#I just write how I talk but with more forethought

[trans-xianxian]

the thing about growing up with a father who is obsessed w grammar and has an insane vocabulary, but being improperly homeschooled until middle school and thus not actually learning to read or write until you were like 9, is that you inherit your fathers insane vocabulary but only half understand grammar, and also you can't spell for shit

[unconventional-lawnchair]

Can you do a Remus Lupin and Reader where she gets hurt during quidditch and he helps her around the castle? Thank you so much and I love your writing

A/n: Thank you so much for the request!! I literally dropped everything to do this, oml. I will always priorities Reqs but this was so cute!!

Also, just realized requests weren't set to allow annon automatically?? That has been fixed on my end

Break a Leg Not My Heart

Can't Help Falling in Love Elvis Presley

Remus Lupin x Reader

Wc- 4960

Cw; Use of Y/N, Cussing, negative thoughts, reader is unhinged, reader is unsirius, (Tell me if i missed anything!)

taglist- @otterlockholmes

Everyone knew Remus Lupin could be a bit of a push over. 

Now, that's not to say he wasn't stern and serious when he needed to be, when he knew what was best, or just when Sirius said much of anything that started with ‘Hear me out.’

He was a Prefect, he was known for being a certain quality of student. Studious, always in the library studying with Lily Evans and {Y/N} {L/N}. Wise beyond his years, helping anyone who needed it. He volunteered to help tutor some of the first years with {Y/N} most Sunday evenings. Punctural, made a point to be on time to everything. Well, if he could help it, you did like to sleep in.

Not many people noticed the common theme in his actions. The traits that made up the Lycan were so tightly woven into his friendships, well, more particularly his friendship with you. He never gave up who he was, he never went that far, but it was clear that in the forethought of his, you were in every equation. Sirius certainly noticed.

Sirius would bemoan about it all the time, how you both insisted you were friends, absolutely clueless. He stood by it, however, friends don't look at eachother like you do. Remus insisted you were friends. Best friends.

The feeling was mutual, of course it was. Who doesn't want to spend every second of the day with their platonic soulmate? You would make a point to drag him around with you everywhere you went. You were never shy about it, your words slowly going from questioning to affirmatives. 

“Remus, I am heading to lunch now, come with me?”

“Remus, we are going to the Black Lake, it's hot.”

“Remus, I have Quidditch practice.”

That was another trait of Remus Lupin. He could care less about Quidditch, but not much less. He would complain about going, as he followed you upstairs to your dorm to help bring your gear down. Would try to decipher the ridiculous rules while finding a seat in the stands with Lily and Mary, both coming to support their respective partners.

That's how you got here now, same routine. You were floating above the stands, even as a backup beater you still had to attend every practice. You would complain to James about it, seeing as you only agreed to it as a favor, but he would tease you about it every time. He was lucky some stuff he said was funny. He so rarely was.

You watched Sirius, who was currently the one you were assigned to tag out. It was a lot of time wasted, just floating near your friends and talking when you were sure James didn't notice. Eventually, you turned to Remus in the stands and smiled to see him furrowing his brow at the strange reps James was making the two beaters do. 

“Rem!” You called over to him and lowered down to his eye level, still a good few yards away from them. He looked up at you and lifted an eyebrow. 

“Yeah?”

“Knock knock!”

He looked at you confused before Lily nudged him. “The muggle joke?”

He furrowed his eyebrows at her next before they shot up in realization. “Ah! Who's knocking?” He called over and you threw your head back in a laugh as Lily covered her mouth with a snicker. Mary holding Lily's shoulder as Remus looked at you three incredulously. 

“That's the bloody line, right?”

“Who's there?” Lily laughed out, and you began to dry your tears.

“Tank!”

“Tank who?”

“You're welc-” Before you could even finish the line there was a loud thud and your head jerked forward. You were confused for a moment, smile slowly falling as you looked at the three.

Everything was slowing down, and no matter how hard you squinted, your vision continued to blur. Suddenly, and gradually, hot burning pain rushed threw the back of your head. It was so jarring you teared up, and you could faintly hear a bunch of voices, but you couldn't make out what they said. Slowly, your grip on your broom lessened. 

Warm drops of what you could only assume was your own ichor dropped down your face. Then, your vision started to flash. You were far too loopy to panic, images of you on your broom slipped into a slideshow of you falling, that ended right before you hit the ground.

~~~

“She'll need to rest for the next two days for it to heal, her head is fine but her leg will need some getting used to. Two days in a cast should do her fine.”

Madam Pomfrey’s voice filled the room and you stirred with a whine. Eyes fluttering open and blinded by the lights above. 

“Ugh.. my head…” You groaned, bringing your wrist to your throbbing temple. You fluttered open your eyes and looked around you, seeing James pacing the room and Sirius in front him, while Remus seemed to be shouting at him. Your ears began to ring as your blood rushed, so you couldn't hear him, but you could see the vain in his neck bulging out at his irritation. His tanned face a deep red, and Sirius looked apologetic, just taking the verbal battering.

There was a hand on your shoulder and you turned to see Lily and Mary sitting on the chairs beside you, Peter was behind them smiling softly. “Hey,” You couldn't hear him, but you could see his lips moving. You frowned as the words became more elaborate so you couldn't quite track them.

You looked around at your friends' concerned faces. Lily looked past you and you turned, seeing Remus was kneeling by your bed and saying something you couldn't hear. You huffed and rubbed your temple, closing your eyes. The ringing slowly stopped, but the sounds of the room never returned. You opened your eyes and Remus was looking at you, filled with concern. “Starlight?”

That was a mouth shape you recognized. You reached out to touch his hand and squeeze it, blinking a bit before you spoke. “I can't hear a damned thing. But did you get my joke?” 

You watched as Remus seemed to go through the five stages of grief, before he settled on giving you the most unamused, annoyed, dead inside look you had ever witnessed. That made you smile. Well, smirk, mischievously. “That joke is literal gold, you just don't know talent.”

This time, Remus stood up and walked over to madam Pomfrey and after a small exchange she walked off. You looked around the room idly, trying to pretend you weren't anxious, patting your palms against your blanket covered legs. You could see your friends talking, but you couldn't hear a thing. Your nerves were on end. They looked worried, but you tried your best to keep calm and collected. You knew that if you began to worry, show even a bit of panic or upset, everyone else would too. What was the point anyway? Panicking wouldn't fix your hearing.

At least you don't think so-

Eventually, a hand rested on your shoulder. It was comforting and large, your right hand instinctively crossed your body to rest on it. You turned and smiled up at Remus. He held out a parchment to you and it had large chicken scratch on it. You always found how messy his handwriting was hilarious. He thinks faster than he writes.

‘You broke your leg. Pomfrey says it has to stay in a cast for a day or two, as for your hearing, she says it's a trauma response. Your body will return it when it's ready.’

You scoffed and looked at your hands with an offended bravado. “Who says they get to pick when my hearing goes? No appreciation! I keep you alive, you dumb thing!”

You didn't notice how Remus laughed at how ridiculous you were being. He always admired how easily you could brush stuff so big off. Like when you found out about his condition.

“Oh damn. That's.. so not the bee’s knees.’

Not the bee's knees. He had to have Lily explain that to him. Who in their right mind says that? To their friend in the hospital wing after confessing one of his most hated parts of himself?

He didn't know if he hated or loved you in that moment.

It grew on him, even if he denied it. You were just so damn strange.

“Darn, I guess no classes, hm?” You gave a faux sigh of disappointment. You turned to see Remus say something to Madam before turning back to you, smiling and waving his hand the quill began to write.

‘She says I can monitor you for classes, you should be fine.’

You gave him the dirtiest look you could muster.

“Hey, Rem, so you actually suck a lot.”

~~~

Remus had insisted on walking you back to the Gryffindor commons, carrying your equipment the whole way. You had to use a cane for the time being, so the second you tried to pick up the heavy bag you about gave Remus a heart attack.

Sirius, still pouting even after you accepted his millionth apology, coasted behind you both. You really wish you knew what Remus had said to him. 

When you got to your dorm Remus set your things down and set your bed up with a prop for your leg. You continued to complain about the special treatment as he nagged you for your messy side of the dorm while he was at it. You had to admit, Remus was incredibly sweet. It made your heart clench a bit at how much he seemed to care about your current state. 

You sat on your bed, taking off your robe and letting it fall behind you. Watching Remus rant on, for once, a little sad you couldn't hear his lecture. He seemed so determined to make sure you were comfortable.

Little did you know, to Remus, this was the perfect opportunity to return your kindness. To repay you for all the nights you spent with him in the infirmary, the forgiveness and patience you extended to him during the days up to the full moon, and the doting you gave him after. Not to mention, it felt a bit domestic. He would process his guilt over it later, indulging up such a thought with you unaware. 

Eventually, your roommates got annoyed with his rambling. Marlene threw a pillow at him and she grabbed you from behind making you almost scream in surprise. 

She said something to Remus that made him look away bashfully, and he looked at you, mouthing a goodnight that you returned.

~~~

Remus was at your door early in the morning, which gave you a right scare. He offered you his hand and you looked at it before tilting your head at him curiously he mouthed something and you'd don't quite understand, slowly setting your hand in his extended one.

He gave several different expressions in the matter of a second, before he threw his head back in a laugh. Usually, you'd be embarrassed, but you ended up laughing along with him. He looked happy and you knew Remus would never make fun of you out of malice.

He calmed his breathing and lowered your hand back to your cane, before reaching over this time to take your books and make, your mouth opening and a low, “Ooooohhh,” left you. He laughed at that too.

When you made it to breakfast you were talking animatedly and Remus was listening thoughtfully. He would occasionally make a nod or shake his head at some things you said, not able to face you with how your gaze was locked on him to gather all his micro expressions. He had set himself up for disaster.

Once you sat at the table and greeted everyone, you hardly paid attention to Remus. You focused mostly on your food. 

You loved being around your friends, you did, but not being able to hear them was so isolating. You could see Remus talking to James, and by the look on his face, it was likely about something they had done they most certainly shouldn't have. You could see Lily, also giving James the most incredulous look ever. 

Mary and Marlene were talking and glancing at the Hufflepuff table, but you couldn't gather a thing otherwise. Sirius was debating something with Peter who you could only describe as distressed. Some interesting hand movements later and a slap from Marlene, you could assume it was something vile. Soon, you gave in and just soaked up their presence. You didn't need to hear them to be a part of the group, just.. the conversation. 

Suddenly, you gave a small yelp as your leg was lifted. Remus, without stoping his verbal battle with James, lifted your ankle and rested your hurt foot on his lap. You melted a bit, it was always the smaller things he did that let you know you had a best friend in him. 

Just a best friend.

Even as his thumb trailed circles on your exposed knee, his forefingers resting on your inner thigh. Yup. Totally best friends.

~~~

Your leg ended up falling asleep like that. You playfully reprimanded him and he just gave you a laugh that you couldn't hear but your mind filled in the blanks. You noticed how proud and confident he seemed to be, taking care of you. It was sweet.

As you walked from class to class he carried your things and was there at your desk the second the bell rang. Then there were potions.

You shared potions with all of the boys and Lily, so you usually sat with Peter so Sirius could bum off of Remus’s hard work, leaving James to swoon while his girlfriend did all the work. You looked to the board and grimaced, wiggenweld. You knew it was a practice instead of theory day, but you were hoping for an easier potion.

To your surprise, Peter was sitting with a pouting Sirius, your usual spot cleared up. Before you could make a remark Remus put his things down and sat where Peter usually did. You found yourself smiling bright. “What the heck Remus?” You teased and sat down, once again, he lifted your leg onto his lap to keep it elevated.

Like a best friend would do.

“Can't leave me be for a half hour, Remmy?” You teased him as he took out his parchment and began to pull aside ingredients you couldn't reach with your stationary leg.

You were distracted storing out the ingredients by order and scribbling down notes on the more vague steps. You didn't get a chance to notice Remus smiling at you, his eyes sparking with new found fondness. “No I can not.” He muttered to no one in particular.

Not noticing himself as Sirius gestured aggressively to you two in aspiration. Lily laughed at his display and James covered his mouth to hide his smile. Seems Remus was finally clued in.

You began to work on the potion as Slughorn dismissed the class to their assignments. You prepped the ingredients and fell into an easy and fluid motion with Remus. You didn't have a clue why you hadn't worked together before, you did everything together anyway, and Sirius could suck it.

Your friends watched as you smiled down at the horklump, rubbing a spoon over it threw a strainer, giving a laugh as it splattered on your face. Remus watched you, smiling softly. He seemed distracted the whole practical exam, but there wasn't a moment he wasn't listening to you. 

Your test ended with a passing grade, that's all you really needed. Still, Remus apologized for being distracted. 

Remus Lupin was a perfectionist in everything he did. He felt that even in his best moments he was seconds away from failing. He improved himself until there was nothing to improve upon. He aced assignments, mentored underclassmen, pulled off some of the most outrageous pranks in Hogwarts history, he even turned down the head boy position for James, everything he had done in the last seven years felt unsatisfactory. Apathy wasn't a foreign concept to him.

Neither was pity. Those two things were handed out to him in the eyes of everyone he'd ever met. No matter how far Remus came, disappointment was still holding him by his in a silent reminder that nothing would outshine the worst of him. It swallowed him whole most days, his self doubt. So he stayed distracted, chasing the high of praise and approval. 

He was much like Sirius in that regard, but Sirius acted out and Remus did his best to go unnoticed by anyone other than the people closest to him. Unless it was about his achievements.

He wanted to be remarkable and unnoticed, it was the contradiction that was Remus Lupin.

You made him feel those two things, like he was the most important thing in the world, like you couldn't do anything without him. Then, you made him feel like a normal student. Like he was just someone in the herd. He liked that about you.

But having you depend on him, just today, there was something new brimming in his chest. He grappled with the realization that you being dependent on him for a change was more fulfilling than his collective five years of overshadowed achievements.

You seemed him out; when you found him you needed him. Not that it couldn't be anyone else, you chose him. Well, he volunteered, but when you looked up at him with those eyes of yours he knew you had no qualms with it. He felt strong, he felt needed, and he felt like he wasn't the one hurting. 

{Y/N} {L/N} never needed anyone. You made that clear since first year, you were remarkably strange and friendly, you never filtered yourself out for anyone. You were you, that's all you needed to be. You didn't need to be witnessed to live.

