

“Hey, come here,” Steve wrapped his arms around you and pulled you to his chest. “It’s okay. Let it out. This is a safe space, you don’t have to put on a brave face for me.”

And you didn’t. You let yourself cry all the tears you’d been trying to bury inside of you since you read those horrible text messages. You cried for what you had, and what could have been. And Steve Rogers, beautiful, amazing friend that he was, held you through it all, despite the fact that he was in love with  you, and you were shedding tears for another man. He held you late into the night until you both drifted off into a fitful sleep, though for two entirely, very different, reasons.

<- Previous Part / Next Part ->

[akimoroll]

giving in to the love.

chapter 4. this could be a dream.

chapters: 1 — 2 — 3

nagumo yoichi (sakamoto days) x afab!reader—wc 6.8k—alternate universe—read on ao3

cw—mentions of abuse and death. alcoholism. smoking. fluff. angst. aged up characters with highschool flashbacks. eventual smut. pwp. pwf. please MDNI!

But if I touch you, would you feel it there?

Could I trust love even if I'm scared?

Oh, I wish I could give like I'm longing to give

Oh, I wish I could live like I'm longing to live

And I lift myself and I close my eyes

And I sing sometimes to know I'm alive

I know I should figure this out on my own

But if you come by, could you take me home?

You found yourself slowly waking up in an unfamiliar space, with the sun still low partially filtering through the white curtains. As you lazily roamed areas your eyes could reach, you become aware of the scent of faint chlorine and fresh laundered fabric filling the air of the bleak looking room you’re in. Overwhelmed by grogginess and aching throughout your whole body, you drifted back to sleep.

Gradually, the soft rays of sunshine became harsher and crept through the gap in the curtains, waking you once more. You fluttered your eyes open and winced both at the brightness and the pounding in your head. As you forced yourself to sit up, you could feel the discomfort of the situation. Your mind slowly pieced together what had transpired—

Where’s Rion?

And the car?

Mom’s going to be so mad.

What happened?

Did we get hit?

Where is—

A nurse entered the room, interrupting your thoughts. Upon seeing you awake, they called for the doctor. They described what took place and how fortunate you were to miraculously sustain only minor injuries. When you asked them about Rion, they didn’t disclose detailed information, but they did tell you that she had already passed away.

What? No way.

No.

“I think you made a mistake. Can you please check her name again?”

“I’m completely fine so she’s also okay, right?”

“I think you got it all wrong. Can I please go see her?”

While they provided nothing but empathy and understanding regarding your circumstances, your mom was an exception. It’s as if she cared more about the car and all the expenses in between.

After being discharged from the hospital, you made the decision not to return to school. With the weight of guilt and self-blame, attending school seemed unbearable. Your mother had already blamed you for the accident, so what was the point? You were sure that everyone in school thought the same thing too.

But not Aoi. She went over to your house and didn’t tag anyone along for fear of making you uncomfortable.

Ms. Satoda kept calling your mom but she never answered them.

It was an accident, it wasn’t your fault. Don’t listen to them.

You’re gonna be fine. Just try coming to school tomorrow.

And so you did but you were back to your old ways. Your everyday life became monotonous once again—wake up, school, home, sleep, repeat.

Yet on Valentines day, a surprise shook you from your routine.

“What’s this?” You confronted Nagumo in the empty basketball gym with a chocolate heart box in your hand and a note saying he’d wait for you after class.

“Chocolates?” He answered in a quizzical voice.

You found it in your locker before heading home. He hasn’t talked to you since the accident—not that you wanted him either—and you thought: Is this some kind of sick joke?

You let out an empty chuckle, “I know what it is. Why?”

He didn’t know how to approach you after what happened. He was aware of it being a delicate matter and was scared to push you away if he said or did the wrong thing. He hoped to talk to you and thought it would be nice to do it on the said day. And oh boy, was he wrong.

Apologetic, he said, “For valentines. I was hoping to talk to—”

“Valentines? Are you serious?” You interrupted him, “Can you stop it already?”

His eyebrows furrowed, “I’m sorry, I just thought—”

“You thought what? That everything’s gonna be okay with just chocolate?” You retorted, raising an eyebrow.

He sighed, “That’s not what that is—”

“Then what, Nagumo? What do you want?”

“I don’t want anything. Just-” sighing, he clenched his jaw, “I’m worried, you know I care about you.”

“Oh, stop it, will you? You’re supposed to hate me!” You raised your voice.

Pinching his lips together, “I can’t do that.”

“What do you mean you can’t? Rion died because of me! Are you stupid?!” You hissed.

“That’s not true. It was an accident.” He hissed back.

You scoffed, “You know nothing!”

He raised both his hands, “Alright fine, maybe I don’t know anything!” In a pleading tone, he said, “But can’t you just let me be here for you? I lost her too!”

And it feels like you’re next—is what he couldn’t say.

As hurt and guilt consumed you, your voice quieted, “All the more reason for you to leave me alone.”

He closed his eyes in regret, he stepped closer, “Listen, I’m sorry…” but you backed away.

“No,” you shake your head, averting his gaze, “you should stay away from me. It’s for the best.”

His shoulders slumped and it’s as if you took his heart with you as he watched your retreating figure grow farther and farther away until you were out of sight.

┊┊┊

Nagumo takes you to his place. You were hesitant at first but he said he’s home alone for a week, and you thought having company isn’t so bad so you went along. You reflect on the irony of the situation and couldn't help but find it funny. Here you were, sitting next to each other, burying your faces in bowls of spicy instant ramen—his attempt to make you feel better and it worked because it’s the best you’ve had in a while, sharing it with someone deeply familiar, feeling a sense of belonging, even if it was only temporary.

“This is so good, I’ve never tried this brand before,” you say with a mouthful of noodles.

He nods, grinning as he slurps his bowl clean, clearly enjoying it as much as you. He leans back on his chair, pushing back his bangs off his sweaty forehead.

Completely unaware of his gaze, you continue to eat with yours half full. As you raise the chopsticks to your lips, a few strands of your hair fall and almost dipped into the bowl. He leans forward after noticing it, his hand gently tucking the hair behind your ear. You paused and glanced at him as the moment hung in the air.

Clearing his throat, “Your hair was…do you want to watch a movie after this?” He blurts out, not knowing what to say exactly.

You open your mouth and close it again, squinting, “It’s 2 AM, aren’t you sleepy?”

He ponders, humming, “Not really. So, yes?”

“Do you really want me to pass out on your couch?” You joked and proceeded to finish your noodles.

He chuckles as he continues to watch you, itching to play with hair. He could smell you every time you moved, wondering if it’s your shampoo or perfume, taking him back to when he sat beside you at the pub and when he kissed the top of your hair back in his car.

Curious, he asks, “Are you wearing perfume?”

You look over your shoulder, pausing to think, “I am,” telling him exactly what it is, feeling good that he noticed, “Why?”

He nods as he makes a mental note. You smell edible, is what he wanted to say. He internally shakes his head, “It suits you.”

Your cheeks start heating up, you look away, “It’s my first time wearing it,” you go back to finishing your food.

He couldn’t help but feel a sense of satisfaction after learning you were wearing it for the first time—a silent claim, as if it’s a hidden part of you revealed to him alone.

You lean back on the chair as you glance at him with a satisfied smile, “Thanks for the meal.”

He catches a whiff again, unintentionally wetting his lips. He looks at you and then down to your lips, he taunts, “Your lips are puffy.”

With a lighthearted chuckle, you retort, “Yours too.”

He didn’t answer as he locked eyes with you and in that brief moment he had an inexplicable urge to be closer to you. He looks away, humming in response as he leans forward with his elbows on the table with eyes far away, rubbing his lips with his fingers.

You watch him. He hasn’t changed at all—he’s still a bit annoying with his constant boyish smile. Your eyes trail from his flowy hair to his nape, down to his strong looking shoulders and his evident toned back despite the thick fabric of his sweater. Well, maybe a little. He still slouches though. You smile inwardly.

“I should get going,” you say softly while still looking at him.

He turns to face you, resting his cheek on his palm, “Already?”

“I wouldn’t want to overstay my welcome.”

You would've stayed if it was solely up to you, but he has grown increasingly silent. Maybe he’s tired?

“Do you want me to drive you?”

“I’ll just hail a cab,” you reassure him.

He doesn’t answer and instead gives you a wistful smile while his fingertips tap on the table. After a long pause, he stands and saunters through the living room to fetch your bag and your coat next to his on the couch.

You trail after him to the foyer, suddenly feeling the urge to ask him what’s wrong, “It was nice seeing you,” you managed to say instead.

He looks over his shoulder before turning around to face you fully, answering you with a mere nod as he stands by the door.

You swallow, he’s still so quiet, “Did I say something wrong?”

He chuckles, his eyes glossy, “No, you’re fine.” he shakes his head a little. Swallowing the lump in his throat, “It was nice seeing you too,” he continued.

The silence feels awkward and uncomfortable as you stand motionless, as if unsure of what to do next. You know you should be putting on your shoes and leaving, but your mind is elsewhere.

Your thoughts race as you desperately try to recall if there was something you said that might have hurt him. The thought of parting ways with him again on a negative note gnaws at you.

There’s a lump in your throat all of sudden.

When I pass through this door, I’ll never see him again.

Closure? Are you stupid?

I already apologized.

Him being married is closure enough.

I’m the only one stuck in the past.

Don’t say it. Don’t say it!

“Are you okay?” He asks, snatching you away from your thoughts.

Your eyes shot up to his face with concern written all over it. You swallow and blurted out, “I missed you.”

He solemnly smiles at you, “Hey,” shaking his head slightly before speaking, “You know you shouldn’t say stuff like that to me.”

Why am I like this? Embarrassed, you stammer as you avoid his gaze, “No, you’re right. Sorry, I was just-”

He exhaled deeply before speaking again, “Took you long enough.”

Dumbfounded, you glance up to him: Huh?

His gaze softens, “I missed you too,” he exhaled while looking up before he settled his eyes on you, “You still wanna go?”

His question lingered in the air, the weight of its implications hanging heavily between you.

“Yes,” you utter quietly.

He nods with a tight lipped smile. As his hand reaches for your shoes from the shoe rack, you continue, “…with you.”

He stops in his tracks, slowly turning to face you. His heart pounds in his chest as he begins to comprehend the meaning behind your words. As his eyes locked onto yours, he saw a subtle plea painted on your face.

Those two simple words from you were enough to make him rush towards you. He drops all your belongings to the floor, dismissing all boundaries that had once separated the two of you.

You froze with your eyes wide open but you didn't pull away this time. Instead, you open up to him, letting go of all restraints and fears. You closed your eyes and parted your lips willingly as he poured himself to you.

As your hands extend towards him, you wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him closer. He leans down and encircles his arms around your waist, lifting you off the floor as he kisses you tenderly, leaving you breathless.

He guides you across the hall to his bedroom with your feet lightly shuffling backwards. His lips remain attached to yours, holding you tightly against him, almost as if he’s afraid to let you go, terrified of the thought of losing you once again. To finally be able to hold you—to taste you—is the feeling that he’s longed for.

Your gasp echoes in the room as your back meets the softness of his bed, your hair splaying across the sheets. His mind goes into a haze as he looks at you, the feeling of longing overwhelming him.

He drinks the sight of you—breathless, on his bed, waiting and only for him. You feel vulnerable under his gaze, a look you’ve never seen from him before. Your lips were glistening from his doing. He wants more, every single part of you. Everything.

Desire starts pooling inside you as he takes off his sweater. Tattoos that were once hidden now come to surface. It takes you back to earlier that evening when you saw the ones on his neck and fingers, wondering if there were more.

As the soft light filters through his windows, you allow your eyes to wander the details on his body, his chest heaving, the contours of his toned muscles and the veins snaking around his forearms. He’s gorgeous and it’s making your head spin.

He hovers over you as he kisses you, all lips and tongue, and oh so slow as his touch becomes desperate, hands claiming everything he could reach. All mine, he thought.