But you wanted Remus to witness you.

He was learning that he loved to. To witness you. 

Yet here you were, none the wiser, while Remus realized how far he had fallen for his best friend. And in all honesty;

He wasn't scared.

~~~

Once dinner came around you were reminded just how out of the loop you were without your hearing. You were poking at your meal with your head down, pushing around a bit of your uneaten food. Today had been long, and every break mostly consisted of you trailing after your group and watching them laugh and indulge in each other's presence. 

You knew it wasn't the end of the world, tomorrow morning you would be cut free of your cast and eventually your hearing would come back.

It drove you mad not knowing when though. You knew it wouldn't stay forever, you were self assured in that fact, but knowing the possibility of it being weeks, months, Merlin, even a year? An entire year of not hearing your friends' voices. Dragging Remus down with you.

You didn't notice your friend's concerned look. Eventually, as you stared down at the fork in your hand, a note slid into your peripheral, it was Lily's handwriting, the only person you know to be able to flow her letters so perfectly.

‘Ready?’

You looked up to see people had started packing up. You nodded and began to stand, Remus slipping his hand behind your lower back making you jolt a bit. He flinched away and you immediately cursed, ‘come baaaccck.’

~~~~

Your thoughts followed you to the common room. Before you could escape your friends, go allow yourself to mope, everyone insisted on drinking and talking. 

You didn't want to. You really didn't. Remus was staying behind, however, and you know how much he hated when you'd leave him to be the only responsible drinker. Not that he had to worry too much, Mary always stayed sober to reel in Marlene.

You let yourself believe he just wanted to spend time with you. 

So here you were, sitting on the couch, leaning you back against the arm rest and staring at the group as they talked. Your legs were resting over Remus’s, his lithe fingers rubbing up and down your exposed knee to the bottom of your skirt. Now, this was something Remus would never do, but you didn't even have time to enjoy the satisfying moment of slight intimacy, still too in the dumps.

Your frown deepened as you watched people get up to dance around you. Lily had put a song on the record, you only knew it to be ‘Love Grow(where my Rosemary goes)’ by Edison Lighthouse, because of the album cover she brandished to James with a little wiggle of her eyebrows. One of your favorites. 

At this point, your arms were crossed in a pout as you watched everyone dance but you and Remus. You blinked away those thoughts and turned to Remus. 

“You can go dance, I won't be offended.” You muttered out with a pout. He turned to look at you from the dancing figures. He seemed to come to some conclusion, and tapped your calf. You moved your legs and went back to watching the group before his hand was in your face. You looked up at him confused to see him offering it to you. You carefully took his hand and he lifted you up, leading you on the dance floor. You were wobbly, but he nudged your hurt foot until you arched it up, he took on most of your weight and you leaned into his chest to balance.

He began to sway, you laughed, and he beamed at how happy you seemed. It was ridiculous, you both looked ridiculous, Sirius gave a wolf whistle you couldn't hear and he couldn't give less of a fuck. 

As you got more comfortable he pulled back and began to spin and slide with you. You were a giggling mess and he wrapped his arms around your waist and faced you away from him, making you tilt your head all the way back to see him. He could have died right there. 

As the song faded out, you guys stopped your completely tone deaf moves, and he looked back with a dazzling smile at Lily who put on another song. He was panting, he could see all his friends watching with what seemed to be far too interested looks.

When his eyes went back to you, you were still staring up at him with a bright rush of affection. Somehow, always, Remus knew just what to do. Just what to say. 

The song kicked up and Remus thinned his lips a bit.

‘Can’t Help Falling in Love’ by Elvis Presley. 

He knew he shouldn't. He should fool himself with something so intimate. But you were looking back at him with so much excitement, so much love, who the hell was he to say no?

… Wise men say

Only fools rush in

He nodded to you and you spun to face him again, leg swaying a bit from where you kept it up. You moved to put some space between you, but instead, he wrapped one hand around your lower back and took your other hand. His movements were identical to Marlene with Mary and James with Lily, Sirius even managed to get a girl from one of the many onlookers to dance with him. His being much more professional.

But I can't help falling in love with you

You were confused at first, but you wouldn't say you hated it. It was intimate, as he pulled your chest to his and gave you his smile now. You pressed your tongue to your cheek and smirked at him. He gave you a playful wink as you rolled your eyes.

Shall I stay?

Would it be a sin

If I can't help falling in love with you?

He gave you a slow and careful swirl, and when you returned to him, he pulled your head to his chest and rested his chin to your head.

… Like a river flows

Surely to the sea

Darling, so it goes

Some things are meant to be

He gave you a playful dip and you finally laughed, relaxing fully into the oddly familiar feeling. He's held you before, but never so carefully. Like he could loser you at any point if one thumb was misplaced. 

… Take my hand

Take my whole life, too

He suddenly flattened out his hand against yours. You turned to look from where your face was peacefully nuzzled into his chest. You watched as he spread his fingers, and in turn, yours. Before he interlocked them. You bit your bottom lip and looked up at him. He was mouthing some of the lyrics, and you just managed to watch the last verse.

“For I can't help falling in love with you.”

Your eyes widened. Was he.. was he serious? His eyes were staring into yours like he was putting himself on the line with those words. You took a deep breath and held it, as he leaned down towards you as you both slowed to a stop. You stared at his lips, waiting so patiently for his next words.

“I love you, {Y/N}.” 

The words looked so natural on his lips. You didn't know what to say. You knew what he said. You didn't have a doubt in your mind about it. You suddenly moved in and kissed him, eyes closed before you pulled away. It was quick, it was a bit hard. His lips were chapped and his eyes were still on yours when you opened them. 

He looked stunned, and you couldn't hear the loud, “Finally!” From Sirius.

Nor could you hear Lily’s delighted gasp when he moved in and kissed you again. His hands left your side and hand, grabbing your cheeks. His fingers loosen when you meet him halfway, moving down to your neck and resting his thumbs on your cheeks.

You broke the kiss again, forgetting how to breathe. His lips followed yours before his eyes fluttered but stayed closed. You looked at him in pure shock. What do you do now? What do you say? Did it matter?

Suddenly his face scrunched up and you narrowed your eyes a bit.

“Ow ow ow ow..” Remus muttered and you flinched back when you read his lips. You had rested your casted foot against his toes. Wincing and apologizing like crazy, you moved too quickly and the weight shift caused you to fall back. He quickly caught you in a very deep dip. One hand around your neck and the other around your lower back. Your arms wrapped around his neck and everything was slow.

What a lovely cliche. 

It got even better, as he lifted you closer and kissed you again. His hand from your neck sliding down to help keep your casted leg bent to his hip. 

It was perfect.

~~~ Bonus Scene ~~~

You woke up to the sound of Marlene and Lily talking idly in your dorm room. A few days after the dancing and you and Remus had slipped from friends to more in such a simple and seamless mesh. 

A mesh of messy kisses and rushed ‘I love you’s in the hall. Late night rendezvous in the common room grossing out your friends with all the stolen kisses and messy cuddles where limbs weren't easily identifiable in the dark.

You smiled softly, unable to tame how your heart clenched and a goofy smile took your lips. Then it hit you. You could hear.

You shot your head up and began tos scramble for Remus’s jumper he left over last night. Marlene and Lily snapping over to look at you but not getting a word in before you were dashing out of the room in just your pajama pants and his sweater. 

You don't know how quickly you were running until you made it to his dorm. Your healed leg throbbing from lack of use but you couldn't care less. You slammed your way into the prefect dorms, Remus long since given you the password.

You ignored fussy prefects and walked right up to Remus’s dorm. You knocked in a rush, and the door opened to show James. You'd didn't even care to ask him why he wasn't in the Head Boy dorms, just shoving past him to hurry into the room. 

Sirius looked up from a lounge chair in the corner and smirked when he saw you, opening his mouth to make a smart remark before you interrupted him. 

“Remus?”

“Starlight?” Remus called out from the closet, stepping out in pajama pants as well, no short, and a towel in his messy hair. He couldn't help but smile at your rosey cheeked winded gasps, despite his confusion. “What are you-”

“Say it.” You demanded quickly and closed the gap between them. He looked at you confused before it suddenly hit him that you had responded and reacted to his words. You could hear him.

He let the towel fall from his hair to his shoulders as he wrapped his arms around your waist and brought you close. “Say what?”

“You love me.” You commanded with puffy flustered cheeks. Suddenly so much less confident now that you faced him. He laughed and moved his hands to your cheeks.

“You came running all the way here for that?”

“Remus, I've been waiting years.”

“I love you, {Y/N}.” He whispered and pulled you into a kiss. You smiled and gave a sigh of bliss into it. This time, you were able to hear Sirius wolf whistle behind you.

[aetherdoesthings]

can I request Luffy x reader where something happens and reader threaten luff that she will cry if he makes her do something? Could you also include the others reaction? Thank you 💖

elo anon! when i first read that i was like 'damn that's sad' so then i proceeded to write something very sad :D.

forethoughts: this one's kind of darker than my normal ones. yeah. the tone's just sad. did my heart break when i wrote it? i mean. it feels kinda out of pocket for luffy, but 🤷

notes: do i feel bad? maybe. but sometimes requests are sad. 🤭

[drinking the tears of my readers while deciding if i want to do a part two or not 😁]

Life as a member of the Straw Hat Pirates was never bland. Sometimes you would wake up in the middle of a fight against the marines, or wake up to the sound of Sanji fighting Zoro over something stupid again. Nevertheless, everyday was a new adventure with its own sets of challenges, but nevertheless, you wouldn’t ask for another life.

After all, you were the future King of the Pirates’ girlfriend.

You loved Luffy more than Luffy loved meat, and you stood behind that bold claim. Everyday was filled with adrenaline and anxiety for you, as Luffy would find charging recklessly into battle the best thing to do. He always came out alive; he’s Monkey D. Luffy after all, but you always worried about his health and wellbeing. With enough cuddles and kisses, Luffy would always subdue your worries about him, but it always was a thought in your head that chewed at you. Another thing was that Luffy was a very passionate boy. Sure, he may be an airhead and a bit obtuse at times, but he had his own paradigm of morals he followed, and you respected the hell out of him for that. He always thought about you, considered your feelings, always putting your life in front of his.

He was the most caring person you knew.

He would never do anything to break your heart.

“I’m kicking you out of the Straw Hat Pirates.” 

You stared at him, your heart dropping. Your legs began to wobble, barely able to support your body as you stared at him with a look of disbelief, a hesitant smile on your face.

“W-What are you saying, Luffy? Luffy, this isn’t a funny joke!” You say. Everyone around you began to stir too, once they heard Luffy’s words. All of you were in the galley, just finishing your breakfast.

“You heard me.” Luffy stared at you with the blankest look he’s ever given to you; you didn’t even know he could be that stoic. “I’m kicking you out of the crew. You’ll get off once we reach the next island. Oi, Nami, how long until we reach the next island?”

Nami stood up in disbelief and complete anger, storming towards Luffy as she smacked him on the back of his head, to the point Luffy stumbled and fell onto the ground. “What are you talking about Luffy?! This isn’t a funny joke! You can’t just kick Y/N out!”

Luffy simply stood back up, looking at Nami. “Yes I can. I’m the captain.”

“She’s your girlfriend!” “Oh. Right.” Luffy stared at you. “We’re breaking up too.”

“Luffy!” Nami smacked him again. 

“W-Wha.. W-wha..” You stammered, your legs going wobbly, probably going out if there wasn’t a reassuring hand on your shoulder. 

“Luffy, I don’t think this is the smartest decision to make. Can you explain your thoughts? You cannot simply kick Y/N out for no reason other than ‘I just can.’” Robin said, placing both of her hands on your shoulders, trying to reassure you.

“Yes I can, Robin. I’m the captain.” Luffy stated again.

“That’s not a good reason. By that logic, you can kick any one of us out at any moment simply by your mood.”

Luffy stared at the archaeologist, clenching his teeth. “Shut up, Robin, this is my decision.”

The sound of pans hitting each other silenced the room, turning everyone’s attention to the cook. Sanji stared at Luffy, taking his cigarette out of his mouth. “Oi, Luffy, don’t tell Robin-chan to shut up. You’re being very impolite. And I agree with Robin-chan, you cannot simply do what you want based on your mood. That means all of us are liable to just go at any moment.”

Luffy balled his fists. “Shut up, Sanji! I don’t need to explain myself! I’m the captain! Next island! You’re getting off! If I see you on the ship, I’ll… I’ll…”

Luffy let out a frustrated noise, stomping towards the exit of the galley. Before he could swing the door open and slam it, a single blade with a white handle blocked him. 

“Luffy…” Zoro said, keeping the Wado Ichimonji in between the captain and the door. “If you walk out this door, that means everything Robin and cook says are true. A captain that kicks out his crew members based on his mood. If this is all a joke to you, cut it out. Go apologize to Y/N. If this is not a joke, then you were never fit to be a captain. I don’t care if you’re an airhead and easygoing, but if you decide to kick Y/N out right now because ‘you said so’, the Straw Hats were never meant to be a successful crew.”

Luffy glared at Zoro, his fists and toes clenched. Zoro shot back the same stoic look he always had. While Zoro was calm and still, Luffy looked like a dynamite about to explode. His body was shaking, his skin turning red. It wasn’t Gear 2 level red, quite close.

“Fight me if you want to. You’re only proving my point.” Zoro added.

Silence filled the room. Silence that was so fragile, you were scared that if it broke, everyone would be affected and harmed.

“L-Luffy…” You call out with a shaky voice, taking a hesitant step towards the boy you onced called your lover. Breaking the silent atmosphere caused all eyes to be on you. But with Robin’s hand on your shoulder, she stopped you from moving any further, keeping you close to her body.

“Y/N… please, let us do this.” Robin said. You looked around, and realized she was right. Every Straw Hat looked like they were ready for a fight, or to make some comment about Luffy’s statement.

“N-No.” You brushed Robin’s hand off of your shoulder, taking a bigger step towards the ‘captain’ of the ship.

“Luffy… look at me.” While your entire body was shaking, filled with disbelief, sadness and a tinge of betrayal, your voice was firm.

You watched the captain turn his head around, the straw hat covering his eyes. 

“Is this what you want, Luffy? Do you want to see my heart break? Do you want to see me cry, luffy? because it is, and I will. Is this what you want, luffy? to see your girlfriend cry? Is that what you want?”

No response.

“Fine… fine… this is what you want, isn’t it? You never loved me. You never saw me like I saw you, if you’re so adamant on kicking me out.”

No response.

“Tell me, Luffy, is this what you really want? Tell me, and I'll leave. I'll go, and I won't come back. That's what you want, isn’t it? to never see me again?”

No response.

You scoff at the boy, whose body was shaking, his head hung and fists clenched. You wiped your tears with your arm, staring at the boy you once called your lover.

“Fine. I hope you’re happy, captain.” you brushed your shoulder against him, purposefully making him stumble before storming towards the door. Zoro sheathed his sword, letting out kick the door open and slam it shut.

“Y/N, wait!” Nami cried, running towards the door. Zoro let her pass too, as well as Robin and everyone else who wanted to comfort you. This left Luffy alone with Zoro, all at his mercy.

At the sound of the door finally closing, Luffy collapsed onto the ground, his knees hitting the wooden floorboards as he sobbed. He sobbed and cried, until there was nothing but small hiccups and grunts of frustration.

“Now, do you want to tell me what’s really happening?” the right hand man asked.

“She hates me. She hates me. She hates me.” the captain repeated to himself.

“Luffy.”

The boy took a deep breath, before standing up, meeting Zoro's gaze.

“Alright, i’ll tell you… but don't tell anyone else, okay?”

“Just tell me.”

The captain took a deep breath. “Yesterday…”

[demigod-jack-hearth]

Diary of Jack Hearth

chapter one - Let's start with the basics

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Hey, I dunno why your reading my diary but what the fuck, hi, I'm male today (I'm fucking gender fluid so stfu)

My name is Jack Hearth, I'm 17 years old, the adopted son of Hestia and the champion of many gods and goddesses (we'll get into that in the future, don't worry). I'm also one of the oldest none fully

Let's talk about me, that's why you're here isn't it? I'll only give you a brief summary for now. We can get more into detail later

I don't really remember much about my mortal parents; they died when I was 5 years old from a car accident which I caused (will also get into this in the future) and I take complete blame for the accident no matter what anyone tells me.

After that shitshow of a car crash, Hestia found me, raised me for a few years and then she took me to CHB (camp half-blood), where I became the keeper of the Hearth at camp, which at the time for me personally was a very important job (now not so much).

I stayed at camp for around 6 years, until after the second giant war, where I went to CJ (camp Jupiter) and served for a few years.

After I was released from duty in the cohort, I returned to CHB which is where I usually spend most my time now, although I occasionally visit CJ to visit old friends, such as RaRa (Reyna Avila Ramírez-Arellano)

Once I returned to CHB, I spent as much time as I could (probably too much) baking, as its one if not my favourite past time.

As well as baking, I began spending a lot more time with the younger and newer campers, and especially the ones who didn't necessarily come from a good background.

In spending time with these campers, it made me realise so much more how absolutely FUCKED demigod lives are.

So many of the younger campers came from families who either abused or neglected them because they were demigods and they were seen as a "freak" by their own families.

This revelation caused me to become very protective over the new and younger campers. (the younger ones more) I basically became a parental figure or an older sibling figure to almost every camper.

After a few years of that, I was involved in some time traveling shenanigans where I ended up adopting my first child, Rosalie, and one of my strange... I guess you could call it an addiction, began... I started having this strange urge to adopt as many children as I could and protect them from the world, or at least give them a caring parental figure, and I currently have 22 adopted children and one biological child.

And now you've caught up, that dear reader is just a brief summary of my life.... I'll bring you more soon

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

WOOO, finally done chapter 1, took me 2 hours to write

Can you guys like review this and tell me where I can improve

(tag list for fanfic, tell me if you want to be added)

@love-lightning-forethought @the-gods-strange-children @if-chaos-was-a-boy @silena-daughterofaphrodite @nicoswill2live @unhinged-waterlilly @chaos-pers0nified @lizzzzzzzzzzzzzz---lol @reyna4ever @luck-is-crucial @zoe-aura-of-d3ath @pink-koi-lovejoy @bast-the-best26 @kaiaalwayswins

[minkdelovely]

kinktober — day XXXI

prompt: ducky ball gag

joy of joys

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Alastor x Lucifer ; RadioApple ; MDNI 18+

tags/warnings: bottom!alastor x top!luci, brat summer never ended for some of us, ducky ball gag, masturbation, tentacle play, bondage, degradation / embarrassment, dirty talk, choking, tongue sucking

word count: 2.1k

summary: alastor was in a rare mood and had the perfect plan to alleviate his ache. but when lucifer ends up paying more attention to the gift he received, alastor has somewhat of a pity party instead to teach his king a lesson. 🐤🛁

author’s note: it’s been a wild month, but we have finally made it to the finale of kinktober! thank you to everyone who read along — i hope you enjoyed it as much as i did! it was definitely a challenge, but i would do it all over again. i had a lot of fun, and even learned a thing or two along the way! as caesar said: veni, vidi, vici hehe and bonus points to anyone who knows where i got the title from 😈

coven: @fraugwinska @hazelfoureyes @macabr3-barbi3 @sugoi-writes @synamartia 🕯️♥️

the coven's kinktober masterlist

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It had been a long day, and Alastor was annoyed.

While he preened on providing his acts of service, it didn’t mean much when those efforts were glossed over. Admittedly, that didn’t happen very much — hardly ever, if he was being honest with himself — but for some reason that wasn’t taking the sting out tonight.

He watched as Lucifer hummed to himself, playing with one of the little rubber ducks Alastor was now regretting having brought into the bath. They were bought with the intention of making His Majesty happy, of course, but they were never meant to become the focal point of the evening. Alastor had been thrilled at the positive reaction from Lucifer when he brought them out. But when the fascination passed the twenty minute mark, Alastor couldn’t help but feel a bit ignored as he pruned on the other side of the large tub.

It had all gone so differently in his mind.

Alastor had been in a mood all day and was aiming for a bit of romance. A nice bath, a gift to surprise his love, followed by some affection. Lucifer hadn’t even given him a kiss, he was so immediately distracted by the present. On one hand it was a sign of a job well done. On the other… Alastor really didn’t care for being second fiddle. Especially not when he had been hoping to be fucked within an inch of his afterlife. He was even wearing a plug, for Christ’s sake!

It didn’t take much to get Lucifer going, and with the ache Alastor had been feeling since this morning he had the forethought to prepare himself. The fact that it helped keep him content until he got what he wanted was just a happy coincidence (or so he told himself). He wasn’t here to waste time. Set the mood, of course, but waste time? Certainly not.

He wriggled in the water, the heat between his hips stirring with interest despite his irritation. Lucifer was none-the-wiser; playing some sort of make-believe now with two of the ducks. If this were any other day, Alastor would have watched with a benevolent neutrality. He found this side of Lucifer to be rather charming, after all, though he’d never freely admit it. The fact that he allowed Lucifer to call him Ducky as a term of endearment said it for him, as far as he was concerned. A familiar throb in his heart as he thought on it bringing a small blush to his face.

He had hoped to hear that term tonight. Moaned through Lucifer’s lips in the throes of passion. It was becoming more of a diminished reality, and Alastor grumbled to himself as he remained invisible to the angel. A passing thought of getting out of the tub crossed his mind, before an even better idea replaced it, his hand finding its way into his lap. If Lucifer was content to play by himself Alastor didn’t see why he couldn’t do the same.

How long before he notices?

Alastor began massaging himself under the water, fangs digging into his bottom lip to keep himself quiet as he breathed through his nose. It wouldn’t bode well for his little game if Lucifer caught on too quickly. When he managed to get himself halfway there, he began to stroke. Careful not to be too eager, lest he make a splash. Ha ha!

But when a few minutes passed in Lucifer’s continued disinterest, Alastor knew he had to up the ante. It would be too pathetic, jerking himself off and sullying their bath without a witness. When Alastor finally let out a soft moan, Lucifer did a double take. A golden flush burning his face as his eyes honed in on the motion of Alastor’s hand under the soapy water. 

“Al, are you —”

With a snap of his fingers, Alastor transformed one of the little rubber toys into a makeshift ball gag. Secured in place with neon green chains instead of the usual black leather. Alastor couldn’t help but moan at the sight as he continued his languid stroking. While Lucifer was eternally picturesque, the shock in his eyes and the sudden intrusion to his mouth was nothing short of exquisite. 

“It’s my turn to play now,” Alastor sang, elongating the final word and finishing with a sharp grin. “I was hoping you’d fuck me tonight, but you became distracted. So I’ve decided to take matters into my own hands.”

Canned laughter filled the room at the entendre as Alastor’s shadowy appendages crept out from behind him, taking hold of Lucifer’s arms and legs. Alastor purred at how immediately he complied, almost relaxing into the bindings as the tendrils brought him closer. His darling dove needed a front row seat, after all. Though he had to admit that he was surprised Lucifer was allowing him to do this, given the shock that had yet to subside from his yellow and red eyes as they stared intently back at him. It only made Alastor more eager, his erection pleading for attention with a throb under the water. 

He watched as Lucifer’s eyes followed in a slow trail down his body, traveling down where Alastor’s hand and cock remained obscured by the opacity of the bathwater. Lucifer swallowed hard, but as his throat relaxed a high-pitched squeak resonated throughout the bathroom. Perpetuating Lucifer’s clear embarrassment as the sound echoed off the gilded tile walls. Alastor’s grin widened with a sadistic glee, delightfully surprised by the embellishment of the toy. 

“Oh, this is turning out to be more fun than I expected,” Alastor cooed, letting his head fall back as he ran his thumb through the slit of his cock. “You don’t even know what I went through to prepare for tonight.” 

He interrupted himself with a moan and resumed eye contact with Lucifer when another squeak and splash of water hit his ears. He needed to see Lucifer’s face with his next admission, humming through another moan just thinking about it as his hand maintained long, even strokes. 

“I was thinking about you all day. I had it all planned out — the bath, your present. All in the hopes that you would bend me over this bathtub and fuck me senseless. I’ve been wearing the plug you gave me for hours, so you wouldn’t even have to wait.”

The pout in his voice was authentic, part of him truly lamenting the missed opportunity. He really had been looking forward to a good fuck, but it was worth the sight he got in return. Lucifer’s eyes rolled to the back of his head as he whined and squirmed against the shadows, desperately bucking his hips into the water as more squeaks punctured the room. Lucifer’s chest was heaving, the ridiculous sound of the toy mingling with splashing water and Alastor’s gasps and moans as his hand picked up speed.

“What do you think, Dove? Should I take it out?” 

It was rhetorical but Alastor asked anyway, all too pleased to see the way Lucifer nodded his head with sloppy enthusiasm. How pretty he was with his furrowed brow and radiant skin, dripping with beads of sweat and bathwater. His mouth drooling obscenely around the yellow rubber duck, unable to get out even a single noise without being overshadowed by the squeaking mechanism inside.

Another tendril snaked its way behind Alastor as he sat up on his knees, the tip of his cock poking out from under the surface of the water. He felt it twitch against his stomach as the plug was removed, groaning at the loss of fullness he had grown used to over the course of the day. He wiggled it in front of Lucifer with a grin as the shadow slipped into his softened hole with ease to begin a steady pace. Moaning openly in Lucifer’s face from the feeling of it, so much closer to what he had been craving all day.

But, regrettably, still missing the mark. It was almost enough to make Alastor angry, the way he yearned to have Lucifer inside him.

“Ohh, fuck,” Alastor whined, his eyes fluttering shut as the tentacle pressed against his prostate. He shook through his next breath, forcing his eyes open to watch Lucifer through heavy lids. “I wish it were you, my little dove. Your cock is so thick and warm… makes me feel so good. But I have to suffer through this imitation.”

Lucifer writhed against the shadow bindings, his anguished cries encompassed by the absurdity of the gag. Alastor brought his hand up from under the water, allowing one of his many appendages to take over so he could caress himself. His wet hands further dampening the fur on his chest as the shadows worked him in tandem. Without meaning to he had closed his eyes again, lost in own ecstasy as Lucifer thrashed in front of him, crying out from behind the toy in his mouth. 