He takes his sweet time savoring you as if the world outside the room you’re in doesn’t exist, like nothing else matters. Only the gentle sounds of your kissing and fabric rustling filled his dimly lit room, and only you on his mind.

Your fingers trace along the muscles of his back, making his hairs raise. He moans into your mouth as his senses heightened, he wants more of your touch, more of you.

He puts his hands gently at the back of your head and around your waist as his strong arms effortlessly lifts you further up the bed.

He halts the kiss, his absence intensified your craving for him. You miss him already.

His fingers find the hem of your sweater and with a subtle motion, you shift, allowing him to slip your sweater over your head. He tosses it to the side, he feels his knees getting weak with you all soft and exposed with just your lacey bra beneath him, “You’re an angel,” he breathes.

Feeling shy, you covered your face with a pillow, “Stop it,” your voice soft and quiet.

He smiles and takes the pillow from your grasp, his fingers brushing against your own. It’s true, you’re perfect, he whispered before claiming your lips once more.

He places gentle kisses all over your face, making you giggle. He loved the sound so much that he starts nipping at your earlobes to hear more, he laughs with you. He trails wet kisses from your jaw to your neck as he catches a whiff of your perfume—inhaling and sighing against your skin.

You shudder under his touch as his large hands worked quickly to unhook your bra, setting your tits free. He buries his face against your chest with careful hands caressing them. His tongue skimming past your hardened nipples as he savors every needy whimper from you. Your whole body is tingling, you arch your back from anticipation. You’re dying for more and he knows.

He smirks against your flushed skin as you grab a fistful of his hair. Always so impatient, he teases while looking at you. A pathetic whine is all you could manage as his mouth finally closed around your nipples, suckling and swirling his tongue around it as if he wanted to swallow you entirely.

You shudder as he groans onto your tits, making you squeeze your legs together. You’re so sensitive, you writhed with every little thing his tongue does to you. He bites and flicks his tongue over it, making you gasp as heat builds up inside you.

You knot your hands to his hair, pulling him into a sloppy, desperate kiss, begging breathily: Yoichi, please.

I know—he whispers in between kisses—I’ll take care of you.

Hearing the aching in your voice, he pulls away, his trembling hands reaching for your pants, peeling it off with ease.

Your mind lifts as he runs his hand slowly over the lace of your panties. His fingers brushing over your clothed clit as his mouth circles around your nipples once again, you shudder.

His breath fans against the skin of your chest, hot and shaky. He hooks his fingers over the damp cloth of your panties, pulling it to the side. He’s so slow about it, making you moan—hurry.

His heart hammers in his chest, murmuring and hushing you, I’m here.

And then finally—his fingers brush between your folds, so warm, so wet just for him.

He presses his fingers onto your swollen clit as you buck your hips while your hands grip onto his forearm, begging him to move.

And move is what he does—fingers brushing and pressing all over your wet pussy, turning you into a whining mess.

His hand leaves you as he puts his fingers inside his mouth—licking and sucking your wetness—just to bring it back between your thighs, smearing his spit all over your cunt.

Dark brown half lidded eyes watching you intently as he slowly inserts one—your mouth drops open. He stretches you, with his finger for the first time. Slowly sinking deeper and deeper. You clench around him as he pushes it all the way inside.

I can’t wait to fuck you, he murmur, his thumb pressing circles over your clit. He curls his finger inside you, hitting the right spots, eliciting sweet sounds from you.

And then he adds another, your legs start to tense.

Fuck—is all you could whimper.

Soon, he smirks before claiming your lips. His kisses become sloppy as it trailed down to your chest, his lips all over you—moaning against your skin—as his desire grows more for you.

The knot in your lower abdomen tightens as wet sounds from your pussy and your labored breathing fills his quiet room. Your fingers cards through his hair as his digits curl, pushing in and out of your dripping wet cunt, making a mess on his bedsheets.

…feels so good. So good.

Your voice is so sweet, telling him you’re so close to cumming, making his already hard cock pulse in his pants.

He’s so good with his hands, you could feel yourself trembling, clamping on his fingers inside of you. He watches you intently, anticipating for you to unravel for him but you pull him into a desperate kiss as you feel the tension snap. He moans with you as he finger fucks you through your orgasm, pleasure rolling all over you.

He makes you cum for the first time and he’s barely even done anything. He keeps his eyes on you as yours flutters while he bites lightly at your lower lip, continuously gasping into his mouth.

He places soft kisses on your forehead as your body starts to calm down, cooing, you’re lovely, and other sweet nothings. He pulls his coated fingers out from you, making you gasp and clench around nothing. He licks and sucks on it, tasting your juices as he lays beside you. He lets you rest.

You turn your head to meet his gaze. He’s still the same Yoichi; still so patient and always willing to care for you. Your heart swells when he looks back at you with affection. It’s pathetic. Almost comical how you’ve pushed him away, afraid of the implications you might cause if you stay. Just for you to crawl back to him years later, a familiar place, seeking for a different outcome—knowing full well you shouldn’t.

“Let me take care of you too,” you say softly.

You don’t wait for him to answer as you sit up on the bed, reaching for his face. You brush away the hairs sticking on his forehead.

“You don’t have to,” he murmurs with his hand playing with the tips of your hair.

“But I want to,” you whisper, caressing his bulge. You lean forward and kiss him softly.

He let out a sharp breath when you move between his thighs, his eyebrows furrowing to the gentle and suggestive touch over his clothed cock. He struggles to maintain his composure, the sensation causing his body to tense slightly.

Your fingers work the belt free from the loops as his breathing grows heavier. The clink of the buckle hitting the floor echoes through the space. Slowly, teasingly, you lower the zipper, revealing the straining bulge beneath.

His hips twitch involuntarily, seeking more of your touch. Desire washed over you at how desperate he already is, you want to make him feel so good.

Hooking on the waistband, you tug his pants and boxers down in a smooth motion. His erection springs free making your mouth water. He’s big, you swallow.

You wrap your trembling fingers around the base as you slowly stroke his cock, making him shudder from the warmth of your palm. He’s so hard for you.

His eyes—usually so intent and focused—begin fluttering shut, his breathing becomes shallow and you haven’t done anything yet. You spit messily on the tip of his dick. He inhales sharply as you smear it all over, making his abs flex under your palm, rippling every time he breathes.

He’s lost it, mind ascending as you swallow up his cock—slowly, all the way. The tip of your nose hits his pelvis as he twitches inside your throat. You glance up at him as you gag on him balls deep.

As you keep your eyes on him, he drinks the sight of you: Who else…? His brows knit as his mind starts to cloud with jealousy and overwhelming desire. He’s far gone, murmuring your name, slurring curses under his breath. He reaches for your hand that's caressing his abdomen, intertwining it with his.

His whimpers and groans vibrated throughout the room, moaning from the soft, wet flesh of your cheeks and tongue. You pull back all the way, only for you to swallow him whole again, licking all over the tip in between. His dick buried in your mouth, bobbing your head again and again, and again.

He promptly sits up as he pulls you to him, making you gasp. He doesn’t want to cum, not yet. Strong arms guiding you to straddle him as he kisses you with desperation, bringing your bodies closer together. His fingers tugs on the waistband of your panties.

Let me taste you.

He murmured, motioning you to sit on his face. He’s aching to taste you, to make you cum again. You obey as you take off your panties with him helping you. He reaches for your hands as he reclines back on the bed, helping you move up a little.

Your legs tremble as you plant your knees on the mattress, your dripping wet pussy hovering over his face. He nods to you with pleading eyes, asking you to go lower with hands caressing your hips—come here.

You nod as you grip onto the bed’s headboard, lowering yourself to his face. He places sweet wet kisses on the inside of your thighs, making you shudder as you clench to nothing. The heat of your pussy finally touched his lips. You’re so sweet, pretty, and wet from earlier when he fucked you with just his hands.

He knows you’re still sensitive so he glances up to you as he gently licks your slit, teasing you, too light, like kitten licks, a whimper escapes your lips—more—making his dick twitch from the sweetness of your voice. Adamant to make you feel good, he glides his tongue all over your clit adding a little pressure this time, you shudder, your legs trembling.

So wet, he murmurs. He could bathe in your wetness, your pussy dripping for him. You let go as he gestures to you to sit all the way, wanting to drown in your pretty pussy. You whine as you press yourself onto his face.

He repeatedly runs his tongue over your clit as you gradually relax yourself—mewling and bucking your hips while you ride his face. As you get louder and louder, his dick gets harder. He’s making a mess out of you as he sucks on your clit in between flicks of his tongue, your juices dripping down his chin.

He glances up to you, slowly taking your hands from the headboard as he guides you to place them over your tits. He places his hands on top of your own as you begin touching yourself. Every ounce of shame and guilt leaves your body—everything feels so good.

A smile creeps in while he watches you, almost making him cum with the thought of you using him—murmuring how he makes you feel good, how you’re so close.

He stills his tongue out as you move your hips back and forth with his hands sliding down your waist, squeezing the softness of your skin, moaning into your pussy, encouraging you to keep going.

Your whines become needy, grinding on his tongue becomes messy. He aches for it. He wants nothing more than for him to be the reason for your undoing. A couple of more rolls of your hips, a couple flicks of his tongue, the knot in your abdomen finally snap. You shudder, riding his face as you come undone for him, making him rut into nothing.

He grips on your waist to pin you in place. He keeps sucking and licking—he’s drinking you, as if wringing every drop from you while you clench around nothing. You gasp from being oversensitive, your whole body tingling.

He pulls you down, flipping you onto your back, pinning you beneath his larger frame—his kiss so hungry and demanding. You moan into it as you taste yourself on his lips while he’s grinding his dick against your sensitive cunt, you cover him with your wetness. He can’t wait to make you feel even better; to make a mess out of you.

You wrap your arms and legs around him, he’s feverishly hot to the touch. He breaks away from the kiss, his weight suspended over you. You lean into his touch as he palms your cheek, his eyes searching your face, panting: Tell me you want me like I want you.

His voice is throaty, shaky, desperate. Eyes so eager and intense it could pierce right through you. He looks so lovesick that it almost hurts.

I want you, Yoichi.

Please, I need you—you choke on your sob.

He could almost feel himself ascending with the way you’re begging him, the feeling of you wanting him, offering yourself so willingly. He doesn’t want to keep you waiting, he’s dying to be inside you anyway. He pulls away a little, his hand dwarfing your waist, the other holding his dick to tease your entrance with his tip.

His precum mixes with your wetness as you lift your hips—bucking and aching for more of him. He stays like that for a while with his hands spreading your legs wide open.

Look at you, he murmurs. You swear you can almost see the hearts swimming in his eyes with the way he’s looking at you, you could cry. If only, you thought. He’s gonna give it to you, pour himself to you—all of it. All of me, he thinks. He was yours from the start anyway, even though he knows after all this you’re gonna run away like you always do.

You wrap your fingers around his cock, he shudders as you squeeze it, gliding your palms back and forth, hard and throbbing in your hands. He watches you with mouth slightly open, keeping his eyes focused, tracking your hand on him, exhaling, “Fuck—”

“I need you, hurry,” you beg breathlessly.

His brows furrowed as he moves lower, you hold onto his arms as he slides his cock from your clit to your entrance—gathering his precum and your wetness—fucking you through your folds. His breaths become fast and heavy, eyes locked on your pussy wide open for him.

He stops, he’s about to finally do it, and you can feel it. He slaps his length lightly over your swollen clit a couple of times, making you gasp. He pushes it in, slowly, just the tip. You look into each other’s eyes as you moan at the same time. He’s filling you up, stretching your walls. He’s going to make love to you—for the very first time—and you will take it; you will let him.

He shudders, breath shaky and heavy—Fuck, you’re so wet—slurring his words.

You clench on his dick as he pushes in further, he’s so snug inside you, so fucking hard for you. All you could do is whimper and hold onto him as you try accomodating to his size.