Alastor didn’t think he had ever been so hyper-aware of his body as he rocked back and into the cool slick of his tentacles. How warm he felt, the rising tension between his hips, head dizzy from steam and shallow breaths. With his eyes closed, it was all too easy to replace his own touch with that of his King’s. Oh, how he wished that it was.

“Lucifer,” Alastor moaned, earning another squeaking sob from his lover. 

He was so close to his climax, and knew exactly what he needed for that final push. Barely managing to open his eyes before snapping his fingers to disappear the gag from Lucifer’s mouth. The plastic toy hit the surface of the water with a loud slap as Lucifer groaned with relief from its absence. 

“Ducky, please. I’ll fucking beg if I have to,” Lucifer pleaded, his favorite term of endearment in the rich timbre of his voice music to Alastor’s ears. He should have been hearing it all this time, and whined again thinking of his ruined plans as his tentacles fucked him with a renewed fervor. “Please let me touch you. Why didn’t you just tell me?”

Alastor drew his lips between his teeth to stop himself from giving in, stubbornly shaking his head as his face scrunched up. With a gasp he brought himself to look back at Lucifer, fighting against the hot coil in his gut that promised such sweet relief. The lewd sounds of the tentacle fucking his ass was nearly drowned out by Alastor’s desperate, growing moans. All the while, the other massaged his cock and balls under the surface of the water.

“Not yet,” Alastor said breathlessly, and Lucifer groaned in agony as his body went limp in defeat against the bindings. Lucifer jerked as Alastor’s tongue snaked out to lick between his pectorals, placing his face under Lucifer’s view. “But I need to suck on your tongue, Dove. Please… I can’t finish without it.”

Lucifer cursed and bucked his hips against the water again, his eyes glowing red before Alastor felt something tighten around his neck. He keened as he realized it was Lucifer’s spaded tail, the avid grin on the angel’s face one of satisfaction as the tail gave his throat a testing squeeze before pulling him forward.

“Come and get it, brat.”

Alastor moaned, high and loud as horns and flame sprouted from Lucifer’s forehead, his forked tongue extending languidly from his mouth. He didn’t waste any time, eagerly taking the appendage into his mouth and groaned as he felt it slither down the cavern of his throat; swallowing around it as Lucifer’s tail tightened yet again. Lucifer hummed as he began to fuck Alastor’s throat, feeling thick in the tight, wet space as the muscles swallowed around him with the added constriction from Lucifer’s tail on the outside.

The pressure in Alastor’s groin was reaching peak now that he was so full and surrounded, losing himself in the intensity of Lucifer’s crimson gaze. They were both moaning into each other, bucking against the shadows that were keeping them apart. Until Alastor’s resolve finally snapped, his orgasm hitting him fast and hard as he thrashed against the tendrils. Water splashed over the tub as Lucifer’s body collapsed into Alastor’s when the shadows disappeared, Alastor too distracted to keep them tangible. 

Lucifer pulled his tongue back just enough to kiss Alastor properly, his tail still wrapped around Alastor’s throat as his hands were finally free to roam. Petting every part of Alastor that they could. They were breathless when they managed to draw themselves away; Alastor burying his face in Lucifer’s neck as he held him close in his lap, very aware of the erection that was pressing into his abdomen.

As if sensing his thoughts, Lucifer chuckled. The mischief in it making Alastor shiver with something not unlike dread.

“You don’t think you’re getting off that easy, do you?” Lucifer posed, raking his claws down Alastor’s back. “Why don’t we draw another bath and take this from the top?”

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banner by @synamartia

tag list: @fairyv-ice, @wat4r, @midorichoco, @raynerrold, @krak-jj, @tremendoushearttaco, @redfoxwritesstuff, @chibistar45, @kaylopolis, @cutiebimbo, @lousypotatoes, @rfox1998, @cosmiccandydreamer, @hyperfixations-keep-me-going, @cherry-cola-100, @wonderlandangelsposts, @catticora, @velvette3, @sailorsmouth, @reath-solia, @junieshohoho, @cxrsedwxrlds, @littlebluefishtail, @nxcxllxsevens, @swagkittybear

[stilin-ski]

HI PLEASE SHARE THE INSANE STARBREAKER THINGS!!!! I LOVE HEARING YOUR IDEAS!!!!

idk how truly unhinged these are but there some of my most recurring thoughts about them so here we go:

in most universes, porter assumes they're in a relationship after they've hooked up a few times. jace, however, assumes its strictly sex and that's all porter wants from him, so it absolutely causes issues with communication. jace is constantly distressed because he's falling in love with porter the more they hang out and hook up and he's like "I gotta try and move on, I can't keep doing this to myself." but porter is there just like "man i love my boyfriend, this is great." but they've never talked about it actually.

in one version of a post-canon fic, jace has enough time/forethought to make duplicates of himself but not reveal his true location. so all the versions of jace that went down were clones, not jace himself. he was hidden somewhere, pulling the strings. so when porter is killed, he sees it, and it's horrible. it knocks the breath out of his chest, and he thinks it might kill him too for a second. it doesn't, and he knows he has to stay hidden. has to lay low because if he's going to have any shot at helping porter from that point forward, he's going to have to avoid being caught. he watches as his last clone is led away, cuffed, then pushed into the lava. he feels a weight lift off his shoulders then because at least now he'd be declared dead. no ones looking for a dead man. it allows him to collect porter's body after the scene has been cleared but before the coroner comes to take him away. he's not sure what the aftermath of that is, but he doesn't care. he has work to do.

i subscribe to the "porter genuinely cared about gorgug and fig but had absolutely no way to understand that the approach he had with gorgug was not effective bc its the only way he was taught, himself." agenda so my favorite universe to live in is the one where any betrayal by porter is so much worse because everything he said and did to try and help fig and gorgug was real. it was honest. he loved those kids, and he didn't always get it right, but his care and concern for their well-being was real. i think fig would really struggle in that universe because so much of her time with porter was probably spent being angry at her mom, angry at gilear, angry at gortholax, just being. angry. and porter was the only one who could really help her channel that rage in a way that wasn't going to be self-destructive. that version of fig would have been very close with both porter and jace, and i think it would be hard for her to write them off in that battle. especially if she saw one of them go down. the potential for their dynamic is something that honestly makes me insane, actually, like i love it.

this is getting long but lmk if you want more this is literally all my brain does all day

[devastatinglygreen]

I love Polly Walker’s portrayal of Portia but i agree. I think so many of these show characters struggle from wanting to address and keep aspects of their book characteristics and then have them make decisions that differ from those for the *drama* or just take other book characters personalities and give them to other show characters omg who said that??

I know Jess B has gotten a lot of hate for changes to s3 (personally her changes at least made sense to me, unlike 90% of what CVD did) so it’s not like I’m looking to add to it. But I do worry about the “consequences” of Whistledown needing to continue following Penelope after her season. If that’s their only way of keeping Nicola on the show and Pen relevant to the plot then I guess? It just feels like continued shaming of Pen for their girlboss-ified LW.

God if I have to watch Pen still be shunned by the Ton can I at least see her and Colin fuck nasty??? Like god where is the hungry boi?? LET HIM EAT (Pen’s) CAKE

polly walker is amazing tbh. like, she just works with whatever they give her, i love her portrayal as portia. yeah, they needed to decide who they wanted these people to be before they just started handing out book personalities when it was going to directly conflict with the show's version of them. a little forethought, if you will.

tbf to jess, she still had to work with what cvd (when i catch you, cvd) left behind for polin. it's a big ask. doing the pen/eloise fight when it doesn't even exist in the books is wild, it's 100% for drama and needed to be handled in s3 so she had that to deal with as well. they did change eloise in s1-2 quite a bit to become the mouthpiece for the modern woman (which is wild bc her brand of feminism comes off so performative--which is probably how a man would write eloise being feminist but that's a whole other issue).

i think LW is more for the audience than anything else at this point. they're used to her narrating and it's good to move the plot forward at times but it's also a huge part of penelope's character so i can see why they kept it. both of them publishing books is great but also they're going to bring in the drama so LW is a very easy way to do that for future subplots.

also yes, 100% it's a fine way to shame penelope for gossip, ha. like girlie printed what she heard--the gossips were already talking she just made cash from it. if she were a dude they'd call it hustling.

sort of hilariously tragic that the audience who hates pen goes online to talk shit with no self-awareness that they're also feeding into the machine they're criticizing on a romance drama show, ha. only then they make it about real people so pretty sure that's worse. but do not tell them, they do not like that.

the man just wants his wife's titties served up like a brunch special okay is that too much to ask?🙏

[jamiesfootball]

When I finished reading The Beautiful and Damned, I had a fuckton of thoughts about it. I even started writing an essay about it.

But then I had people come over for dinner and I was tired and I never finished the essay nor do I remember where I was going with it. Since then it's just been crowding up my drafts.

So here is the first part of what was going to be that essay. From here on out I'll just add bits as they come to me.

(Side note: I have not changed it from my original essay format at all. Have fun with that)

I have just finished reading The Beautiful and Damned and BOY DO I HAVE THOUGHTS ON HOW IT RELATES TO JAMIE.

Another long one for you, folks.

[Charlie meme]

First of all let’s just admit and accept that I have officially dedicated more time and thought into this book choice for Jamie than the writers likely did. Got it? Good. Now I’ll start with the painful admission—

This book on its surface isn’t actually a bad choice for Jamie. The book anywhere below the surface is an awful choice for Jamie, and I despise it as a choice for him.

If we’re looking at it from Ted’s and the writers’ perspective (presuming the writers’ had one), I can see why Ted chose this book. There are some clear parallels between Jamie and the main protagonist, Anthony Patch. Both are wealthy and live the sort of shameless lifestyle that comes with it. Both have a choice in partner that supports the image of that lifestyle. Both have a clear superiority complex – though it stems from different things (Anthony Patch, classicism; Jamie, actual talent).

Neither character shows any indication of forethought as to what their life will look like in the future.

As a cautionary tale, the book makes sense. Here is someone else who wasted their life and chances because they were so invested in the perceived future they thought they were owed, that they neglected to do anything of meaning with their present opportunities.

From the writer’s perspective, there is even an amount of foreshadowing to the choice with regards to the upcoming hints they would show about Jamie’s dad. Because Anthony Patch doesn’t just ruin his life, in doing so he becomes a temperamental, angry, emotionally abusive alcoholic. So it’s a cautionary tale in two folds – not just in regards to his lifestyle but also the possibility that Jamie on his current path may eventually become someone who repeats the cycle.

But.

BUT.

Even from the beginning, there is big, BIG discrepancy between Jamie and Anthony Patch that even Ted, not knowing much about Jamie at all, should have been able to pick up on, and that is that ANTHONY PATCH HAS NEVER HAD A REAL JOB IN HIS LIFE.

The Anthony Patch’s of the world don’t become professional footballers. They don’t become professional anythings. Anthony’s whole arc is spent waiting for the good thing to happen to him, and in doing so squandering the many, many opportunities he was given.

Whereas when we first meet Jamie, he has already seized the good thing for himself.

And here’s where the rest of the essay was going to be. Whoops.

[something something interesting coincidence that at some point Anthony refers to “his last club – The Amsterdam”]

Potential talking points regarding Ted’s books of choice for Roy, Jamie, and Sam, including but not limited to: target audience, lesson given, lesson needed, prose style, ease of prose, ease of lesson, additional obstacles (vocab, triggering subject matter), the -isms, relatability, effect on character

The Keeley of it all (how dare you, Ted)

[aspenwritesstuff]

Part Three

prev | masterlist | next (soon)

warnings: angst, feelings of guilt and isolation, misplaced anger, scars mention, language, mental health struggles, very brief mention of institutionalization

wc: 7553

"You told them about Hyunjin, the beautiful boy you were charged with transferring the remaining shreds of the dream you’d always dreamed to." "You told them how, despite your disdain, teaching Hyunjin forced you to make an effort to be human again. To be alive. To wash clothes and wear them clean after taking a shower. To leave your apartment."

“You told them how, your own trauma aside, Hyunjin wasn’t all that bad.” "You told them how, in a way, it was because of Hyunjin that you’d finally broken your silence today. How wrong it felt to be better for a stranger when the two of them had been waiting for so long."

a/n: hey, hi, hello. I'd like to thank any of you who are still around to read this. From the bottom of my heart. I know I've been very inconsistent, and for that I apologize. I'm trying to pace myself, and slowly return to writing. Updates will be happening with more regularity now that I'm back to it! Comments, reblogs, asks...all of those things really light the fire in me to write, and are very deeply appreciated! So please let me know if you enjoy my work. Enough of my prattling, please enjoy part three!

with love and forehead smooches (if you consent),

-Aspen

taglist: @findingjieunn @hyynee @hyunverse @dreamstarsandskz @linaliann

permanent taglist: @svintsandghosts @notastraykid @abiaswreck

Gray clouds and the distant call of thunder encased Seoul today, despite how nice the weather had been the day prior. It was days like this that were meant for staying in, avoiding getting caught in the inevitable storm, filling your time with something mindful.

Days like this had once been reserved for painting, locked away in the studio as the sky bellowed its approval over each brushstroke. Days like this meant the completion of a work that had been left unfinished, allowing motivation to come from the weeping sky. Days like this, and the work that went into them, had only been allowed interruption by one thing - your friends.

Changbin and Felix, the sole bearers of the right to break your focus whilst poring over a canvas. 

Days like these were once reserved for them, too. Movies that none of you really watched, talking over them about anything and everything. Laughter regardless of what was playing. Comfort regardless of the impending downpour.

What were days like this supposed to be now? When the thought of a brush in your hand was enough to bring about the ache in your heart that you couldn’t quite get used to, despite its frequency. The longer the monochrome sky loomed overhead, the longer the obvious answer hammered at your psyche.

They were the only thing left meant for days such as these.

You could call them. You could reach out in hopes that they hadn’t quite given up, despite your prior avoidance. It would be easy, just the tap of a few buttons on a screen. A child could do it, and yet you found yourself struggling to get past the menu.

Guilt has a funny way of complicating things.

Prior to the accident, and the subsequent lack of contact, reaching out to Changbin and Felix had been effortless - simply a part of your day-to-day routine, requiring little to no forethought. 

Now, however, you were terrified.

Your phone felt much heavier than it should have in your hands as you stared at the long-neglected group chat on your screen - the accompanying double digit number next to it taunting you with its reminder of just how long you’d been absent. Just how long you’d avoided speaking to the two.

How long was too long to ignore somebody before they’d stop considering you a friend?

Talking to them meant facing the possibility that your actions - or, rather, lack thereof - could have destroyed the only two friendships you’d ever cared to maintain. 

Until you actually spoke to them, you could live in ignorance. 

Until you actually spoke to them, you could assume they still wanted you around. 

Until you actually spoke to them, they were the only thing that hadn’t changed.

That just served to make the notion of finally reaching out absolutely petrifying.

These were the same boys you’d stay up laughing ‘til sunrise with, so deliriously tired that everything had become funnier than it should’ve been. The same boys that, rather than letting you fend for yourself, allowed you to follow them around like a duckling as they showed you the ins and outs of Seoul. The same boys who’d all but drag you from your studio when you’d forget to eat in the midst of a big project, bringing you to the diner for your favorite burger.

These were the same boys who brought new flowers to your bedside every week, even when you wouldn’t so much as look at them when they did.

You tapped the thread, swallowing both the lump in your throat and your pride as you read the messages you’d missed - maintaining your composure up until you got to the most recent two, sent only a day ago.

Felix: Honey, please talk to us? We’re really worried about you. Your mom said you’re home now, so maybe we could come by? I miss you a lot. 

Changbin: We could go to the diner if you want? I’ll pay even though it’s your turn. Nothing feels right without our favorite girl, okay? Love you.

Your heart squeezed tightly in your chest as you hiccuped, unsure if it was shame that you’d doubted they’d stick around or relief that you were wrong that finally broke the dam - but broke it did as hot tears blurred your vision. 

So many things had been ripped from you - violently, remorselessly, suddenly. Your future, your outlet, your joy, all gone in a terrible symphony of metal against metal. Your dreams snatched away by the malicious hand of fate, dangled above your head - just far enough away to taunt you, to remind you that it still existed, just not for you. Reminding you that everything had changed.

Everything, it seemed, except for Changbin and Felix.

Undeserving didn’t even begin to cover the way you felt. After all of this time, receiving nothing at all but radio silence from you, these two men had been contacting you - at least one of them, at least once a day - since the accident. 

You scrolled up, noticing that they’d never once gotten angry. They’d never once blamed you. They’d told you about their days, their lives, what happened at work, changes to the diner’s menu, and - always - how much you were missed. Not once did either of them condemn your behavior. Not once did either of them criticize you.

And you’d ignored them. Treated them as if they, and their unending support in spite of your withdrawal from them, didn’t matter. As if you didn’t need them. As if you were better off alone after suffering loss. 

All it took was shame weighing down your shoulders to remind you, though, that you weren’t - and never would be -  better off without Felix and Changbin.

How inexcusable it felt to have left them in the dark made your thumbs difficult to move. Two simple letters turned into near-impossible hurdles. The level of anger you’d expected to have to face from them had significantly raised your expectations. 

You had been ready to beg, to offer anything to make it up to them when the gloomy skies forced them into your mind. You were prepared to listen to lectures, to agree with them had they called you a bad friend.

You had been ready to face the possibility that they’d lost faith in you completely.

So, how were you supposed to just say, “Hi.” 

How could you simply address them casually as if you hadn’t neglected them? Hadn’t deserted them? Hadn’t forsaken them in the name of sorrow, shunned them for your own selfish pity?

How absolutely wrong it felt to simply greet them as if nothing had happened. How slimy it felt not to apologize a million times over, sinful not to grovel at their feet for forgiveness.

How heavy two little letters could become.

Yet, despite the painfully slow rate at which your trembling thumbs tapped against the glass, they were suddenly there. Sitting plainly, four lines and a dot - “Hi” - black against white. It waited, just as the long-neglected curves and lines of another word had - send - white against blue.

You suddenly understood why minimalism paintings were regarded in such a profound way, as everything inside of you screamed at the sight displayed on the screen. No longer did you question how a few strokes of a brush and a signature could justify more than a glance. Gone were your bitter thoughts over the success of such seemingly simple works. Four lines and a dot, black against white. Curves and lines, white against blue.

Hi. Send.

They were not as simple as they appeared on their own. Together, they were complex.

Complex enough to paralyze you.

Hi.You never used to find it this difficult, not once. The luxury most had when facing the unfortunate drifting from friends was not yours to have. You couldn’t simply exhale a plaintive sigh, asking forces unseen what had happened to what once was. It would be ridiculous to even entertain the notion. You knew what had happened and you bore the angry, red reminder of exactly what spurred the change.

The reminder that things would never be the same.

You never used to care for minimalism paintings. How could you have? They were just lines before. Just haphazard shapes pointlessly ruining a perfectly good canvas. Cruel irony, realizing the potential of the style now that your talent had been reduced to nothing more than fond memories that pained you to recall. Harsher still was the realization that the closest attempt you’d ever make at the style was staring at you from a screen dimming from disuse. A strange medium on stranger canvas, the credits for which would certainly raise brows: 