God, you feel so good. You’re squeezing me—he says, every word soft and airy—making your toes curl on his soft bed sheets—while he pushes his throbbing length deeper and deeper.

Your mouth drops open as he bottoms out, taking him balls deep. He leans closer to you, claiming your lips—sloppy, messy kisses as he pulls his cocks all the way out and thrusts all the way in, you moan into each other’s mouth.

He fucks you a little harder. So good, you fuck so good, you’re slurring your words. Your moans so sweet making him fuck you a litte faster, his cock throbbing inside you, his bedsheets absorbing the wetness gushing from your cunt.

He slows down, pulling away from the kiss. Look at it, he murmurs as you both watch his cock sinking down your dripping pussy. His brows knit with his mouth open as he watches himself move in and out of you—your wetness coating his entire length, creaming at the base—his groans thick with pleasure: Look how you’re taking me.

His hands meet the back of your knees, folding you, spreading your legs open for him. Your moans turn into sweet sobs of his name as he thrusts into you harder, deeper, with your legs above his shoulders. His breaths thick and heavy fanning over your contorted face.

The flesh of your thighs ripple every time his hips collide into you. His room once so quiet now filled with slapping wet sounds and your whines as he fucks you hard, your head slightly hitting the headboard while his cock hits all the right spots. He leans in for a kiss before resting his forehead on yours, a breathy chuckle escaping his lips.

You breathe out—Why?

He slows down his pace, rolling his hips you can feel him in your belly. He shakes his head and smiles, murmuring before kissing you again—you drive me insane.

Your mind goes numb as he puts his weight on you, folding you further in half. His hands snaked your back and settled on your shoulders, keeping you in place as he thrust himself deeper. You become a teary whining mess, begging for more as he bottoms out. Your walls clench around his cock, drooling all over his sheets. He sinks deeper, burying himself inside you, he’s making sure you’d remember him and you’d feel him for days after you leave.

He lifts you with him as he sits up, bringing you closer to him, he wants nothing more than the warmth of your skin. You wrap your arms and legs around him, slurring—I’m close, Yoichi.

I know, I got you, he coos. His voice is so sweet, so full of affection for you.

You can see his face clearly—mouth agape, breathing heavily with his eyes in a dreamlike state—as you grind down on him. His shuddering, his hands traveling all over your back down to your ass, squeezing, spreading you open as he fucks you deep.

You clench around him as you roll your hips over him again and again, your pussy swallowing him whole, chasing your high as you fuck yourself with his cock, telling him how good he’s fucking you. His eyes struggle to keep his gaze fixed on you as his eyes roll back from pleasure, mumbling curses under his breath.

Possessiveness hazing his mind. His lips meet your skin, placing wet kisses to your neck down to your chest, biting, sucking until it stings—marking what’s his. He’s worshiping you, murmuring your name, telling you how you’re so beautiful and how your pussy takes him so well, desperate to show how much he wants you, that he’s the only one who could make you feel this good.

His hands abruptly grips your waist, making you stop. You can feel him throbbing inside you as he breathes heavily against your skin, “What’s wrong?” You pant, concerned.

He chuckles, swallowing in between heavy breaths, holding you tightly against him, “Fuck, sorry, I just-” he looks up to you, his cheeks flushed, skin glistening, searching your face, “I don’t want this to be over.”

Your expression softens, like everything within you is melting. He’s so pretty, you could cry, “It’s okay,” you whisper, pushing his hair up from his sweaty forehead before cupping his face—a tender kiss, “You can have me again.”

He wasted no time, everything he’s holding back, he lets go. Pushing you back on the bed, he pins your hands above your head, your foreheads meet, sweat mixing. He fucks you deeper—face to face—with his other hand on the small of your back, thrusting you into him.

You exchange heavy, shaky breaths as he moves in and out of you. He could feel your walls fluttering around his cock as you chase your release alongside him, craving for more friction with him inside you.

He gets sloppier, his thrusts, his words, slurring vulgar things to you—voice thick with pleasure. He releases his hand on your wrist to grab the cheeks of your ass, lifting you. He’s thrusting steadily and deeply, burying his cock so far inside you can’t think of anything else but him fucking you.

You clench around him, you’re close—it’s building up. Your pussy drools everytime he plunges inside you, dripping down your ass onto his bed.

I’m so close—he groans, breathy and desperate—I wanna fill you up—he chokes on his gasp—Can I?

Yes, yes, Yoichi, please I want it.

Fuck—he gasps—so fucking good to me.

Your moaning gets louder, arching your back as his thrusts gets messier, fucking you a little faster, you’re about cum: Yoichi, I’m—

The pleasure hits, your walls clenching, squeezing all around his cock. He’s hitting all the right spots making you a whining mess as you ride out your orgasm with your eyes rolling back, your hearing getting dull.

He leans forward to kiss you sloppily, his breaths shaky as he moans into your mouth. His thrusts become messier, I’m cumming—gonna fill you up, yeah? He murmurs against your lips. You’re still clenching around him, milking his cock for cum as you feel the warmth shooting inside you.

He fucks you lazily, cum gushing out of you with every slow thrust. He’s groaning against your neck, his brows knitted and eyes shut as you hold him tightly in an embrace. You feel all sticky and sweaty, and so debauched under him as his dick throb inside you.

He stays inside you for a while, bodies limp as the two of you come down from your high. Both of you so fucked out. Slowly, you become aware of everything around you. It’s quiet with just the sounds of your breathing.

He lifts his head to face you, he plants a soft kiss on your lips before pulling his still hard cock, a glistening white mess. You clench around nothing, his cum dripping out of you with his eyes on your pussy. Fuck—he sighs.

He asks, “Did you mean it?”

“Mean what?”

He peppers your face with kisses, his voice laced with mischief, “That we can go again?”

You chuckle, “Mhm.”

He was relentless. The two of you went on and on and on—you almost regretted saying yes everytime he asked one more. The last thing you could remember was his lips against your forehead as the room began to brighten from the morning sun. He was whispering sweet nothings while he played with your fingers before you eventually passed out.

┊┊┊

Shitshitshit—you whisper. You’re hastily getting dressed while Nagumo remains fast asleep, his back facing you. With a trembling hand, you reach for the doorknob, carefully and quietly opening the door to his bedroom as you prepare to leave.

As you stand still and glance at his sleeping figure over your shoulder, you feel overwhelmed with regret at having to go through this cycle again, wishing for things to have turned out differently. But sometimes life is funny like that.

He looks so peaceful as he sleeps, reminding you of his consistent kindness towards you. Your thoughts turn to the disruption you always bring into his life, making you wince inwardly.

It’s a shame, you were too late.

As you sneak across the hallway and into the living room, you hunt for your belongings. While looking around, you caught a glimpse of yourself in the mirror, your eyes widened in horror at the sight of the numerous love marks he had left on your skin. Thank fucking god for scarfs.

Upon reaching the foyer, you spot your coat and bag on the floor, remembering how it all went down between you and him. You grimace—what was I thinking?—as you put on your coat and pull out the scarf from your bag, wrapping it around your neck to hide evidence of your impulsive decision.

You freeze after hearing movements from his bedroom. You swear you haven’t put shoes on that fast in your life as you dashed through the door.

As you settle yourself in a taxi cab, you become aware of the aches in your body. Looking out the window, you ponder about last night’s escapade. Very very stupid move, you thought, shame and regret gnawing at you. But you couldn’t deny how good he was, if anything, he’s the best you’ve had. He made you feel so desirable, so cared for, so loved—

Love? Are you serious? You unintentionally tighten your fist as you feel a smile creeping in. A strange sensation breaks you away from your thoughts, you look at your hand. There it is, Nagumo’s wedding ring, hanging loosely around your ring finger.

Huh?

What was he thinking?

You faintly remember him playing with your fingers before falling asleep from exhaustion.

That clown.

He’s so childish.

I’ll mail it to Taro.

Your hand rummages around your bag as you search for your phone but it’s nowhere to be found. You let out a deep sigh with a frown on your face, thinking about the series of unfortunate events that seemed never-ending.

You carefully feel around the pocket area of your coat—Oh, it’s here. Reaching inside, you grab your phone, but upon pulling it out, something accidentally slipped out and fell.

Picking it up from the carpeted taxi floor, you mumble, “What’s this?”

A polaroid?

As you study it, you recall the photo that was lying on the dashboard of his car. It’s a little crumpled but it’s quite new. Annoyance starts creeping in: That little shit and his pranks.

This is taking it too far.

You start taking offense: He cheats on his wife with me and now he puts her picture in my pocket?

You shoved it inside your bag and took off his ring from your finger. For safekeeping, you decide to put it in one of the pockets of your bag. As you were about to drop it, you saw a detail from the ring. Curious, you look closely, checking the engraved details inside—it’s the same as your initials. Weird.

Puzzled, you instinctively pull out the photo again. You keep studying it, you can't see her face properly with her back almost facing the camera. Feeling a tinge of jealousy from her mysterious nature, you brush it off quickly. It’s a stolen shot, you observe.

You couldn’t take your eyes off it, something is weirdly familiar but you couldn’t pinpoint exactly what it is. The place looks familiar, it’s like you’ve been there before. That’s impossible, you think.

You ponder, Taro did mention Nagumo travels a lot. Maybe he takes her with him? Your heart starts to pick up when you recognize what she’s wearing—I have one like this too.

Wait.

The place was the beach you went to earlier this year. Slowly, it starts dawning on you.

No fucking way.

With a trembling hand on your mouth, you question—

Is this me?

You look closely, eyes frantically scanning the photograph with your breath stuck in your throat. You start to recognize yourself: the hair, the dress, the wine in hand, the white sand, the sunset.

With your heart hammering in your chest, you mumble, “It is me.”

But how?

[waitmyturtles]

Unknown: The Final Episodes (Episodes 10, 11, and 12)

(*CAVEAT!!!!* I wrote this screed before the producers of Unknown cut a different version of episode 11. I have only watched the first version, the version that the Taiwanese BL gods had originally intended us to watch, hmph. My commentary below only reflects my thoughts on this first version. I'm gonna allow myself to be old and crabby and say, "BAH! We didn't revise episodes back in *mah* day!" to excuse myself from watching it and I'm an old mom, I have no fuckin' time to watch a revise, so so sorry fam lmaooo ok byeeeee)

So -- I'll repeat what I think a lot of us have thought about the final arcs of Unknown, and where I could have used more of the delicate, thoughtful exploration about family roles and boundaries that the first nine episodes of this show displayed. These are the elements that drew me to the show, as well as Yuan's general spiciness and empathic intelligence towards Qian.

Anyone who reads around here knows that themes that I'm driven by include Asian intergenerational trauma and Asian family systems and dynamics. This show (here, here, and my tag) -- oh lordo, this show tackled expected, internalized, and externalized roles and responsibilities within families head-the-fuck-on, at least for the first nine episodes.

Let me state the obvious first: this show veered off the highway a bit too early to demonstrate that, WOW, Qian really is the

HORNIEST MAN ALIVE, WOW, EVER --

(dang dude, you really needed to get down EARLIER and MORE OFTEN, because that IN-OFFICE AFTERGLOW, MY MAN, like, listen, I'm down for the post-nut vibes! all support and celebration and respect, but also, we need to delegate these tasks, we're on the clock, you are a co-owner of this company, back to work! chop-chop)

and MAN, could I have used a quick wave of a flag or hand that his deficit for love, care, and tenderness would hit at THAT SPECIFIC angle (HEH HEH) so very quickly and VERY INTENSELY at the start of episode 11. That took me out. I had to just scream at @lurkingshan. I watched that episode IN PUBLIC, PEOPLE!

We were missing some steps there. It was a FABULOUS actual love scene. But I could have used more of

1) Yuan contemplating the reality of what was going to go down BEFORE that scene began, and

2) To see Qian enter that moment as well. Instead, we hit the sheets, and had to process that very intense scene WITH flashbacks, which, whew, was a whole thing, all while I was just kinda literally screaming.