Eclipse, Hi, 2023, 6”x3” Thumbs on Glass. Your heart dropped at the use of your old habits from your days of gallery submissions. Despite barely qualifying as a piece of art, you’d gone ahead and planned out the label for the four lines and a dot, black against white. Despite your wounds, you’d forgotten the pain for just a moment - losing yourself in the meaning of curves and lines, white against blue. 

Forgetting, for a moment, that everything had changed.

Perhaps it was the surge of adrenaline that accompanied your panicked realization, maybe even a brief stroke of inspiration from your inadvertent first-attempt at a style you’d once hated. Those two little letters were no longer the heaviest thing on your heart - and, in comparison, were suddenly light. Before you could talk yourself out of sending those lines and dots off, you tapped the blue that housed curves and squiggles. Send.

The cartoonish whoosh carrying those two heavy little letters felt starkly out of place amidst the rolling of thunder and the thrumming pulse in your ears. Your legs bounced, anxious feet filling the silence with muffled taps as you waited. All you could do now was stare holes into the screen and hope. Hope that, despite your certainty, you were wrong. That everything hadn’t changed. 

That, if nothing else, this could be the same. They could be the same.

It felt like a form of purgatory, staring at a screen filled with tiny bubbles of even tinier lines, dots, and curves. Time seemed to me moving in strange ways - seconds felt like their own small eternities as you stared at your underwhelming message. 

You wondered if Felix and Changbin felt this way, too, during their admittedly much longer wait for a reply. Certainly they had. It would be difficult to imagine otherwise. If ten seconds felt this long to you, how long had these months felt for them? Your heart dropped at the thought, but rose quickly along with your pulse at the sight of three little dots moving at the bottom of the screen. 

Those three little dots disappeared and reappeared once, twice, and three times before a few sentences appeared on screen. You saw that it was Felix who’d answered first, but couldn’t bring yourself to read it for at least a minute. Although these two had constantly been checking in on you, despite your lack of answers, it was hard to completely let go of the possibility that they would be angry. Hurt.

They had a right to be, after all.

Once your nerves allowed you to skim the message, a melancholy calm washed over you. In typical form, Felix was perfectly understanding - and sweet - with his reply.

Felix: Oh my god, hi! How are you? I miss you so much.What you had done to deserve such an immediate and warm reaction to your return was beyond you, having fully expected at least a bit of resentment sent your way - yet there was none to be found. Perhaps you shouldn’t be surprised though, seeing as neither Felix nor Changbin had ever given you a reason to doubt the depth of their care for you.

Recalling that brought the ache of guilt - having gone hand in hand with the thoughts of the two for months now - back to the surface. The shift back from your cautious optimism nearly knocked the wind out of you in its abruptness.

Guilt, and its funny way of complicating things, resulted in paranoia at Changbin’s lack of response. Maybe you were foolish to feel hopeful at the warm, brief, comfort of Felix’s kind response. The lack of discontent Felix expressed at your return held no guarantee to extend to Changbin. He could very well hold onto an indignation towards you for trying to simply slide back into their lives after so long of icing them out. What if he wouldn’t forgive you? What if, due to this, your closeness with Felix - in spite of his unabashed eagerness - too, would lessen? What if..? Changbin: Never disappear like that EVER again, stupid.You couldn’t even find it within yourself to feel a shred of irritation at the insult, a buoyancy you’d nearly forgotten was possible surrounding your heart as it thudded hard in your chest. You weren’t sure where to go from here. Of course, an apology was in order, but beyond that…you were clueless. It felt shallow to apologize over text, though, for something as grievous as the vanishing act as you’d performed. You stared at the screen for several minutes, thumbs trembling over the keyboard projected against the glass as you held the phone in both hands, before you finally decided. 

You: Come over, please?

You’d been spurred into making your appearance, after all, been spurred to finally make an appearance by memories of stormy days spent together. Hoping the nostalgia was hitting the duo, too, was all you could do - eyes glued to the dancing gray circles at the bottom of your screen. Felix: Not gonna lie, I was running to my car the second your name popped up on my screen sweetheart.

Changbin: I’m quite literally already on my way.Felix: Thought you didn’t text and drive? Your principles, or whatever.Changbin: These circumstances allow exception.Changbin: And, for the millionth time, it’s JUTDAE.The ghost of a smile graced your lips as you witnessed their usual banter unfold - something you hadn’t realized you’d missed in your numbness. The shape of your lips felt foreign, though not uncomfortable, on your face. Your lack of reply was largely attributed to knowing Changbin would likely look away from the road to read whatever you would contribute to the conversation - but, it would be a lie to say that was the sole reason. Their imminent arrival gave you an unpleasant reminder that, aside from your sessions with Hyunjin, you hadn’t left the house - and cleanliness wasn’t typically associated with apathy.

From the couch alone, the mess was impossible not to notice. A lump of unwashed laundry could be seen from the cracked doorway of your bathroom, left there despite the hamper being in your bedroom one door down. The coffee table was littered with unwashed dishes, wrappers, and empty plastic bottles, and the blankets that you’d typically kept folded neatly were all strewn about - discarded on the floor or left on whichever piece of furniture you’d decided to brood on that day. 

You rarely went into your room when the boys were around, so you weren’t too concerned about the clothes and items littering the room’s floor and your bed. Your studio was, for obvious reasons, another room you didn't need to worry about...but you didn’t even want to think about the mess in the kitchen. You knew for a fact you hadn’t bothered soaking - let alone washing - any pots or pans you’d used. The murky dishwater in the sink - clouded by the few dishes you had picked up - wasn’t forgotten either. You scrambled to your feet, grabbing empty water bottles from the coffee table in front of you - stumbling in your rush to get them into the recycling bin before returning swiftly to the living room to gather the dishes you’d left behind in your indifference. You set them on the counter, having to use a bit of force to squeeze them into an open space far too small initially, before plunging your hand into the sink with a grimace and pulling the plug - draining the stagnant water from days ago. 

With the plug replaced, soap added, and the faucet turned on at a scalding temperature, you hurriedly put the dirty dishes in - grabbing the pots and pans to fill with a bit of water to let them soak in hopes that it appeared as though you weren’t living the way you had been for so long. A whispered curse left your lips as you abandoned the still-filling sink to make your way towards the bathroom - pulling the large pile of clothes into your arms with a soft grunt before trudging into your bedroom and tossing them into the hamper.

You had just gathered the wrappers from the table and thrown them away, on your way to pick up the blankets when you heard a rhythmic knock on the front door - there was no mistaking the one-three-one pattern as Changbin and Felix’s signature, seeing as you’d jointly decided as a group that this was how you’d all make it apparent who was visiting in case of a spontaneous drop-in.

Elation and panic weren’t necessarily an easy pair of emotions to blend together, but that didn’t stop your instant stiffening as your head spun to stare at the rich mahogany - knowing that, for what felt like the first time after an eternity, your friends had arrived.

Kicking blankets towards the corner as you crossed the room hurriedly, you turned the deadbolt and grabbed the knob. Goosebumps covered your arms as you held the cold metal in your hands for a moment - though you’d be remiss to blame it all on the chill - hesitating before turning it and pulling it open. “Hey,” you began before the door was even fully open, your anxiety apparent in the way your voice quavered on such a simple word, “Thanks for coming, I know that–” You were cut off by an abrupt, tightly set pair of arms wrapping around your body as Changbin, standing in front of Felix, crossed the threshold in one long and impatient stride. He didn’t say a word, simply crushing you in what could’ve easily been mistaken as a restraining hold rather than a hug. He was soon joined by Felix, who approached much more slowly and opted to hug you from the side - enveloping you between himself and Changbin with a sniffle that, despite being unable to see his face, made you absolutely certain he was crying.

“Don’t you ever disappear on us like that again,” Changbin muttered against the top of your head as he placed a chaste peck atop your unbrushed tresses, earning a nod felt against your shoulder as Felix silently agreed, likely afraid to speak considering his likelihood to sob the moment he made a sound.

The guilt you’d grown so accustomed to when you’d think about the two of them lurched in your stomach at the way relief had audibly invaded what you were sure Changbin had intended to be a scolding tone.

“I’m sorry…” you choked out, joining Felix in crying as you spoke the only words you could. The only words that felt proper, considering the circumstances. The only words appropriate after snubbing the only people with the potential to understand you during your darkest time.

“Changbin, don’t make them cry!” Felix reprimanded with a sniffle, squeezing you tighter as he shot his best attempt at a glare Changbin’s way.

“I would’ve cried anyway,” it was true, your response. If the guilt on its own wouldn’t have been enough to rouse your emotions, the relief that they came after all this time was.

Felix nodded, but sent Changbin one last playful glare as you were guided inside, making your way to the sofa in tandem, settling in to wait out the storms; raging outside and in your mind.

As the crying ceased on both Felix’s and your end, he and Changbin had questions. You’d been absent from their lives for so long, after all. It was only natural they wanted some answers.

You told them. You told them every unpretty detail.

You told them about your hand, and how despite the effort you made in rehabilitation that it would never be the same. 

You told them about the scar, and how sometimes it would hurt as if to taunt you, to remind you as soon as you thought that you were maybe, possibly okay that you would never be again. 

You told them about your solitude, surrounded by the company of dirty dishes and overfilled hampers. 

You told them about your mother, and the ultimatum she gave you regarding the way you were living. 

You told them about Hyunjin, the beautiful boy you were charged with transferring the remaining shreds of the dream you’d always dreamed to.

You told them how, despite your disdain, teaching Hyunjin forced you to make an effort to be human again. To be alive. To wash clothes and wear them clean after taking a shower. To leave your apartment.

You told them how, your own trauma aside, Hyunjin wasn’t all that bad.

You told them how, in a way, it was because of Hyunjin that you’d finally broken your silence today. How wrong it felt to be better for a stranger when the two of them had been waiting for so long.

You told them how deeply, painfully sorry you were.

And, when they told you not to apologize and that they were never going to leave you behind, asking if you’d go shopping with them tomorrow?

You told them nothing would make you happier.

When the two of them left, you felt lighter. As though a great burden had been lifted from your shoulders…or, more accurately, distributed between three sets rather than being carried by you alone.

Changbin and Felix had only been gone for about an hour when the buzz of your phone alerted you to a message from an unfamiliar number.

???: Hey! I hope this isn’t a bad time. Ms. Park gave me your number!

???: This is Hyunjin, by the way.

You knew now who the messages were coming from, though more questions were acquired than answers. 

You typed and deleted several responses ranging from, “What do you want?” which you decided seemed a bit too rude, and “Why are you contacting me?” which seemed the same, only stiffer. You finally decided on a tried and true, much more casual:

You: What’s up?

It took only a few seconds for him to respond with a simple question that - from any other mentor - would seem reasonable. Yet your heart, once lightened by the reunion with your friends, seemed to gain several pounds as it plummeted uncomfortably into your stomach.

Hyunjin: Would you be willing to come with me to the art supply store? I’m new to oils and really don’t want to grab the wrong brushes.

Technically speaking, you were perfectly capable and more than qualified to fulfill this task. In fact, at risk of sounding vain, you may be one of the best people to help him out. If he’d have asked you prior to the accident, you’d have jumped on the opportunity to help an aspiring artist purchase their first set of oil-appropriate brushes.

Under different circumstances, you’d have found great joy - fun even - in browsing an art store with someone who wanted to be there. You’d often found yourself wishing for exactly that when you’d notice the bored expressions on Felix and Changbin’s faces on the rare occasions that you’d managed to convince them to tag along. 

This, however, was not under those circumstances.

You were not excited. You were not looking forward to it. You would never have wished for this in a million years.

And, despite the fact that Changbin and Felix were; you were not the same.

You debated ghosting him, acting as if you’d perhaps dozed off or set your phone down and lost track of time. You considered telling him to ask the clerk for help instead, despite knowing that they probably knew the bare minimum and were only working there for a paycheck, not passion, and would likely encourage him to buy the most expensive option rather than the most effective. You even considered simply saying, “No.”

You likely would have gone with any of these options had it not been for the way he’d grown on you. 

Perhaps it was his apologetic nature during last week’s lesson, when you’d displayed an unexpected level of emotion following his innocent query regarding you painting. 

Or perhaps it was the ease with which he offered to drop the subject. 

Maybe it could even have a little bit to do with the warmth of his work, and the way it made you feel something other than empty or angry - however briefly, before jealousy took over - for the first time since the accident.

Regardless of why, you did not, in fact, choose any of your reflexive responses. Instead, you agreed, telling him to meet you in about an hour, cleverly choosing a shop other than the one you were once a regular at despite the further distance. 

You simply couldn’t handle the barrage of questions Hyunjin would likely have should you be recognized; should it come to light that you had lied to him. That you were, in fact, a painter once.

Once.

The reminder, though self-inflicted, still stung as you gathered your bag and jacket, a pit in your gut still present even as you locked up and made your way to the roadside to hail a taxi. The drive did little to remedy it either, and you found yourself unable to match the smile you were greeted with as Hyunjin spotted you exiting the cab.

“Hey! Thanks again for agreeing even though it was last minute!” he called warmly, jogging up to meet you halfway.

You simply nodded, adjusting the bag over your shoulder and gesturing towards the shop in an attempt to occupy him with something other than expressing his thanks.

There wouldn’t be anything wrong with that if it weren’t for the way the brightness of his smile only seemed to accentuate the shadows of your envy, allowing it to grow and fester despite your intentions to be a good teacher to him.

Luckily, he took the hint without breaking stride, walking a few paces ahead of you as you entered the shop. You watched as he paused, eyes wide and curious, until he smiled once more upon spotting the aisle labeled brushes. You followed along at your same slow pace even as he rushed ahead towards it, finding him with two different sets in each hand as you caught up to him.

Reading the furrow of his brow as an internal debate over which was better, you spoke up from behind him, “Neither of those are what you want.”

He jumped, as if the few second gap between your arrivals in this aisle were enough to startle him. It was endearing, in a way, and you couldn’t help but let out the tiniest laugh in the form of a dry scoff.

Setting both sets down, Hyunjin chuckled sheepishly and rubbed the back of his head as he turned to face you, “Which ones then?” he asked, choosing not to acknowledge his brief moment of fright as he gestured with a grand sweeping motion to the display racks.

“Let’s see,” you murmured back to him, letting him off without any teasing, instead taking a few strides forward with your eyes on the rack and skimming each set for a specific logo - a simple white outline of a lily - belonging to the brand you preferred.

Used to prefer.

A pause imperceptible to anyone but yourself made itself in your stride, but you focused on the task at hand. You could handle this. It was just picking out brushes. It wasn’t a taunt from the universe, despite the way it felt. It wasn’t a cruel joke. It was just picking out brushes.

So why was your heart racing like you were about to get thrown into a pit of lions?

Swallowing your own nerves, you reached out to sift through the rack, finally producing the same set of brushes you’d once started with on your own journey, before it had been cut short, and handed it over to Hyunjin.

“These are gonna be your best bet,” you supplied, hoping he’d leave it at that.

Whether it was luck or a bit of intuition on Hyunjin’s part, he did just that.

“Thanks, I would’ve been staring at the rack like a fool for at least twenty minutes if not for you,” he said with a quiet laugh, tucking the set under his arm.

“Think of how many people could have startled you in that time,” you gave an attempt to banter, at which his quiet laughter exploded into a bright, vibrant cackle - out of place both from someone as beautiful as he was, and someplace as quiet as this.

He quickly smacked his hand over his mouth, eyes widening as he continued to snicker, “Since when are you funny?” he asked between subdued snorts.

“There’s more to me than you know.”

What a double-edged answer, considering all that you were actively hiding from him.

“Besides,” you began, keen to distract your mind from the discomfort of dwelling on secrets you kept from Hyunjin, “It wasn’t really that funny.”

A shake of his head prefaced the assurance you hadn’t asked for, “Trust me, I don’t laugh like that often! In fact, believe it or not, I try not to be noisy in quiet, public spaces.”

“Oh, is that so?” you responded with a laugh that felt foreign falling from your lips, shaking your head, “In that case, I will do my utmost to keep my hilarity to a minimum.”

Hyunjin exhaled a small snort from his nose, giving an over-dramatic bow - complete with a flourish - before speaking in an deliberately ostentatious tone, “I am most grateful.”

You shook your head, shoving his arm playfully to spur him back into standing, “Ready to check out?” you asked him, hoping the answer was yes. You wanted - no, needed - to leave. 

It wasn’t Hyunjin, by any means. If it were anything but art supplies, you’d actually have quite enjoyed this outing. Hyunjin was good company, once you’d given him a chance. You’d smiled more today than you had in a long while, your cheeks hurting from the lack of use prefacing today.

Hyunjin was warm, bright like the sun, perfectly good company. He was funny without being a tryhard. He was unabashed in his individuality, from the way he bantered to the guffaw you could still hear echoing in your mind.

It definitely wasn’t Hyunjin.

Despite not being your old favorite, being inside of a supply shop still gave you an unwelcome feeling of nostalgia. The scent was the same, regardless of what shop you went to, and you could swear the once-comforting aroma was now a foul stench, something you’d likely shower away when you got home.

“Just about, I need a couple canvases and a few tubes of paint,” he answered absently, blissfully unaware of just how dire of straits you were in.

You nodded, waving him away playfully with your hand in hopes he’d gather what he needed quickly, walking up the aisle to wait near the register for him. You weren’t about to abandon him here, now that the job of finding brushes he’d spontaneously tasked you with was complete. You weren’t that desperate.

It was close, though.

You crossed your arms, leaning back against the counter. A scoff was earned from the cashier, but you were more than used to ignoring people after your recent experience, allowing you to stay put without so much as an apologetic glance. 

You shuffled, growing antsier with every moment you waited for Hyunjin. You weren’t exactly spatially aware, and nearly jumped out of your skin when you heard a clatter following the brushing of your bag against the countertop.

“Sorry,” you muttered, ignoring the way the cashier rolled their eyes at you as you bent down to pick up what had fallen. 

It was obvious that it was a set of brushes, considering the shape of the package. As you lifted it, something possessed you; whether it be curiosity or masochism, you turned the set around in your hands to get a good look at it.

The first thing you noticed was a simple white lily.

What were the odds? Of anything you could’ve accidentally bumped, it just had to be something you were intimately familiar with? You shook your head, fighting the urge to roll your eyes before you realized that perhaps you weren’t as familiar with this set as you once thought.

Next to the logo was a small, ornate ‘7.’ The last you knew, there were only six sets from this brand. 