Those flashbacks were supposed to tell me that Qian had come to terms with Yuan's lifelong longing, but the down-dirty confirmed that for me before I was ready to get to the same mindset that Qian had started that scene with. The very important timing and pacing of the emotional exploration and reveals that we had been presented with in the previous episodes was jettisoned for the booty.

So, yeah. That was out of order.

What I also missed in these episodes was, as I stated earlier, the previous and very intentional exploration of family roles and boundaries that this show was playing with prior to the last three episodes.

With this emotional line concluding in episode 10, Qian showed us consistently that his struggle with negotiating his older-brother-and-fatherly responsibilities was his biggest burden, alongside the lifelong processing of the abuse he had received at the hands of his mother, and his further processing of her death.

Qian and Yuan get together in episode 11, literally go out on a date, and Qian woos Yuan.

Qian's continued resistance to being open about his health to Yuan is extremely reminiscent of a parent (I think of Asian parents, but I think this is common to global parenthood) hiding a health status from a child. This part of the story was still an important one. Qian was STILL holding onto his understanding of his responsibilities to Yuan and Lili as a parent/older sibling figure. If he didn't get out of that surgery in perfect condition, he worried about their futures -- regardless of the facts that Yuan was self-sufficient, and Lili was both self-sufficient and supported by a loving partner. Because that's how so many parents are: no matter the stability of their children, parents will see children as their children.

What I liked about this storyline, and what I could have used a bit more of (ideally in an extra episode) WAS HOW YUAN'S FAMILY ROLE CHANGES AUTOMATICALLY BY BECOMING QIAN'S PARTNER.

Lili calls Yuan a "sister-in-law," but he also becomes a

brother-in-law, AND a stepdad, AND THEN ALSO BECOMES A VERY NOT TECHNICAL GRANDPA, ALONG WITH GRANDPA/UNCLE/OLDER BROTHER QIAN

AND, AND!

We see Yuan THEN CARING FOR QIAN as the younger brother he's always been, AND

AS QIAN'S PARTNER

which they're calling wife or sister-in-law in the show, which, bleh to gendered terms, but

THEY WERE GOING THERE WITH YUAN

but we didn't get enough of it.

THAT IS A HUGE CHANGE FOR YUAN.

HE IS EQUAL NOW!

We just didn't get enough exploration there. Because the show was centering Qian's narrative (which I don't blame the show for at all), and mans was in his post-boop vibe the whole time, that we didn't sit enough with the changing of these roles FOR THESE TWO MEN, and while Lili hinted at it, I would have liked just a few more minutes at the macro-high level to explore what this meant for this entire, wonderful family unit. This is just huge Asian family dynamics stuff regarding who has power, and how that impacts how Qian interacts with Yuan, how Qian has to internally process the growth of his "child," as it were, to be LITERALLY EQUAL to him as his partner; and also for Lili to contemplate as she regards Yuan now as someone partnered with her caretaker. Yuan now would kind of step into that role, as well. THAT'S HUGE for dynamics changing and rebuilding.

Let's also remember that San Peng transcends these boundaries, too, but it's a bit easier for him, because he hasn't lived in that house. But he's the family's benefactor, in a way, which both Yuan and Lili acknowledge. And his turning into a partner into the family is also a significant boundary-crossing.

Finally, Qian's concern for Lili. Yes, he was concerned for her career. He didn't want Lili to turn out like his mom.

I would have liked to have proof in that concern, literally. I say this as a mom.

Qian was missing something big. Lili's baby was going to be born into a nice big family unit that Qian was the creator and anchor of.

At least they had Qian and Yuan sitting on baby toys to end the series. Lili, truly, had nothing to worry about. The gay uncle-grandpas were going to be there to help raise the baby, because as an Asian viewer, I am going to assume the extended family's participation

(NOT ASSISTANCE! ACTIVE PARTICIPATION!)

in the raising of that child.

I'm not sure why Qian missed that, except for the very real reason of familial PTSD and intergenerational trauma from his mother. But San Peng was right there as Lili's partner and as the actual dad. And Qian was valid to have a concern. But that could have been a moment where Yuan, also, as a new equal "elder" of this newly readjusted family, could have reassured everyone that this baby was going to be born in a wonderful, close-knit, loving extended family.

These readjusted roles were not fully named and explored. If I were Lili, I know I'd be having that baby in the good hands of all of the men around me that would help me raise the kiddo in a happy and supportive environment.

One more point about the baby. We need more babies in BLs. We need to show men becoming fathers, people becoming parents. This is a right that all people have. We need more of it to emphasize that all people are deserving of the families that they want to create -- and truly, it was so BEAUTIFULLY SYMBOLIC that Qian would be such a good caretaker as to be blessed with further generations, because he literally cared so well for Yuan and Lili that they could bless him back with growing the family he tended to. We just didn't get enough sitting with that.

Finally! TF was up with that office vibe in the end. The tops, the bottoms, the public kissing. That we got that instead of the role explorations -- k, but the tone of all that was a little off, if it was meant to be comedic. And yes, I definitely took away that I was meant to ship Dr. Lin and Le Ge. I have NO IDEA why they were talking otherwise. Doc and Don are meant to, ya know, YA KNOW? Right? Ummm, lol.

All of this together is enough to put a touch of a damper on my memories of this show. I didn't end with a high.

But I ABSOLUTELY LOVED what this show accomplished through the first 10 episodes. All these complicated, delicious boundaries and roles and responsibilities being explored! It's a joy, as an Asian, to watch this being explored in a queer Asian show.

We ended on some tropey bumps, but I'm going to remember this show overall with fondness, and I'm ultimately very happy that this was my first Taiwanese BL. I can't wait to catch up in this space more in due time.

[freshlyrage]

Running Like Water

Chapter 28

pairing: Javier Peña x OFC (written as xReader)

fic warnings: NSFW Explicit Smut (18+ MDNI) language, strained family relationships, mentions of drug abuse, discussions of insecurities and body image issues, daddy and mommy issues

fic tags: Best friends younger sister, Life-long crush, Friends to lovers, Unrequited love, slow burn, Push and Pull, Small Town Dynamics, Secret Relationships, latina MC, Fluff and Angst, OFC!Jessica Alba face claim, sorry Lorraine I'm bringing you into this, Time jumps, 2 year age gap, pre-canon

word count: 5.1k

IMPORTANT a/n: Hello! This chapter is all flashbacks!

Next chapter things start to pick up. I will still be loosely following the plot of Narcos but not the exact timeline for times sake. Would just feel cruel keeping the babies apart for five more chapters! I hope this doesn't hinder anyones reading experience.

Send asks! Enjoy

Summer 1986

There is a heat wave and you find it as a personal punishment.

You stand in the middle of your empty room and feel nothing. You see the wallpaper lifting, small drawings you made when you were a child and you see dust untouched and you feel not much.

You’re in a dress.

One you hate, but you let your mother have some control for one last time. Baby blue with off white stripes, ruffling at your neckline. Blue little heels leaving an indent in your vacuumed rug. You bought that van you passed on your way to work with the black and red for sale sign.

Packed all your belongings and held a tag sale on all your furniture. 

It wasn’t common in your culture what you planned on doing. You family is meant to be by your side forever. You don't leave.

Up and leaving like spoiled Americans, that's the way your mother saw it. She kept her thoughts to herself but you heard her on the phone with her friend.

Ranting in Spanish about your ungrateful ass. That you were given the world, you had a roof, you had a bed, and look what you give in return.

The truth is, if the endless cycle of familial guilt didn’t exist in immigrant households everyone would grow some balls and leave behind those who mistreated you– even if they were family. 

You see your mother and you see someone who wanted to leave parents that never seemed to care for her either. You see her as a young woman determined to build her own life. If they hadn’t died she’d still be in Florida in their basement hoping one day they’ll care to show love to their daughter. The cycle continues. You suppose you’re breaking it, or maybe creating a new one–who’s to say.

You’ll ask your kids when they're in their twenties.

Your mother lived for approval. It’s why she spent hours on the phone with random “friends” who acted as yes men while she described all her flaws and missteps without shame. They will tell her how she is so strong and doesn’t deserve a spoiled brat like you.

An overgrown popular girl. Your mother was.

She scurries to the feet of the Smithfield's to help with their wedding. In an attempt of kindness, she’s never been very good at this, she promises not to be so involved in the wedding considering it– "makes you all depressed.”

You looked at her with a squint but decided to nod, reminding yourself that soon you’ll be gone. You planned on sleeping in the morning of the wedding. To which that idea died when your mother frantically barged into your nearly empty room. 

“The air conditioning in their church is out! We have to move services outside. I have to get it set up.” And then she slams the door and bolts. You shut your eyes tighter and let out a scream that was actually quite liberating for 30 seconds until you were reminded that your step father was still in bed with the baby.

You pretended to be asleep when he banged on your door as a warning. You eventually do doze off and find yourself waking up numb in more ways than one at 1:30 pm. 

You told yourself that you will only attend the ceremony. You knew if you stayed for the reception you might throw down one too many mimosas and end up vomiting on Lorraine and crying for Javier.

So… yeah no.

You dress up, paint your face like a fraud and you can’t cry so there's that scary truth. You were floating, finding yourself nowhere in the middle of your empty room. So that’s when you find yourself giving your room one last look for a little while. In the dress your mom bought. Rugged floor with a mattress splayed in the middle and nothing else but cobwebs and wall drawings. You don’t dwell, you don’t think but your nails are picking at each other and you’re so scared to be alone again. 

You leave and load your new truck stuffed with your entire life and drive to church. 

You think of making the wrong turn at every light, because you could just leave for good now. Save yourself from reality.

Javier and his father spent a few nights the past week having hard conversations. They smashed down cases of beer and Javier attempted to absorb all of the golden stories his father had to offer. 

Ultimately Javier wanted to know what he felt when his mother was pregnant. 

He said to him that he felt this pull towards her, Flaca.

Despite their rocky relationship it was like her hormones and his existed as one and all they could ever think about is how they were going to be having their own little family.

Chucho says that it’s common amongst new fathers to feel guilt when they take any small glance at their partner. Because what a task it is to grow a person inside of you. He says it isn’t the typical feeling you get when someone you know is pregnant. It isn’t just a, let me be nice to her she’s with child. No, Chucho had the urge to worship the ground she walked on, thank her—he said if she was craving pickles at 2 am he’d go out and buy some. He said this pull was biological, there was no explanation for it. 

Javier wonders when he’ll begin to feel that. At all.  

“Can I be honest with you?” Frankie flattens the lapels of his tux in Javier’s poorly decorated room. Javier flicks ash in his tray, he was beyond grateful that the heat wave hadn’t fucked with the power at his dad’s ranch. If it had, the heat might have triggered him at the wrong moment and he’d be running on foot away from the altar.

That’s just the sort of mood he was in.

He was almost looking for an excuse to not get married today, to give him some time so he can find a way out while also still obtaining the right to see his child grow. 

Lorraine slept in his bed all week, Javier slept in the living room most nights. It was two nights ago when he slept in the same bed as her. He had snuck into the room for his new pack of reds he left in his jacket late at night when he heard her crying. They talked about their fears, or he explained his anxieties and guilt and she stayed silent. He dozed off with a small bump below his hand and a promise of being a good father.

He thought it was you next to him and woke up in a cold sweat. 

Today he woke up numb. Chucho had been silent and to himself ever since Lorraine made her place in the home. Chucho was going through his own grief in ways, he was losing his son all over again. He was losing you too and soon he would be completely alone like he was when Javi was in Houston and you were in college. Javier supposes he’s also angry at his irresponsibility. Just a month ago they were knee deep in dirt and Chucho begged him not to hurt you again. 

Javier’s father left the house early to help with setting up the small wedding. Lorraine was at her parents place getting ready with her mother and Javier was here, at home with Frankie.

Javier was stalling a bit, he got the call that Lorraine was already on the road and Javier hadn’t even perfected his tie yet. He shoots a glance at Frankie. “I feel like you’re always honest, even if you’re being a fucking dick.” Javier mutters, pulling his tie over his shoulders. Multitasking, taking a drag with one hand and assembling his tie with the other. Frankie chuckles. 

“When you asked me to be your best man a few days ago I thought about punching you.” He shrugs, swiping his curls out his face and sipping the beer at Javier’s nightstand. Javier frowns because he knows this isn’t just a little joke amongst friends. “And listen, you were dealt some shitty cards, this whole situation is fucked up. Luckily the impending doom of fatherhood has made me soft and I know you probably need me to be your friend right now– and I will but just know it’s really hard.”

Javi looks at the ground, he can't look your brother in the eye. He felt like he did last Thursday when he saw you in 7-11, when you looked at him and pretended he didn’t exist.

He knew it was really over, and he felt like nothing.

“I wanted to marry your sister.”

“I know.” 

Javi looks up at Frankie and find him looking away. They were best friends but their vulnerability never stretched beyond reflecting on their childhood. This was new and they couldn’t look each other in the eye. “Before… all of this. Me and Andrea planned on telling you about us.”

“Hmph.” He clenches his jaw.

“Would you have… been okay with it?”

It's silent again, just the distant white noise of his clunky AC.

“Yeah. I was angry when you first came home and honestly still upset until recently about how you left her. But my priorities shifted so I guess I would have been grossed out but ultimately happy that you know… finally.”

Javi chuckles, “Yeah… finally.” It all could've been so simple. "She would be better off without me. I'm glad she's making this move." Javi mutters.

Frankie doesn't agree but his silence is enough answer. “I don’t like Lorraine very much. But I’m about to be a dad, you're about to be a dad. I feel like this was an opportunity to be a better friend to you. I hope that our kids become best friends so I feel like you know… I gotta be here now to make that happen.”

There was the silver lining in all of this.

 The promise of a family. Even if the family was just Javier and his child. That could be enough, it was enough for his father. Javier grins at Frankie and he grins back. 

“She’s probably waiting at the altar. Let's go.” Javi jokes and adjusts his tie. Frankie gets to his feet and points to the ceiling and looks up with it.  

“Padre ruega por nosotros.”

“Thank god you’re here. They’re running so late. Lorraine is cursing up a storm inside.” 

Genie grabs your arm and pulls you into the makeshift ceremony set up. You’ll give it to your mom, she did a decent job making this look alright. The guests weren’t seated, instead they were gossiping in small groups. It was far too hot to have a wedding outdoors. You scan and realize this wasn’t the modest little wedding that was on the invitation. 

Surprise! We’re getting married at Laredo Baptist on June 21st . 

It was handwritten and left on your counter by your mother last week. You would be surprised that so many people showed up in such short notice but it’s Laredo, and it’s the preacher's daughter getting married to Laredos DEA prodigy. There were so many people from your high school you swear you could faint. 

“Isn’t the ceremony scheduled to start in 3 minutes.” You rushed out of your truck when you saw the time on your stereo. The last thing you wanted to do was walk in late when Javier’s saying his vows or what not. 

Vows.

Why am I here? 

Genie nodded in annoyance, “Sit down on the third row next to my purse. Your mom was in shambles arguing with Chucho inside about Javier’s tardiness. I’m going back to that.”

“Do you want me to come with-“ You don’t know why you asked, it would be mental warfare for you. Your mother rowdy and Lorraine cranky. It’s like your least favorite people in one room, dumb idea. Genie knew it too and just squeezed your shoulder and walked back towards the church. You watch her go with a sigh and make your way to your seat. 

The hair on the nape of your neck sticking to you like glue. You missed the seventies, you missed when the dresses your mother bought you were flowy— not stiff and hot and ruffly. It was a sensory nightmare on top of the fact this whole thing was a nightmare-nightmare.

If anyone knew your situation besides your lovely sister in law, they’d smack you upside the head and force you leave because good. Lord, was this stupid. You wondered every six minutes of today why in the world you were doing this to yourself. It wasn’t as if the situation alone made you forget what it felt like to be happy. 

But there comes that sliver, the tiny line of delusion that has you believing that this is all real.

 That it’s a hoax, that the cameras are rolling and they’ll be revealed soon. So maybe you’re at the wedding in hopes of the camera crew to come out with a surprise before the I do’s. It’s healthier to say that you’re here because watching it happen will officially end a chapter about the thing you once thought was meant to be the premise of the whole book. 

Two rows behind you, you could hear the chatter. 

“I don’t get it. He’s been home for two months without her. Now all of sudden he’s getting married. It’s fishy.”

“Exactly! It seems like a shotgun wedding. Lorraine Smithfield would never get married in a such a disorganized manner if this wasn’t obviously some front.”

“Not to start anything but I swear I saw Javier kiss Andrea outside that party Xavi threw for memorial day.”

“Andrea? Like Frankie Diaz’s little sister?”

“Yes! I heard that they hooked up in high school. I always thought they would bang.”

“Javier hooked up with everyone in high school.”

“Nah. This was different. I think he was dating Lorraine when they did. Super sneaky because Lorri and Andrea were buddies.”

“I don’t think so. I know Andrea, she's shy, she doesn’t peg me as a homewrecker.”

“Eh I guess. I don’t know, regardless it’s too bad for her. I remember she had the craziest crush on him, now she’s watching him get married.”

“Tragic.”

“Speaking of, why is he so late?”

Lorraine didn’t feel like Chuchos beat up truck was an appropriate ride to roll in for their wedding so she left him her car. Frankie loaded into the passenger's seat all fidgety and nervous. Javier still had been on a rare mental high of picturing holding his child for the first time. Frankie really brought it out of him and despite dreading getting married—he saw the slightest glimpse of hope. 

But ultimately he knows at the end of the his short ride will be an altar, and you in the stands. It was his worst nightmare. He knows married life with Lorraine will be unpleasant. Just dating life with her left him a bit scarred. Tantrums and shattered plates. Holding her wrists so she couldn’t claw at him in a fit of anger. He tried to understand her, he really did.

She told him about her parents cheating on each other constantly. The yelling and constant fighting. Mrs. Smithfield was an explosive partner, Lorraine took after her he supposes. 

They were the classic case of town socialites. Pristine and prim and perfect to everyone else. Behind closed doors, toxic and unhealthy. She told him all of it after one of her blow ups over him working later than usual. In hopes to excuse her actions. He listened, still he grew more and more resentful of their relationship with every argument that ended in him consoling him. He found it difficult to empathize with her. You can only be so awful so many times, only a few times could be excused by trauma. 

Javier rolled his tongue on the side of his mouth, clenched his jaw and held the steering wheel tightly as he inched out of the driveway. Driving as slow as he could, he needed more time. Frankie was fidgety, the same way he was two weeks ago when he was getting married. He was rambling the same, Javier tried his best to keep it together. The air on Lorraines car was shit. The suit was thick, and itchy and a bit too big. He didn’t have time to be tailored. 

Didn't have time to be tailored. How fucked was that. 

His eyes had bags and he wasn’t smiling. His chest was tight every second, it loosened at the thought of being a father. He still almost had that. He was close to telling Frankie to shut the fuck up. He was so deep in his own ramblings he hadn’t noticed that Javier purposefully drove in a loop, finding the courage to make the left on main street. 

“You know maybe it isn’t all that bad. You two aren't doing vows, service should be quick.” Frankie drummed his fingers along the dash. Wiping sweat from his brow and settling back into the car seat. 

Javi mumbled in blind agreement. 

“It’ll be nice, me and you with baby carriers. Women love that shit, not that I’m interested but you know for you.”

“I’m literally about to get married.” Javi deadpanned. 

“Well, you know it’s not like traditional. Or maybe it's very traditional, most marriages around here are arranged in a way you know? Like preordained. Half of the married people here are with the only person their parents let them around growing up. Always a family friend, or a high school sweetheart. Not me, I found my wife. She rejected me a few times but you know I found her.” He gleams and Javier can’t imagine feeling the same way he does. Maybe he was familiar, but he isn’t anymore.

Javi shoots him a side glance. “Genevieve was your high school sweetheart though.”           

“I guess. We broke up like ten times though so we both had our fun. We lived before we settled. I’m happy she took me back that last time. I wouldn’t want a family with anyone else.”

How lucky, Javier is tempted to verbalize but he keeps it to himself. “Hm.” Javi circles the street one more time. 

“If you’re going to keep stalling we might as well…” Frankie reaches into his jacket pulling out a zip lock baggie with a perfectly rolled joint. He noticed then, Javier wasn’t sure if he should feel embarrassed or not for being so shameless in his anxiety. Javi chuckles and nods in approval. “Lighter?” 

He shrugged, “Never been in this car, check here.” He leans over, tapping the glove compartment and straightening up. “You think they're going to kill us for being fifteen minutes late.”

Frankie shrugged, tucking his hand on the handle and opening the thing. A yellow lighter and three papers fall out. Two white with black type on it, and one little black square. A sonogram. Javier smiles at the sight, it seems a bit different from the picture Lorraine let him have. The baby seemed smaller, it must have been an earlier appointment. Far before she came back to Laredo. Frankie seems to not care, he was zeroed in on that lighter. “Clean that shit up man.” Frankie chuckles, grabbing the papers. 

He smiles at the sonogram. “Little guy. This shit is crazy. Lorraine Smithfield, June 6th 1986 12 weeks pregnant. Who would have thought?” Frankie chuckles, losing the doctor's note back in the compartment. Oblivious to Javier's silence, he flicks the lighter on. His brows furrow at the stoplight and make the left to take him right back to the house. His chest tight, and jaw tight. Frankie turns his head. “You alright.”

Javier blinks, once, twice. He holds the third time, the tips of his ears hot. Knuckles white. Frankie catches on, and in a panic grabs the paper again. Flipping to the second page, another note, from another appointment. And from Frankies, quiet, You’ve got to be fucking with me, the time was confirmed.

 Javier closes his eyes again, sees your face, feels the blistering heat. 

He turns his car around.

The chatter is unbearable. The people are getting antsy and the sun is getting hotter, somehow. Your dress is itchier, you’ve scratched your thigh about twenty six times. A nervous tick, you dig your heels in the grass. Dirt surfacing at your fidget.

He’s nearly half an hour late now. You’ve listened to your ex classmates gossip for far too long, you’ve been tempted to turn around and make your presence known for minutes now. Mr. Smithfield came out ten minutes ago blaming the wait on a wardrobe malfunction which earned laughs from everyone but you.

You read straight through the lie. 

You were about to reach for your twenty seventh scratch when a cold hand grips your shoulder. You turn your head and flinch at your mothers closeness. “We need you inside. Now.” She doesn’t give you a moment to think. She's taking your hand and making heads turn while she drags you to the front of the church. Your eyes struggle to adjust to the dark surroundings of the powerless cathedral. It's loud inside, Spanish and English overlapping. Arguing, yelling, crying. 

You drop your mothers hand and stride toward the noise. Afraid, and confused. Your heels tap against the polished floor. And your mother scurries behind you as you turn the corner and find the scene. Chucho cursing in his mother tongue. Lorraine crying, holding her stomach and Genie yelling at Mrs. Smithfield.

You blink, once, twice and wave your hands. “Woah– What's going on?!” You shake your head. Placing your purse on the ground. Lorraine looks up at you and breaks into more tears. Her mascara ran down her blushed cheeks. Her dress poofing beside her on the pew. Her father held her shoulder, with his nose pinched. Your mother is holding your arm. You shake her off. You silence the room with your presence. 

Genie turns to you fully, her cheeks red from anger. “He’s not the father.”

You don't register what she means. You stare blankly at her for a moment. You look at each of the people in the room, and it hits you.

It hits you and you take a step back like it was a physical threat. Your eyes flick to Lorraine and she's looking at you with eyes like an apology.

“I thought– I thought it would fix us– I”

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” It has your head spinning, it echoes off the walls, felt like it could rattle the stained glass windows. For a moment you're unsure who it came from. You have never heard Chucho raise his voice and it strikes you. It blurs for you. 