For the briefest moment, excitement coursed through your veins. Your eyes lit up, your lips twitched in anticipation of a smile. This brand always had such great improvements with every set they released, and you weren’t sure they’d ever release a new one. You owned all six prior sets, and wouldn’t part with them for anything in the world. 

And then it hit you.

And the smile that had begun forming dropped.

And you felt sick to your stomach.

Because you would not use these brushes. You no longer used the other six sets.

You would never feel the difference in the improved handle shape, how comfortable it would feel in your hand with the carefully formed grooves.

You wouldn’t buy them without a second thought, as you once would’ve. You wouldn’t rush home to lock yourself away until someone came to check on you; because you wouldn’t need checked on, considering you’d never get so sucked into painting that you’d forget the outside world ever again.

“Hey! Sorry I took so long!” Hyunjin chirped from behind you, making you jerk your head up towards him.

“Oh, uh, no problem,” you managed, though you sounded more robotic than you’d intended. You set the brushes down on the counter, quickly enough that you nearly knocked over the rest of the display, “I’m gonna wait outside, okay?” 

Confusion furrowed the man’s brow as he tilted his head, inquisitive gaze locked on you as though he could find the answers he sought in your face if he stared long enough, “Uh…sure. You okay?”

Damn him. 

Damn his earnest concern and his functional fucking hands. 

Damn his too-loud laugh and his ability to get so lost comparing sets of brushes that your return after only a few seconds startled him.

Damn his drive to improve, damn the way he made you smile, and damn the universe for bringing him into your life now; when you’d lost the ability to fully appreciate him.

“I’m fine,” you lied with a forced smile, nodding your head quickly, “Just need some air.”

“Oh…sure,” Hyunjin answered slowly, returning the smile - though the furrowed brows remained, betraying the concern he still felt. “I’ll try to be quick.”

“Take your time,” you called over your shoulder, having already been walking as fast as was socially acceptable indoors the moment you’d heard the first syllable of a positive response. 

Your chest felt tight, your heart in a vice as you gritted your teeth, forcing air into your lungs in short little gasps. The doors seemed so far, and your steps felt too slow…but you did eventually make it outside, sitting down on a bench as you ran a hand through your hair and stared up at the sky, focusing on getting your breath under control before Hyunjin was finished.

God forbid you give him yet another reason to worry. It was ironic that, despite becoming his mentor to avoid such a fate, you didn’t doubt he may be wondering if you should be institutionalized considering your proclivity to lose your composure around him.

By the time he returned, you were as composed as you’d get considering the thoughts swirling tumultuously in your mind. A tight lipped smile from your end was returned brightly by Hyunjin, all traces of furrowed brows and concern completely wiped from his now elated face.

“I didn’t take too long, did I?” he asked as you rose from the bench. 

“Not at all,” you shook your head as you spoke, silently grateful that he’d taken as long as he had. You didn’t want to imagine how he’d look right now if you’d still been struggling to breathe upon his return.

“That’s a relief,” his voice sounded…excited somehow. Like a child eager for praise - his eyes wide and bright and his lips still upturned happily. You wondered what, exactly, had brought him into this state of mind…though you didn’t need to wait long.

He reached into the white paper bag, his slender fingers grabbing something out and lifting it.

The first thing you saw; a white lily. The second; the number ‘7.’

Your stomach sank. Was this a joke? You already struggled to teach him, considering his ability to do what you no longer could…and now he was going to use the brushes you never would? Internally, you wondered if rage or sadness would  be more appropriate - despite the answer being neither, considering he didn’t know any better.

Damn him.

Damn his –

“I noticed you were looking at these when I came up to check out,” he began, cutting off your internal rant, and earning a disconcerted tilt of the head from you.

“And?” you asked, a bit too sharply to be towards someone who was simply making conversation. 

It isn’t his fault, don’t be a dick, you reminded yourself, gritting your teeth.

“And,” he drew out the word, treating your venom as though it was nothing more than a continuation of the simple banter you’d shared in the brush aisle, “I wanted to thank you for all of your help so far, but you don’t share much.” He paused, holding the set out towards you.

No. 

Oh, please no.

Your heart lurched into your throat as you realized…he didn’t buy them for his own use. He got them for you. 

He was giving you the very object that had spurred your hasty retreat from the shop in the first place. 

Damn him. 

Damn him and the way his eyes bored into yours, waiting for a response besides a dumbfounded drop of your jaw.

Damn him and the way that, despite thinking he had done something good, he was just like a housecat. Bringing you a dead rat, very proud and completely unaware that you did not want to touch it. 

Waiting for praise. For gratitude.

He must have noticed your silence, because his bright smile turned into more of a shy, half-upturned grin, his voice softer and filled with significantly less glee.

“It’s just…You looked excited for a second when you picked them up, so I figured they must be important, even though you said you didn’t paint,” he paused to laugh under his breath…but not like he had earlier. This was not joyful, it reeked of self-deprecation and embarrassment.

Damn him and his ability to make you feel guilty for the feelings you cannot control.

“Shit, I’m sorry–” you wondered for a moment why he was apologizing for such a kind gesture, but got your answer in the form of wetness becoming apparent on your cheeks. He reached out with his sleeve, wiping at the tears, looking and sounding so very panicked. 

You shook your head, ignoring the comfort his hands brushing away your sadness brought, and wondered if he even knew exactly what he was apologizing for. Surely he knows he did nothing wrong…before the accident, you would’ve likely crushed him in a hug upon being given the exact gift that had you in shambles now.

“It’s stupid, you told me you didn’t paint,” he sighed deeply, looking down at you with that same worried, furrowed brow he’d shown inside. He lowered his hand from your face - his perfectly functional, unscarred hand - and rummaged through the bag with it, “I should’ve asked if you wanted them, I’m sorry.” 

You couldn’t do anything other than shake your head, the ability to form words gone as you struggled to even garner a single cohesive thought.

“I’m sure I can bring them back, I kept the receipt–”

“No!”

You surprised yourself with the quickness with which you declined his offer to rid you of this accidental reminder of what you’d lost; quicker still had you reached out and snatched the set from his hands, holding it tightly to your chest.

“No..?” Hyunjin asked, the slightest hint of relief creeping into his voice - so subtle and tentative. So ready to return the brushes and apologize again at the first sign of discontent.

You were just as surprised as he was, unsure of what possessed you to decline the offer that would remove the unwelcome reminder. 

Maybe it was the pride with which he’d presented them to you, or a desire to wipe the worry from his expression. 

Or, maybe it was simply a dream refusing to die.

“No,” you repeated, shaking your head and looking up at him. Tears no longer fell, and you sniffled quietly as you felt your lips pull up into the smallest of smiles.

“Are you sure?” he asked slowly, as if prepared at any time to take the brushes back to the cashier. You gave him a nod and tucked the brushes away in your bag.

“Absolutely.”

Hyunjin nodded, and as per usual didn’t press any further. Hyunjin was good about that, aside from your initial meeting. It was easy to assume he’d learned not to delve too deep into your psyche following the abrupt exit you’d made.

The only question he’d asked after your acceptance of the brushes was if you’d like to share a cab, to which you agreed, standing at his side as he hailed the first one to come by.

You watched out the window as the cityscape blurred by, keeping your gaze on the window. It was easy to get lost in your own mind with the drone of the tires on asphalt serving as white noise, easily lulling you into tangential thought. 

Perhaps there was more about Hyunjin that you envied, aside from his ability to paint. To dream.

Everything seemed to roll right off of him. The moments you’d seen him concerned were so easily put behind him. He didn’t dwell. He didn’t linger. He moved forward, unstoppable despite the way you were effectively acting as a roadblock.

He kept showing up to lessons following the very first one, in which you could readily admit you did not make the best first impression.

You wished you could do that, move forward without looking back. If it were a skill to be taught, maybe you could ask Hyunjin for lessons in exchange for the ones you gave him.

With that thought in your mind, you finally spoke into the silence of the backseat.

“What would you do if you woke up tomorrow and couldn’t paint?”

You heard Hyunjin rustle across the seat, his breath coming out in an extended sigh as he contemplated how to answer. You didn’t need to tell him what happened to you in order to pick his brain, you’d realized.

“You mean like…if I forgot how to?” he asked, his tone riddled with confusion.

“No,” you murmured, turning your gaze from the window to look at him, “I mean…If something happened to make you lose your ability.”

Hyunjin hummed, looking up at the roof of the cab as he rubbed his chin in thought, his head tilted back against the headrest.

You couldn’t help but wish you had the luxury of considering this situation as rhetorical.

Finally speaking up as the vehicle came to a stop in front of your apartment, Hyunjin let his head loll over without lifting to look at you, “I wouldn’t accept that,” he answered firmly, “I’d keep trying until I could again.”

You didn’t realize you were laughing until the sound came out of your mouth, earning a befuddled look from your companion, his lower lip jutting out slightly.

“What’s so funny?” he asked, looking almost offended, as though there were some inside joke he desperately wanted to understand but wouldn’t get an explanation to.

You simply shook your head, waving a hand and stopping your laughter with a sigh, “Nothing, nothing at all,” you mused, lips still upturned in amusement as you got out of the cab, closing the door and walking up the steps to your apartment, turning around at the door to wave goodbye.

Still appearing painfully puzzled, Hyunjin lifted his hand to wave back. Though, considering the slowness of the action, it could hardly be considered such.

As the cab pulled away, you made your way inside. Locking the door and removing your shoes, you picked up the brushes and set them down on the coffee table, a wistful smile on your lips as one thought echoed over and over in your mind.

If only it were that easy.

[jeonbunnie]

leave me lonely

pairing: reader x park jimin

anon requested: “hi there how about a angst and smut fic based on leave me lonely by ariana 🖤”

summary: you decide to end things with your fwb

genre: angst; smut; fwb; 18+; pwp

soundtrack: leave me lonely— ariana grande ft. macy gray

content/warnings: fuckboy!jimin; swearing; POV shift; soft!dom jimin, dirty talk, unprotected sex

a/n: anon you ne we specified which member so I decided to write it for jimin, I hope that’s okay! not beta’d btw

word count: 1.2k

♪ You’re a dangerous love. Maybe you’re no good for me darling ♪

“I hate it when you leave,” you said, clutching the bedsheets to your naked chest. 

Jimin glanced at you over his shoulder with a sultry smile. “But you love to watch me go, right?”

You couldn’t argue with that, stealing another glance at ink his on his naked body as he pulled on a pair of pants. This thing between you had been going on for a couple of months now, and you’d never tired of the sight of him. However, that wasn’t what you meant. 

I hate it when you leave.

A chill ran down your spine when you thought of your last words. You startled yourself with the truth, but it was the truth. As your afterglow faded and you returned from your high, a clarity struck you like no other.

You needed to break things off with Jimin.

As you watched your lover dress, the words came tumbling out: “I think we should end this.” 

It’s more instinct than forethought. Your timing couldn’t have been worse. Hell, you were still naked in bed. Shouldn’t you have been more composed at the end of your relationship? 

Could you call it a relationship? When the only time you spent together was in hotel rooms having mind-blowing sex?

Jimin laughed at your words as if you were telling him a joke, “And here I was under the impression that tonight’s affair was already over? Or is this your coy way of asking for another round?”

As much as you hated to admit it, the question made you falter.

You spent all afternoon letting him tease you and take you apart. Ever the perfectionist, Jimin was never pleased until he had you dripping wet. Only after making you come twice did he finally take you, sinking into you with a sweet sigh as he arched your back and pressed you into the mattress.

Jimin always knew how to give it to you just right. Delicious slow strokes that made you pant had you fisting the sheets as he took you from behind. You could never get enough of how good it felt to have him inside you—the thick stretch of him as he pushed you past your limits. Every inch of Park Jimin was satisfying. He was so good; every roll of his hips had you losing your mind.  

And that’s why it was so hard to let him go. 

“I have to stop having sex with you.”

“You want to stop?” Jimin’s full lips lifted into a smirk. “That’s not what you were telling me earlier.”

You feel yourself flush at the memory of you begging Jimin to keep fucking you until you couldn’t even think straight.

“Don’t stop. Please, please, Jimin, I need it.”

“I know, baby. You’re gonna cum aren’t you?” 

“Go on, give it to me,” he cooed, his honeyed voice almost cloying with his tone so sweet, even as he pounded into you. 

It’s embarrassing, how desperate he made you. Even now, you could hit the thought of you together.

“I’m serious,” you said. Though really, you were still trying to find the strength in your conviction. “I can’t keep doing this.”

Jimin threw on a white T-shirt, eyeing you with a cocked eyebrow. “Doing what?” 

“Watching you walk away.” 

Your arrangement was based on convenience: Mutual satisfaction with no feelings involved. It didn’t matter that he wasn’t yours. Park Jimin wasn’t your type anyways. 

Ever the charmer and the showman, you were convinced you’d never fall under his spell. No, the men you ended up loving were strong, silent types. With them, you never knew when your heart would fall. Playing that game was risky, and you almost always lost.

So you picked someone you believed you could never fall for. Being with Jimin felt safer. It was more comfortable stealing kisses in the night with the known heartbreaker knowing nothing more would come of it besides straight pleasure.

Jimin softened your words. He came to you, sitting at the edge of the bed as he cupped your face in his palm. “If you want me to stay, all you have to do is ask.” His thumb brushed across your cheek, Jimin’s touch just as tender as his words, and that same tenderness made you want to run away. 

Jimin could be rough in bed, relentless even, often claiming you with a brutal pace that had you gasping and trembling under him. He could be lewd with his tongue, purring into your neck about how you were such a good little slut, his filthy praise pushing you over the edge as his thick cock hit your g-spot. But afterward, he would always take care of you. Wrap you in his arms and pull into his warmth. 

Sex with Jimin was always wild, but the aftercare was soft caresses and sweet kisses as you drifted to sleep. 

It felt a lot like love. 

You weren’t in love with Jimin. What you shared was pure, unfiltered lust. You knew that much. But in moments like these, you knew that you could love him.

And for a minute there, when his warm body left your side, you felt the need to have him near. You knew that you would want him to stay one day, to keep him for yourself. 

But Jimin wasn’t a love to be tamed—he was dangerous. 

Playing with Jimin was like playing with an open flame. How long could you hold your hand over the fire before you got burned? Or worse? If you kept this up, you were sure the flame of his love would consume you, burn you inside out till all that was left of your heart was ashes. 

“And if I ask you to leave and never come back. . .Could you do that?”

Jimin blinked, surprised. And for a second, it almost looked like your request hurt him. But then his expression shifted into the laissez-faire smile you knew all too well.

He dropped his hand from your cheek. “So it’s over? Just like that?”

“I don’t think we’re very good for each other.”

“I thought that was the point?”

The opposition to your attraction was supposed to give you free rein: no ties, no binds, no real relationship. And no expectations—least of all, the expectation of staying.

“This is good, “said Jimin, reaching out to take your hand. “We’re good. You’re good for me.”

“Well, maybe you’re not good for me, Jimin. Have you ever thought of that?” you snapped.

Jimin slipped his hand from yours, and you winced at the ache the lack of contact left behind. “Sorry. . .” You said, voice breaking.

“One way or another, this was always going to end for good, right?” You’d instead end it now, before this feeling, this need for him could get any worse. You’d rather be lonely than risk the pain of love.

“Is that what you want?” 

“Yes.”It was the best decision, even if you couldn’t look him in the eye as you made it. Still, you could see his jaw clench as he steeled himself against your words.

“Fine, then,” said Jimin, running his fingers through his long brown locks. “I’ll leave and never come back.”

He doesn’t need much to cross the room and finish dressing. But the silence of his movements took up all the space in the room, making minutes feel like hours.

“Just remember you asked for this, (Y/n).” 

You can’t help but look up when you hear the door click open, searching for something in the look he casts behind. Something more than a goodbye. 

But there’s nothing there. All you see is the broken look in Jimin's eyes and the door closing behind him. 

“You—not me.”

[fastcardotmp3]

tagged by my adored alex @gothbat99 to do a little self-love moment 🥹💛

rules: post five of your favorite fics that you've written and talk about why you love them. tag some mutuals so they can do the same and we can all spread some positivity about our writing ❤️

✨someone else's favorite song - 120k | rated E - I swing wildly on the pendulum between loving this fic for all that it is and wanting desperately to Fix It, but lately I've felt a lot of pride in this thing, warts and all. I went into this one thinking I was the extent of the audience for it and let the stream of consciousness muscle pull it out of me without much forethought, but ended up finding so much connection to the people reading it who felt seen or understood in some way in their own grieving processes. No matter where I am on the pendulum of feelings about this story, I am never not grateful that my own little catharsis has been able to create a sort of 'not aloneness' every time someone is kind and courageous enough to share their own stories with me in the comments 💛

✨that's just wasteland, baby! - 19k | rated E - I started writing this entirely because at the time I couldn't find any fics that really dived into what an apocalyptic Hawkins setting might look like and I wanted to READ it more than anything. It's so slice-of-life in that world and I had really so much fun building up the rules of the world and the dynamics between characters still in the fight but settled to an extent within a new normal to the point where even Steve can't even remember how long they've been doing it. 'the world ended but we're still going' is one of my favorite premises of all time and this universe is one I'm genuinely SO proud of without any equivocation about it UGH

✨how the light gets in - 29k (wip series) | rated T-E - if there are going to be one million and one versions of kas!Eddie (including my own) there HAS to be a kas!Chrissy and by god if I have to do it myself I WILL. Wheelingham is one of those things that just smacked me in the face one day when I realized the unending potential of taking a fridged girl, bringing her back to life, and making her kiss the final girl, like... COME ON. This series is a labor of love and it's truly such a joy to do a proper character study on two girls who have so much untapped potential built into their psyches. they're my babies I am holding them gently in my hands and never letting go :(((

✨METAMORPHOSES - 160k | rated E - I think of everything I've written for ST, this might be the thing that's most structurally sound writing-wise, like it's long enough that there are definitely spots it could use smoothing, but I am genuinely so proud of how it turned out and how it told the exact story I set out to tell. I love these characters, I love their little house in Indy, I love the ways they grow and regress in tandem, I LOVE THEM YOUR HONOR. Never has a vision I had at the start ended up feeling So Right to this extent and I will never stop screaming about this fic just you try to stop me 💚🐍

✨The Hawk - 10k (wip series) | rated T - "The Bear" AU that no one asked for but which I am wholly and completely enamored with only 2 'episodes' in. Another chance at a Nancy-centric story with the added bonus of getting to write so many POVs of a larger ensemble? Incoming Ronance and Lumax and Steddie and Jargyle?? Wheeler sibling dynamic exploration?? it's my DREAM tbh and it's surprisingly simple to slot our ST characters into this wildly different world because you know what! At the end of the day it's all just about family isn't it!!! UGH. Once I'm done with writing (redacted) trust that I will be launching myself back into this one full-force, I've got so many plans and I can't wait to show you all more of this world

(if you've already been tagged apologies but also) tagging! @kkpwnall @fragilecapric0rnn @judasofsuburbia @gideoncharov @figthefruitfaeth @cheatghost @stargyles @capriciouslyterminal @sharpbutsoft @hellsfireclub

[spaghettitigers]

in some ways, and others - arthur/eames

fic 1 of a self-imposed challenge to just write and not think too much on it, following themes. this one's is misunderstanding.