“Do not cuss at my daughter. It was what we felt was best for her situation.” Mrs. Smithfield strokes Lorriane's hair and she leans her forehead to her mothers stomach. Chucho shakes his head and removes his hat. He holds it over his chest, with a face of absolute devastation. He takes one look at you and walks away from the scene. 

You swear you hear him rip a sob as he walks away. Torn from head to toe at the pain his son must be feeling. You want to forget the sound of the strongest person in your life crumbling.

But you– you- you're angry. You close your eyes and breathe slowly, shake your mothers grip away. You hear Genie take some steps towards you and you accept her hold. You feel anger burning so bright, the reflection in your sockets burn orange. 

Calmly, you ask, “Could someone please tell me what's going on.” 

Genevieve is angry too, she jumps to it. “She’s been lying– she knew it wasn’t Javi’s he–” She takes a deep breath. “I can't believe I called you a friend.” Genie cuts straight through Lorraine and she racks another chest heaving sob. Genie rolls her eyes and moves to stand in front of you. Blocking a view of Lorraine.

She walks you around the corner and away from the family entirely. It’s just the two of you at the entrance of the church.  “Frankie called me. He found notes from her most recent appointment. The timeline doesn’t add up– Javi– he– He’s so hurt. He’s not coming. Frankie’s on his way, he doesn’t want to be around anyone.”

Your chin quivers and you're embarrassed by it. You do not want to cry in front of her. 

“He shouldn't be alone.” You frown, lip trembling. “He shouldn’t, I have to go– I can't believe this.” You nearly take a step but she grabs you again. 

“No– No. Chucho will go see him. Her parents knew– they were trying to save their image because she doesn’t know the father. And she–she believed this could fix them. She planned on getting back with him before she even knew she was pregnant. She’s only three months along, Andrea… I– I’m sick to my stomach.” Tears form at the corners of her eyes and she holds her own stomach. You hold her this time, rubbing her arms. You weren't sure if you were trying to soothe yourself or her. Maybe the latter.  

“Hey, hey, take it easy for her.” You join her hand on her stomach and she breathes steadier at that. You stay like this for a moment, grounding her while you float. While your heart is filled with pure rage. While you think of how upset he must be, how many irreversible changes you’ve made to your life because of this situation– this hoax– I have to see him. I have to tell him I love him, that I’ll break my lease. I’ll lose all the money I threw away to run away from him. I will be there, tell him it was never his fault. That I will never be angry with him.

“Please…” You whisper, “Please I–” You’re cut off by Lorraines audible sobs and fuck it, you’ve had enough. You let Genie go and she watches your face contort in genuine discontent. You shake your head and you begin to walk away.

“Andrea!” Genie calls for you but strut right back into the nave. Lorraine looks up at you and all you see is self pity. 

You reach down to grab your purse and you tuck it under your arm. You hold your chin up high and there are no tears.

 “You are an evil person. I spent years feeling guilty about my crush on Javier- feeling guilty because you were so kind to me to my face. But really Lorraine, you're just a mean girl. I would never wish anything bad upon you. Living the rest of your life as yourself is enough karma.” Her nostrils flare and she deserves all of this. Being left in tears at the altar. You hope to god that Javier never speaks to her again. That she repeats this day in her head forever. Without closure. You look to her parents who seem to be praying. Eyes closed, holding her shoulders. You take a step forward and slam your hand against the pew. It echoes loudly and they snap from their performance and look at you. “Pray harder, all three of you are going to hell.” 

You turn at their gasps and walk back into the atrium where your mother is sat at the stairs to the basement with a frown. Genie is still in the same spot, rubbing her stomach. You dig in your purse for your car keys. You almost forget that your entire life is packed in that thing right now.

“I’ll call you later. I have to go make sure he’s alright.” You wave to your mother and begin to walk when you hear Genie call your name. 

“He asked not to see you.” It rings around the halls of the church. Echoing, a satisfying sound to no ones ears but Lorraines. Your heart dips low.

“What?” But you aren’t sure you heard correctly. 

Genie looks at her shoes and begins to cry. “I don't know Andrea– he- he said to not let you in the house. He can't– he doesn't want to see you.” Your breathing hitches and your eyes gloss over.

“What do you mean I–”

The church doors open and your body whips around to face your brother.

He had been crying too, he looks at the car keys in your hands and back up at your tear stained face. And he knows.

“You can’t go. He– he doesn’t want to get in the way– not again.”

And fuck it, you're bawling in the middle of your childhood church. “Get in the way of what?”

“He knows you're leaving, he knows you signed the lease. He knows you got a job in New Orleans.”

Shaking your head again you try to walk past your brother but he steps in front of you again. “Frankie–please just move. I– I’m not changing my whole plan– I just need to see him.” You move your way around him and near the door when he calls out once more.

“He knows that isn’t true. He told me. He knows nena. He knows if you see him again you will never leave. He knows you’ll give up all your plans for him. He does not want to see you.”

He's speaking to the back of your head and for a moment you pause. Each word hit like slices. You, an open wound in front of everyone.

Soaking it all in. Feeling everything and nothing all at once. 

You open the church door and step back into the sunlight. Looking at the grass full of people still waiting on a wedding that was never going to happen.

Every step you take, you nearly trip, you quicken your pace once you see your packed car. Your eyes so full of hot tears you can barely stick you key properly. Cussing at yourself between tears until you can figure it out. You're not sure how long you cry in your car but you cry long enough for people to start leaving the wedding.

You lay your head on the wheel for most of it, afraid to be caught by onlookers. Your chest rips in stomach churning sobs. You know he’s right, you know you'll leave it all for him. You were ready to be nothing and no one together. Hold him until he’s had enough, until Colombia. Revert to your original plan of just… you and him and the summer. Just us. And if you did, it would hurt all just the same.

Your head hurts less.

Your eyes dry.

Your dress discarded in the passenger's seat, changed into a t-shirt and shorts.

Milk shake in your cup holder, eyes still puffy.

Chest tight but the sun sets and you think you’ll just cry more when you get there. 

You drive to New Orleans and don't look back.

[factual-fantasy]

26 ASKS!! :DD THANK U VERY MUCH!!🎨

Well that wouldn't be a good thing to do- Its very well known that I don't like fanart of my works..

If you wanna show that you like Bibi, just leave a comment please!

Seriously ya'll, just comments. Reblogs, tags, asks.. what ever form they may take. All I look forward to when posting artwork is reading all the responses. 👍

@solst1ce-sketches

WAAAHGAGAG THANK YOU SO MUCH!! AND HAPPY VALENTINES DAY!! 😭😭💖💖💖😭💖

@luna-purple454

Oh they're both fine! :0 Other than some angst ideas I had for them-- they're both still alive and well XD I just haven't drawn them in a while :/

@minnesotamedic186

I can hardly wait! :DDD (And yes you can XD)

@butterbreadsworld

Sorry, I don't take requests. Thank you though!! :}}

@i-v-y67

Blackmail XDD

@samcat2

I still like transformers! Though I'm not really interested in drawing it atm.. thank you though!! :DD

(Post in question)

XDDD fr tho--

:DD Thank youuu!! :}}}

@kiinther

XDD Blue is too big for that too! Though Seafoam might be able to give her a little peck on the cheek 👀 if either of them would just confess their feelings already <XDD

I know, and I hate all of it. :(

Also thank you so much! :DD

I was thinking that they're kind'a a cross between the two.

They pillage and raid other ships, but they don't normally go for "innocent" ships.. if they attack anyone, its usually other rotten pirates or slave ships maybe? "Bad" ships I guess you could say-

As for the voice claims. If like you explained- you happen upon an OC of mine and think "HE LOOKES LIKE HE SOUNDS EXACTLY LIKE THAT OTHER GUY" Then feel free to send it on over to me! :DD

But don't go out of your way to find voice claims for my characters as a gift or a form of fanart. Remember! All I really want is comments. Engagement with my work means everything to me! <:)

@neo-metalscottic (Post in question)

AAAA THANK YOU SO MUCH!!! :DDD I'm so glad you like him!! :}} And that head injury was kind'a just a pose prompt. Though I might slap some lore on it and make it canon! :00

As for Papyrus.. its complicated.

Papyrus had accepted long ago that Sans and all his friends were gone. And that he was never going to see them again.. It really hurt. And it took him a very long time to accept that fact. But he did. He knows in his soul that his true brother is gone..

That didn't make seeing "Sans" again any less painful though. He probably saw a Sans through the trees in a new Snowdin. Man, I cant imagine how he felt.

The whole multiverse thing was explained to him by Frisk. He knows that's not his Sans. He knows its not him. But gosh. Its been so long since he's seen his brothers smile. What he would give to hear one of his silly puns again. What he would give to hear his voice.. to just.. to hug him one last time..

Frisk would grab Papyrus' hand, "Papyrus.. we need to go.. please, common.."

Seeing the other Papyrus walk into view and begin talking to that Sans.. He recollects himself. Its not him. Sans is gone. He's been gone for a very long time..

With tears streaming down his face, he would find the strength to grip Frisk's hand.. and turn away.

It never gets easier..

@jesterpiecethejester

Sorry, I don't take drawing requests! Plus the crews already pretty full as it is- <XDD

@bunny-coffee

I didn't intend to ever draw Frank and Eddie in a romantic light.. becuase yeah like you said, I just don't really like ships. Or honestly any romantic content that isn't my own OCs. Idk I just don't really enjoy drawing it--

But that's kind'a what I feared about the Welcome Home fandom if I'm being honest. I felt like people were really protective over Eddie and Frank. And if I revealed that I wasn't interested in drawing them as an item, canon or not? I felt like I would get a loooot of backlash.

But hey, I found a loophole. Just don't draw them together and there wont be any drama! :D It sucks though becuase Frank is a big part of Eddies lore and all his flashback shenanigans-

(Also thank you! :DD )

@beryl-shade

Oh! No no, its just made of seafoam! :0 Though whipped cream would make sense because he's a cookie- <XD

I do??

Huh.. I guess I do don't I..

What do I do with that power--

@sparkdrawsstuff

Well the strongest would be Blue Beauty by far- but looking at the smaller cookies? I think Seafoam is probably the strongest. But that's mostly due to him being so big. He's the biggest cookie on the crew and most of his strength just comes from packing more weight to his punch.

Though another toughy on the ship would be Louis. He may not be very big. But boy that crab arm? He has a grip strong enough to break cookies in half. And enough upper body strength to take your pieces and chuck em overboard--- 💀💀💀I wouldn't mess with either of them tbh--

As for the bounty.. that's a good question. :0 I wanna say Seafoam because he's the Captain an all.. but I really like the idea of Cuttlefish having this dark past and a surprisingly huge bounty over her head- 👀👀

@wilmawillow

<XD I think you might have got those two words switched around. I don't take drawing requests! But I've considered going back to some old artwork and redrawing them in my updated style.. 👀👀

@danikoshi

Not really.. :( There have been times in the past where I have asked for drawing ideas/requests when I was feeling low. But now a days I have plenty of ideas to draw so I don't need to do that anymore-

And to be totally honest, when someone says "Hey draw this thing for me." It just makes me go-

@astaherussy

You can find all the lore you need about Papyrus in this ask post! Just scroll down a bit and you'll find all the links and a bonus paragraph <XD

As for the tags. If you wanna see my AU with Jevil and the gang, you can find that under my #deltarune tag. They're also tagged under #Undertale but that will also bring up my Refinedtale AU and other au stuff-- :00

As for the Octonauts question, bro I EAT questions like these! :DD

Its a very interesting prompt. Usually we think of Captain Barnacles as very level headed and calm. He seems like one to bounce back from any situation and keep leading the team no problem. But man. After something like that? That's gotta scare him to his core.

I can see Barnacles being more tense and not wanting any of the crew to stray too far from him or the Octopod. I can imagine that he would give Kwazii a lot of time to recover, a lot more than he actually needs. And maybe even going as far to forbid him from going on certain missions.

But after a little time and maybe a talk with Kwazii. I'm sure both Kwazii and the Captain would recover from the experience and continue on as normal.

(Also thank you! I hope this response was along the lines of what you were hoping for-- :00 )

I pictured it being like really dense soap bubbles. They smell nice and can be picked off his coat or head. But if you jumped on his coat foam you wouldn't sink through. It would be like a big cushion that you could sit on top of. If that makes sense?? <XDD

@danman22ful

Out my OCs? Probably Seafoam 🥺

Out of the game cookies? Uhhhm.. well, I don't really know/remember any of the characters.. But Tea Knight cookie looks really cool! :0 He gives me major Reinhardt vibes :))

Thank you so much!!!! :DDD

@insanityislife101 (I couldn't find the post in question :((( )

Oh fr??? Cool! He was in character after all! :DD

[the-way-astray]

I don't know if we're all sharing our journeys with you about how we came to our conclusions about Keefe and Fitz, but here's mine:

About a year ago I read Flashback for the first time and that was when I first started to realize that Keefe was manipulative (I know I know, it's a basic argument at this point and it makes people mad when it's brought up, but that's what I noticed, and I wasn't in the fandom so this revelation was.... revelatory?), but I still thought to myself, oh yeah that makes sense given his background (which I still do believe but now it's just too annoying for me idk), and then reading his POV in the Flashback short story, I thought to myself, 'huh, he's saying the perfect things, isn't he? Almost like it's propaganda or something....'

A bit later I went to the internet, and learned that it is very very popular to not like Fitz at all (though I had already seen that in the real world talking to other people in real life), and to compare him to Keefe a lot. So I think that's why I started disliking Keefe, the way so many people perceive him (and compare him to Fitz) just soured my opinion of him. And I know people like to say "you can like both!" And while I do agree with that I don't think that anyone who doesn't isn't less valid or less mature than those who do, which I think is the attitude of some people who make that argument.

Anyway. That is my story (I don't dislike anyone who likes Keefe and Fitz or who likes Keefe and dislikes/hates Fitz)

had to do a different graph for you since your opinion over time wasn't all over the place like summer's was.

the one summer sent was because i asked about her story specifically, but now that you mention it, i do want to know everyone’s stories about how they decided what their opinions on fitz and keefe are. i should create a tag . . . anyway send me your stories everybody! i’ll make you a messy little visual.

interesting that flashback was the book that made you see him as manipulative. i personally think it starts a lot earlier, and gets particularly bad in nightfall. and yeah, i talked about this in my rant, but shannon randomly decides to have keefe say all the perfect green flags in flashback/the short story to cover for the fact that his actions literally do not match his words.

i'm not a fan of the idea of a "basic argument" or "complex argument", i'm more of a fan of "valid argument" or "invalid argument". like if an argument is good, it's going to be repeated . . . because it's reliable? that should be a point in its favor not a strike against it. and i'd say saying keefe is manipulative is a perfectly valid argument. but i'm also heavily biased. obviously.

i’m gonna be so honest, i have no idea why people hate fitz so much. like yeah, he gets angry, but he does apologize and try to get better, which i don’t see with keefe. i don’t hate fitz haters and unlike a lot of people in keepblr, i actually respect them, but i don’t understand them.

there is definitely an attitude of people thinking you’re less mature or not as valid if you hate on fitz or keefe. i think, as long as you’re mature about it (and don’t send weird asks), you can dislike whoever you want, and you aren’t a bad person if you do. the idea of "you can like both!" is very true, but i think we do need to respect haters. and i'm not just saying that as a keefe hater. fitz haters (as long as they aren't being weird about it *cough* "Just because your gay doesnt mean Sophie is!!!" anon *cough cough*) deserve respect, as well. acting like hating a character is immature is ridiculous. they are fictional. they are not real. chill out.

oof, i just turned your ask into a rant. sorry . . . moving along . . . i, too, do not dislike you if you like keefe or hate fitz. i'm actually pretty neutral on fitz myself, wouldn't say i'm particularly insane or obsessed with him.

[syrcus]

OC smash or pass sure

Rules: pretty self explanatory. include physical descriptions or pics, and propaganda. the “other” label can be used for “sexuality misalignment” (ie: oc is femme and you’re gay, vice versa or you aren’t into smashing but a specific thing you wanna do with them like perhaps hug or study them under a microscope idc).

ty for the tag @coldshrugs sorry it took me a minute I'm. lacking in screenshots.

tagging: I think everyone I would have tagged has been tagged at this point so I'm tagging anyone who sees this and wants to do it, or wants to do it again for a second OC.

anyway here's quo propaganda:

Look. They can paint!

Quick Facts:

Height: 5'9"ish

Age: early 30s by Dawntrail

Gender: no thank you

Pronouns: they/them

Sexuality: demi/bi

Pros:

very cute extremely dorky laugh

can and will paint people they love with or without warning

can cook. will cook. you will eat their food. sometimes this is a blessing. good luck

very good at hugs. slightly higher than average resting body temperature, strong arms, good for hugging

cool facial scar. pretty eyes. lots of little moles to find and to count

Cons:

acts first, thinks later. will not consider consequences

presently recovering from a guilt-induced mental breakdown resulting from years of thoughtless adventuring and occasional manslaughter. still gets flashbacks, might wake up screaming in the night

stubborn. if they don't want to do something they're not gonna do it. if they want to, there is no convincing them otherwise

sometimes not very quick on the uptake. sometimes too quick on the uptake. easily distracted

can cook. will cook. you will eat their food. sometimes they experiment with recipes. good luck

Details:

knows lots of quiet, cool little spots in a variety of places. they will take you. you may not get a choice. they get very excited about the cool little spots they found.

not very well-educated in the traditional sense. will however happily listen to people talk about their areas of expertise. it's their favourite way to learn things

quick to smile, quick to laugh, likes to make people feel at ease

learned to read for the sole purpose of bonding with a loved one. dedicated.

can curse in multiple dialects

cannot hold their booze. at all.

excellent storyteller, especially if you don't mind your stories a little long-winded and rambly. lots of good stories to tell.

sees a lot of beauty in the mundane. might get distracted looking at the way the light's hitting a pond, or haloing a friend

difficult to get to know deeply. they don't mean to be, they just don't really think to open up to people.

has a pet fish. they caught it themself. it's from another dimension. they will talk about the fish to anyone who'll listen.

not actually very interested in smashing at this time, as they are in a committed relationship, but they will be flattered nonetheless

[eddiesguitarskills]

When We Were Young

Part 3

Ex Eddie Munson X reader

Other parts 1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6.

Intro: 5 years have past since you packed up and left behind Hawkins. Well not all of it, as the people you met there are still a huge part of your life. But it's been 5 years since you had set a foot in the small town, 5 years since you left him. And now after all that time you were back.

Warning: angst, language, mentions of suicide, miscarriages, self harm, mental health. Use of y/n. Slow burn. Arguments. Mentions of break ups. Female identity reader.

Bold parts are flashbacks

Word count: 2.2k

A/n: please only read if you are in a good place, I wouldn't want this story to trigger or hurt anyone. I'm sorry this part it short but I didn't want to add loads in when it felt like a good place to end this part. Also there will be happy moments coming soon, it's just super slow burn. Let me know if you wanna be tagged in the next part, thank you for reading

Not prove read.

Despite the panic attack you had after Eddie left, you still went downstairs and pretended to be fine. Everyone was so excited to see you, you didn’t want to ruin that. You couldn't let them see how broken you felt. You had to be okay. You couldn't make them worry about you again, especially Steve. So you smiled and laughed, pretending your hands weren’t hurting from your nails digging into the palms.

After a long night, you went to your new house, you couldn’t make it to the bedroom with how emotionally exhausted you felt. So tired, that you couldn’t even make sounds as you silently sobbed on the sofa until you eventually fell asleep.

You woke up with the promise today would be a better day, last night you just slipped into your old self. You were better now. No stupid ex could ruin your progress. You needed to get some groceries for the house so at least you had something to distract your mind for a little while.

As you drove in your new red Ford (well it was a used ford from a couple of years) to the grocery store you expected everything to look different, but to your surprise, it was the same. The florist with the pink lettering on the window spelling out its name Haley’s, the paint had slightly started to peel but it was still there. The 50% off at the clothing boutique. Even the graffiti that was on the side of the market was still there, from four years ago. The town was stuck in a time warp, maybe it wouldn’t take as much time to adjust.

Grabbing a shopping cart you slowly walk down the isles not sticking to the list you wrote at home. Picking up all sorts of snacks. You had missed American cuisine. Your cart was getting full. I guess it’s true what they said about how you shouldn't come shopping on an empty stomach. The cart was old and rusty, meaning the fuller the cart got the harder to steer it was. The wheels screeched and lagged every time a new item was added. You turned the corner to enter another aisle when the left wheel furthest away from you decided to jam, ramming you into a customer's cart.

“I am so sorry” you look up at the old man wearing a cap. Maybe it wasn’t your ex you were a magnet too, maybe it was just the Munson’s. He frowned at you. Okay so maybe not everything was the same. Wayne was known for being grumpy to others but you only knew him as a sweetheart he was never anything but kind to you. You had never seen him look at you like this. There was a disappointment hidden beneath his eyes, that you, unfortunately, didn’t miss. “For what? Bumping into my cart or breaking my son’s heart?” You don’t know what you expected him to say. But maybe silence would have been better. The words stung you.

His son was the one to break your heart, not the other way around. Sure it might have hurt him when you left, but how were you supposed to feel when he didn’t give you a choice? And the only way of having part of him was taken away from you.

“Do you want me to be your little housewife and have food on the table ready for when you get back from your big successful job?". You stared in disbelief despite the thoughts building like a storm in your head. “Is that what you think?” He hated when you used that voice. The one where it sounded like you were about to break.

It made him hate himself more than he already did. Maybe this is why he was treating you this way. Seeing if you take his bait, to see if you thought he was as worthless as he felt. He didn’t want to hear that voice in his head, he didn’t want to see the disappointment on your face right now, he just needed something to numb it all. So he turned away from you in search of a blunt, a pill, powder, anything.

His turning away from you, caused the storm to break loose, this was the end and he wasn’t even kind enough to break up with you in words. “Fuck you” you whispered and left. You got in your car. Driving as far as you could from him. You could see just enough to get as far as the Family Video which wasn’t a long way from the trailer park before your tears completely cover your eyes sight. You pulled up not wanting to risk anyone’s life. breathing heavily, panic intensifying. In comprehensive words being screamed from your mouth. Cursing out to the universe, Eddie and apologising to the life in your stomach.

God how you wanted to curse his nephew out and tell Wayne the whole truth. But as Eddie said you were nothing so why did it matter anymore? You did hate how you had never said goodbye to the man who took you into his family so easily. Making sure you were always welcome. Making sure your favourite snacks were in his home despite not having the money and living paycheck to paycheck. So you just said “I’m sorry Wayne” he didn’t need to know that it was an apology to him, not his nephew.

His face didn’t change, you guess this was the Wayne Munson everyone talked about, the cold-hearted, scary guy. You had never been on the receiving end of this version of him but it was frightening. So you looked down, scared if you look up for a second more you would cry. “That kid already had a hard enough life, he didn’t need you promising him a better one and then being like the rest of them. You messed him up so bad that he’s only now just starting to smile again. So if you plan on staying don’t you dare hurt him again”. With that threat he left. You wanted to leave the store than to wallow, but you stood in fear not wanting to cross paths with a Munson again. “Are you okay ma’am?” a shop clerk addresses you. You nod “I’m fine thank you.”

Thankfully you wouldn’t cross paths with another Munson today as Wayne had gone to work and the younger Munson was still in bed hungover. Deciding not to come into work today, he might as well have gone in with how many times Sarah had called, asking how to do things, that she should know how to do. Hearing the constant rings and her voice was giving the boy a headache. Eddie didn’t realise she was only doing this to make sure he was okay, it wasn’t like him to call in sick. After plumping his pillow and changing positions back and forth, he found a comfortable spot and started to close his eyes.