~~~

Eames doesn't remember how he got here.

That's the first thing really. There he is, tied to a chair whose legs stand at the edge of a pool, and the cool metal of a gun pressed to the side of his temple. The ropes on his wrists and chest are frayed slightly, where he feels the ends tickle his pinky. It's nighttime, a waning moon by the light, because his kidnapper may lack imagination but that has never stopped him from attempting flair.

"Arthur, darling,is this all necessary?" he asks, because if he's honest, there's an itch on his brow that's beginning to bother him more than he'd like to admit. 

Arthur clicks the safety off before moving in front of eames' precariously placed chair. His mouth is pursed into a tight, unamused line and while Eames is typically always prepared to wax poetic about Arthur's face, the narrowed eyes at least partially accomplish their mission of intimidation.

He's in a sour mood, Eames thinks, and because he's Eames, he so enjoys moments of little forethought, and says exactly that. He can't help who he is, it's in his blood, his DNA, the very fiber of his being-

"You seem in a terribly sour mood, love."

"Don't call me that," Arthur snaps, and then slower, reeling himself back to the cool and collected mask that Eames despises, "Why did you sell me out to Myers?"

The anger in his voice is subtle (Eames snorts internally at the thought, because none of this is subtle), but he can picture it in the undercurrent of Arthur's skin, slow and venomous. He looks delectable here,(Now is hardly the time to be thinking of his fingers in those chocolate curls, scrapes of teeth on his neck, a heavy hand squeezing the solid line of Arthu's waist - no, Eames is simply cursed to have memories of this). 

"This would go a lot faster if I knew what the bloody hell you're talking about," Eames replies.

The gun pushes closer. "Don't fuck with me Eames, I'm really not in the mood. Only 3 ppl in the world knew about the plan for Armstead Technology and who knew Myers would blow as many knee joints and break as many fingers as necessary to get the files from me, so," Arthur inhales deeply, "I'll ask again and only this once more, why did you do it?"

Eames' head spins as reality sinks in. Arthur believes every word. The tension of his forearm veins is stark in the blue reflected pool light, dancing across the fine hairs. 

"As flattered as I am about the theatrics, you truly didn't need to go so far on my accord. I haven't the faintest clue what you're on about, so when you're ready to have an adult conversation about this, I'll be right here." They're bold words, and he hopes on hope that his nonchalance hides his fear about the situation. 