The phone rang again, and he groaned. Picking it up now pissed. “Come on Sarah you called 10 minutes ago, you’re a floor manager you should be better than this. Use some instinct, I shouldn’t have to hold your hand through this”. A male’s chuckle made him realise that it wasn’t his employee on the phone. He knew that laugh anywhere and right now he would have preferred to hear from Sarah 20 more times if it meant not talking to Harrington. “You seem like such a lovely boss” Steve joked, hoping to gauge Eddie’s mood. When he didn’t laugh back or make a snide remark, when he was met with silence. He realise how pissed Eddie was, he was never the quiet type.

Steve sighed “look I know I should have given you a heads up, trust me I was going to. I just got so excited about having her back that I didn’t think-“. Eddie rolled his eyes cutting in “yeah you didn’t think”. Steve ignore the rise Eddie was trying to cause and continued. “I was going to tell you, I just didn’t expect you there, not that I didn’t want to see you. I just didn’t know Dustin invited you. I hoped the first time you met again would go better, I didn't plan for it to go like that”. If the men were in the same room, Eddie might have hit the boy, even if he didn’t mean it. With the rage he was feeling. “Better? Do you really think we could ever get along, After what she did?”.

"shut it Munson" Oh, it was definitely a good job they weren't in the same room. Steve didn’t snap anymore. He tried not to raise his voice because he hated how it made him feel like his father. But he would not have Eddie speak about you like that. Especially with what he did. He had come so far with Eddie, after the first couple of months of the incident he couldn't even look at him. But after time he forgave and tried to understand the boy. But he never forgot. How could he forget?

Steve was blinded by the headlight pouring into the shop window. After a long 12-hour shift he was super tired and didn’t need this. He left the shop storming over to the car, about to tell the jerk off. Until he came closer and realised it was your car. He walked over quicker, wondering what you were up to. Were you trying to be funny, by annoying him? He supposed this is what best friends did. He grabbed open your door, trying to scare you. To get his own back. However, as soon as the door opened, he saw you hysterically crying, clutching your stomach. He got down to his knees in front of you, rubbing your arms. “It hurts so much”.

He wanted to cry looking at you like this, you were always the strong one. The anchor in his life. No matter how scared or how much of a dick he was, you brought him back to earth. You were never like this. You squeezed your eyes in pain, holding your stomach tighter. This was worse than the pain he felt when Nancy left, worse than anything with the upside down. This was the most heartbreaking thing he had ever seen. But he had to be as strong for you as you had been for him. So he sniffed back up the tears. “What hurts y/n?”. You pull his hand from your arm to your stomach. “It hurts Steve”. He couldn't be sure, he hoped it was just stomach pain and not... God, he hoped it wasn't that. All he knew is that he needed to take you to the hospital. “Can you move?”

Eddie wasn't used to this version of Steve, even when they weren't friends Steve hadn't spoken to him like this. At that moment he realised that if there was a choice Steve would always pick you, and maybe all his friends would always pick you. Why was he the only that hated you? At that moment he felt more alone than he had in years. It made him scared, he couldn't be abandoned again. He felt like a child scared of his dad, feeling like he disappointed him. With how quickly Steve was to turn his back on him he wondered if everyone else felt the same. Was he just a place holder until you came back?

You had left, he had stuck around. Sat with his friends while they cried. Make them laugh on bad days. Trained Dustin to be a Dm. Went to hospital appointments with friends. Stayed awake talking them down from nightmares. All while suffering from his own traumas. He never complained because that's what friends do. Especially when they had gone through what they had. You left everyone, and now you could just come back, and everyone would love you. What do you know about hard?

“She got to leave, it couldn't have been that bad.” Steve growled through the phone “you don’t know shit Munson” he slammed the phone down. Eddie was all alone, well not completely, he had his thoughts. He was now wishing for Sarah to call. He felt like he was being smothered by thoughts, what did Steve mean? Eddie might have been mean that night to you, but surely it wasn't enough to qualify this sort of response. How had you had a hard life? Had something happened? Was he missing something? He shook his head. No, he hated you, he needs to keep it this way. He picked up the phone and rang Sarah, as soon as he heard her voice he spoke. “Come over after work”. He slammed the phone down. He needed to forget, Sarah could help with that even if it was only a couple of hours.

A couple of hours before the thoughts would come back and he was swarmed by curiosity, pain and loneliness.

Tag list

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@chonkzombie

@mxcheese

@ariacraigggg

@chickennug90

@nope-thanks

@rockautumnfanfic

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@secretdryrose

@munsonzzgf

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@emma77645

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@supernatural-1983

[ariaste]

Hello hello! If it’s all right with you, I would like to vent for a moment: Back in the day, I used to be really into BBC Sherlock. I know it was bad, but it was “Be Gay (solve) Crimes” and I couldn’t resit. One of my favorite parts of the fandom was reading fan metas. I enjoyed reading your ridiculously long meta! I am not very clever and I enjoy reading people noticing things that I can’t. It’s fun watching people passionately pick up clues and put them together.

I don’t think I’m the only one getting superwholock flashbacks lately. Sherlock also tried an unreliable narrator in S4 and it was an absolute shit show. People thought thought the finale was fake, it was so bad. TBH, the entire show was a dumpster fire that thought it was more clever than it was. Moffat was a good writer for single episodes for DW, but a garbage show runner. And they called us crazy for picking up what they were putting down.

But Good Omens gives me a spark of hope. It is unashamedly queer, fun, drinks its respecting women juice, and, unlike moffatiss, I think Neil and the crew may actually be clever enough to pull something big off. I adore the Discworld series and Sir Terry, and I have faith Neil will to do right by him.

Good Omens is restoring my faith in nerdy queer fiction and reminding me why I love fandom so much. Please keep up the crackhead theories. I love them 💕

Thank you, that's very kind!

(Ended up writing a very long reply about the response to my essay and also about queerness in media. Idk why i am writing such long posts these days SORRY LOL. Anyway I'm putting it all beneath the cut so I can tag it without clogging people's dash or the tag pages)

It does make me sigh a little when I see people scornfully comparing my long essay to The Johnlock Conspiracy or saying that they're having Sherlock flashbacks, because the both the contexts of the shows and the methodology of the theorizing are VERY different. To my mind, a more direct comparison of methodology would be the Gravity Falls fandom's "Stan Has A Secret Twin" theory. Writers and showrunners DO like being sneaky and clever from time to time, and many of them are much better at it than Moffat is.

But whether or not my theory is right or not is... kind of irrelevant to me? I wasn't out to force anyone to agree with me, AND writing it was a really fun way to spend a weekend, AND I'm proud of the work I did and the story I told, AND it felt good to have a satisfying workout at the Brain Gym. So even if I'm proven utterly and completely wrong, I won't feel like I wasted my time. :)

Good Omens is a great show, and I am SO HAPPY to see it (and other shows!) embracing queerness, sharing the fans' enthusiasm for the story, and honoring and respecting the fans' love rather than punishing them for it. As more and more time goes on, I think we're going to see more and more shows like that, because some of the people who grew up reading tumblr discourse are going to be showrunners themselves one day, and they'll have learned serious lessons about what it feels like when the audience is met with love rather than disgust and disdain. In fact, we're ALREADY seeing more shows like that than we had 10 years ago! There is so much canonical queerness on-screen these days that the me of 10-15 years ago is ASTONISHED and feels wealthy beyond counting. Of course, there is so much further to go, but man... when i was a kid, we had to walk uphill in the snow both ways just to see two dudes making sustained emotional eye contact, and we were grateful for it. (Jokes but also.... kind of real tho)

We've seen the exact same thing happen in scifi/fantasy publishing in the last seven or eight years, too! (Went off on a long tangent about Queerness In Media from an insider perspective, continuing below a cut so I don't clutter everyone's dash)

Even as recently as 2013--ten years ago--you might not have even been able to get your book published if it was openly gay. Hell, you might not have been able to get an agent to represent it, even. It would have been labeled "unmarketable" and passed over; if it DID get published, the queerness would have been camouflaged and downplayed and hidden in the marketing as much as possible--you wouldn't have known by looking at the cover that it was queer, you wouldn't have been able to tell by reading the back cover that it was queer. In literally 2016, seven years ago, a few months before I got my first book deal, I remember having a conversation with a friend and being very very worried that if I wrote books as queer as I wanted them to be, I would be "pigeonholed" as "ONLY writing Gay Books", that I would be passed over for any of the publisher's marketing budget and publicity efforts, that I would be sidelined and ignored... In 2016, I thought I was facing a choice of writing stories with more "mainstream appeal" OR writing the books I wanted to write and potentially undermining the rest of my career.

That didn't happen, thankfully, because in the next couple years there was this incredible explosion of queer scifi/fantasy. You see, ten to fifteen years ago, a truly stunning percentage of my colleagues -- writers, editors, publicists -- were writing and reading fanfic, and they carried their tastes and story-hungers with them as they grew up and got Real Adult Jobs at publishing companies. And suddenly, as if out of nowhere, a lot of us came of age all at once and there was this absolutely enormous wave of queer SFF that in my opinion has brought us into a new golden age of the genre: The Locked Tomb series by Tamsyn Muir, The Chorus of Dragons series by Jenn Lyons, She Who Became the Sun by Shelley Parker Chan, Ancillary Justice by Ann Leckie, The Tensorate series by Neon Yang, Priory of the Orange Tree by Samantha Shannon, Light from Uncommon Stars by Ryka Aoki, The City in the Middle of the Night by Charlie Jane Anders, the Birdverse books by RB Lemberg, The Traitor Baru Cormorant by Seth Dickenson, The Jasmine Throne by Tasha Suri, Reforged by Seth Haddon, The Sorcerer of the Wildeeps by Kai Ashante Wilson, Ocean's Echo by Everina Maxwell, The Fifth Season by NK Jemisin -- and these only the ones I could remember off the top of my head in 30 seconds, and I have a flavor of ADHD that makes my brain go blank when people ask me to think of specific examples of things! It is harder for me to think of a SFF book published in the last 7 years that ISN'T queer.

And then almost exactly a year ago, my book A Taste of Gold and Iron came out with THIS COVER:

Which. Is not so much a step forward in openly queer SFF as it is a fucking gauntlet thrown down in challenge. I cannot impress upon you strongly enough how much I would not have gotten this cover 10 years ago, and that's if the book was even accepted for publication in the first place. This cover SCREAMS gay fantasy romance. There is no attempt to hide it or camouflage it. It is advertising exactly what it is, right up front.

I got the absolute privilege and honor of having this cover--and I do consider it an incredible honor--because of the work that all my colleagues put in with their own work. Each queer book that got published wedged the door a little wider for the next one, and then a little wider still for the next one, until finally someone could get their foot in the door and squeeze across the threshold, which opened it a little wider again. So when I look at this image, I don't just see a beautiful cover that I am delighted to have on my books--I see an entire history of slow, steady progress by so many incredible writers who risked damaging their careers just to drag us to a point where a book as gay as this one could get a cover as gay as that one and STILL get the full and enthusiastic support of both the publisher and the audience. And the most incredible honor and the most humbling privilege out of all of this is the fact that the success of this book meant that the door was wedged open another little bit, that I got to contribute in this small way to the efforts of everyone who came before me, so that ones who come after us will find the door flung wide -- or that there's no door left at all to block the way, because we've collectively torn it down.

So yes, @eyona, I think that having your faith restored little by little is a very good thing, and I am delighted that Good Omens is doing that for all of us. And what's even better is that even if Good Omens doesn't play out exactly how we want it to, that's... kind of okay? Because there is always the next one, and at the very very least, Good Omens is wedging the door open further so that the next one can have an easier time of it. We don't have to walk uphill in the snow both ways just to get a moment of emotionally charged eye contact anymore. We don't have to starve anymore, not like we used to back in the bad old days. And that alone is a wonderful thing. :D