Eames' head is yanked back by his hair, a sharp hiss escaping between his teeth. "Was the payoff worth it? I was this," Arthur emphasises, "close to being dropped into the Danube, just like this, so you'll excuse my impatience today."

"You think I'm playing? What's wrong with you, Arthur? I never even knew Armsweng, Amsterdam, whatever they are, before this, much less to sell you off to the highest bidder like cattle."

The grip on his hair has thankfully loosened, the tiniest fraction. Arthur's eyes bore into his, searching for the slip up that he's expecting, but Eames can only see fatigue and- a depth of something gone terribly wrong, like Arthur's world has turned itself inside and out. 

For the first time in the evening, Eames catches sight of the healing cut running parallel to Arthur's hairline, how Arthur keeps his gun hand strong but wavering just the tiniest bit, Arthur's microexpression of a wince when he pulled Eames' hair.

Arthur doesn't say anything yet, just staring as Eames examines him. And then: "I saw communiques in your Sao Paulo apartment from Cha. The money was impressive, even by my standards, and the last someone had seen you was Bucharest. I can put two and two together. I really should've known." The inference is left hanging in the air, a live wire.

Eames gapes at him. "I haven't been to Brazil in months. And I'm not stupid enough to grass up one of the best point men out there and piss off no doubt the countless fans of your work. Did my apartment look liveable any way to you? Because I know for a fact that my electricity was out and the plumbing broke ages ago."

His hair is finally released, and he catches the flash of doubt in time. Bingo.

"What did they do to you?"

Arthur's jaw locks, and there's more wounds on the underside of his jaw that Eames can glimpse from this angle. He's somehow sure that what he sees is only a fraction of the damage that's been done. 

"Arthur, I thought our relationship had more depth than that. What would I have to gain by getting rid of you?"

"That's not- you're-" Arthur groans, scraping a hand across his face, gun still held in his hand but thankfully, no longer pressed against his person. "You've always said you'd sell your own mother and her ducklings if the pay was good enough. What is anyone supposed to believe?"

Eames feels relief exhale through him. He's not 100% safe, he knows, not until he's been kicked awake and about 15,000 kilometres away from whatever seedy place Arthur has them camped out in.

A chair that definitely hadn't been there a moment ago is just far enough for Arthur to slump in and stretch his long legs. He looks drained as the day Mal died, a particularly unhappy memory that Eames can always perfectly recollect. Eidetic memories don't always come in handy, to many people's surprise.

"How low you must think of me, sweet." He wants to be shocked, but he knows that his own rumours and the reputation he had developed in the dreamsharing community is his own concoction. He's unsure why it bothers that Arthur thinks of him simply as everyone else. 

"Fuck." Arthur's head is in his hands, and there's the slightest tremble in his hands. Clearly, the man hadn't recovered from whatever treatment had been doled out to him. "Fuck."

Arthur surges up and there's a flash of reflected light before the ropes on Eames' chest are cut loose and he can barely react before Arthur turns the barrel onto himself, a clean shot to the neck.

~~~

By the time Eames figures out a way to kick himself awake, only the faint scent of Arthur's cologne remains. A hastily scribbled note sits on the night stand of the bed.

I'm sorry.

~~~~~~

(Years later, Arthur and Eames will come back together for the Fischer job, where Eames will confront Arthur about all the favours he's called to pull Eames from every pickle Eames found himself in, self inflicted or otherwise. He'll catch Arthur at a weak moment and convince him for a drink when they land in LA, high on life and success and the sweet sound of his bank account filling up and by some miracle, Arthur will agree with only three attempts of flirtation versus his regular arsenal of five. 

Arthur will flush so pretty in the yellow lighting of the dive bar, and apologise again about four times before Eames puts a hand over his. Arthur will pull away like he's been stung but it doesn't stop the blush or the way he turns away to gulp more beer with the smallest smile.

They'll go to bed together, and lie naked and touching, as Eames caresses each scar from all those years ago. He'll kiss each raised bump and feel this odd pull from his chest when he watches Arthur shiver each time. And slowly, he'll understand why Arthur couldn't do anything more to Eames that day, when Eames knows that had it been anyone else in that dream, they would've never seen him coming.)

[professorspork]

the big 'Faunus worldbuilding in Newsbees' post

as requested by EVER SO MANY OF YOU (!!), I now embark upon a post to talk much more about the Shallow Sea Verses and about the Faunus culture and worldbuilding I did for Newsbees. I've talked about them a little bit before, and I'll try not to repeat myself too much there but there's gonna be some overlap.

I imagine when some of you asked me to say more about this, what you were hoping for was like a "here's all this great stuff I came up with for other traditions that I never got to use in the fic!" and that is--not what this post is, sorry. by virtue of the fact that this was, ultimately, a literary device very much devised to move this story forward, I didn't spend a lot of time thinking about in in ways that weren't plot-relevant. if you have prompts for, like, "how would they do/think about X" I'm delighted to give it a think, but it's not something I have just lying around.

instead I'm gonna talk about how it came about, why I did it, and what my priorities were

okay so I'm gonna take this in... I guess chronological order is the best way to make sense of it

from the outset of the fic's conception, I knew that I wanted it to be a reflection of my values. like. it's about unionizing a workforce, it's about socially-conscious community-building and class struggle and FUCK COPS. to disregard the minority oppression of the Faunus (which you'll note is something I always capitalize, for what I should think are now-obvious parallel reasons) in a world and a story like that just felt... not just insulting, but downright stupid. a missed opportunity. and I've always felt like this subject deserved much greater forethought and much better execution than canon provided, which I think can be described most charitably as "mostly serviceable" but is mealy-mouthed, inconsistent, and both-sidesy-whattaboutist at way too many points for me to feel like it merits any credit. like. if you're gonna do catgirl racism and intra-community disagreements over praxis, you gotta actually do catgirl racism and intra-community disagreements over praxis, you know?

(gee, I'm sure you're shocked Sienna is very much alive in Newsbees, wonder why that is)

ANYHOO

so that was thing one.

thing two is that this is perhaps the GREATEST ARGUMENT I HAVE for why I prefer writing everything in advance and then posting on a schedule, because I knew it was something I could then find my way into and then retcon back in, if needed, and that I therefore had the entire canvas available to paint on. and it's a good thing, too, because it saved my ass multiple times plot-wise and not just in this worldbuilding way.

to combine those two thoughts, the first time ANY of this actually came up in the drafting process was when I hit the Ilia scene in chapter 6. I knew what I wanted Blake to say to Ilia in that moment, which she absolutely couldn't say, which was: "I said the Mourner's Kaddish."

which: that's already a lot to unpack, so let's do that a bit! the first thing that drew me towards formulating my conception of Faunus culture around parallels to the diasporic Jewish experience is, of course, "write what you know." I'm not a racial or ethnic minority but I am Jewish, and so it was something I could use the 'draw from wellspring of personal knowledge and emotion' part of my brain for, rather than the 'radically and empathetically imagine the other' part of my brain. I've seen all sorts of fanon Faunus ideas where people drew on different and likely personal interpretations-- including things like the Faunus having their own language, Faunus interpolations of the Maiden myths and other Remnant lore having different values or being scaled more towards the God of Animals, Faunus having their own foods... if someone not-me had written this fic, this could have manifested in any number of ways. because the Faunus don't fit neatly into my (very American) notions of race, religion, or even X-men style "maybe we should regulate the people who have nukes for hands" minority/majority frameworks, I had the freedom to use the one that had the most personal meaning to me... and to deviate from that when it suited and felt appropriate. Neon's rightfully combative stance about Faunus mistreatment and how she reacts to it, for example, is far more aligned with the experiences of my friends and loved ones who are POC than it is anything I've personally gone through as a Jew.

so!

knowing, then, what my destination was (a Faunus cultural framework that would have specific death rites and rituals), I worked backwards from there. what makes a culture FEEL lived in is that people LIVE in it, that it relates to their everyday lives as well as its most significant moments-- what do we eat? how do we treat guests in our home? how do we handle life cycle events (birth/marriage/death)? without a country of origin, as the Faunus have none-- they made Menagerie, not the other way around-- and not wanting to go TOO explicitly religious by having there actually be some sort of dogmatic (har har DOG-matic) text about the God of Animals, I instead lit upon the idea of old poems whose metaphors have been transformed into material gifts. this felt intuitive to me probably largely because I'm Jewish (we're called the People of the Book for a reason lmao, we're all about interpretation and re-interpretation of text) but also, honestly, because the written word is WILDLY IMPORTANT in newsbees. they work at a newspaper! there's a reason the very last words of the story are Blake saying "for the record," which is a reporting pun. in hindsight, however, this is also sort of Sappho-y, which is also neat and, again, shows that ALL the ways I've experienced my own Otherness show up here.

having a text then gave me a scale of orthodoxy to work from, as in "very traditional people still recite these texts in a ceremonial way," but also a background radiation-level casual level of interaction, which is "yeah I leave shells at graves because that's what my parents taught me and I don't even really know why." this also means that all Faunus have the same sort of playbook to work from, regardless of where they're from geographically or what kind of Faunus they are.

once I had that in place, I immediately realized that whatever traditional Mourner's Verse there would be probably would feel kind of insulting re: what happened to the Amitolas, which is why I came up with the Traveler's Verse workaround. and the second I came up with that, I knew I could use it to connect Ghira and Kali back into the text at the end-- I'd been wanting to find a way to do that and hadn't come up with a method.

the first draft of that scene then promptly infodumped every thought I could possibly have about the Verses, immediately. @theseerasures teased me that it read like a Codex entry from Mass Effect, and she was 100% right-- and it totally interrupted the flow of the VERY EMOTIONAL scene with Ilia, which wouldn't do at all.

and that's where the 'writing it all before posting it' thing comes in. that infodumping then became the scene at Doc's in chapter 3. this also solved another problem I had, which was that in the VERY first draft chapters 3 and 4 were one very long chapter. I'd subsequently split them, which left chapter 3 quite short-- but at that point, the moment where Blake is upstairs getting her snack was only a brief explanatory paragraph. moving the Verses stuff back made the chapter a chapter, so it did a lot of heavy lifting for me. wanting the Verses to feel integrated, I also at that point went back and added the engraving on Tukson's door to the prologue, so that it would be seeded in from the start.

which is kind of to say that ALL WRITING IS CHEATING. we get to manipulate circumstances to best suit our needs! callbacks feel elegant and cerebral, but they're actually a very blunt and easy tool to use-- you get tons of mileage out of just establishing something and then bringing it up all the time. I'd already written the thing about Tukson being picky about book damage, and so I let that become a part of the Verses lore by saying it was a Faunus thing, and then doubled down on it with the "throwing the book at Ghira" anecdote.

as for what things mean what, the basic rule I gave for myself is that everything had to be common and easily-obtainable for a community often left impoverished and on the margins. that's why so many of them are food-based, because that's a very "even if we have nothing else, we have THIS" sort of thing. when coming up with the thing that would represent love, I lit upon honey BEFORE i realized "oh duh, lmao, bees" because... I'm an idiot, but luckily I figured it out after a bit. I was very enamored of the idea of it representing not just sweetness, but industry (as in "busy bees"), that love takes steady and determined work. the second I did think it up, the Velvet gag gift ("they're making fun of me") sprang to mind, though ironically it wasn't necessarily tied to the Mantle Bee yet, though that was also already a concept on the page.

probably the hardest thing to come up with was the NOT-honey gift for the epilogue (which ended up being nuts for growth), because I was like... is it a pen and paper for a first job? Is that too bougie? maybe a cute little desk succulent? but what would it represent?

and yeah, that's pretty much how I got there. it was a question of making something specific enough that it would feel authentic, but open-ended enough that I could make up whatever I wanted to suit the moment and have it all feel of a piece. from there, it was just about USING it-- keeping it in the back of my mind in Faunus-related scenes to see if there were ways I could weave it in somehow.

phew! okay I think that's pretty much everything. if anyone is so very enamored of the Verses that they'd like to use them for their own fics, you certainly have my permission to do so (with a link back to Newsbees for credit, please). I'm intrigued to see what you'd do with them! but also, like-- I love how multi-faceted and varied different interpretations of Faunus lore can be, and I'd love to see what y'all come up with for your own systems!

CONSIDER THE GAUNTLET THROWN. HAVE FUN OUT THERE.

<3

[aetherdoesthings]

Hallo friend!

I hope you're doing well! May I request a platonic arlecchino with younger sibling!reader that brings home Clorinde, Navia, or Furina as their partner to introduce? No smut, just some tension and protectiveness from the (traumatized) pale haired harbinger! Thank you!

🍌anon

hallo 🍌anon! nice to meet you :D

forethoughts: sooooo i'm an only child, and i don't really understand sibling dynamics, so this is my interpretation of how a sibling would react to their younger sibling bringing someone home. nevertheless i hope you enjoy it! also my one piece people i promise i'm going back to writing one piece again i swear i'm just trying to dig my way out of the genshin rabbit hole i fell into 😭.

notes: gn!reader, protective!arlecchino

“Relax, Clorinde, Arle’s probably asleep or at work. She’s never at home.” You whispered, suppressing a giggle as you held onto your girlfriend’s hand, ushering her into your house. You and your older sibling, Arlecchino-otherwise The Knave-lived together in a mansion far away from the city of Fontaine. 

Clorinde rolled her eyes, as she followed you up to the door. “And if she catches us?”

“I’ll cover you. Don’t worry. Arle’s really nice.”

“Y/N, she’s a Harbinger.”

“Yeah, I’m not proud of her life choices but she’s still my sister and I love her. Come on.” You frowned, feigning disappointment as you put on your best puppy eyes.

A grin appeared on Clorinde’s face as you opened the door. The house was empty and dark, blades of moonlight cutting through the darkness through the glass panes that lined the walls. 

“See? Not at home-”

A single lamp turned on behind you, illuminating the dark room. Clorinde inhaled sharply, prompting you to turn around and face your sibling.

“Normally, I would excuse it if you came home after dark, but at two in the morning?” Arlecchino’s voice was low and stern, leaving no room for excuses or possible sucking up. 

“I didn’t know you were home today, Arle.” You hesitantly chuckled.

“Just because I am away does not mean I turn a blind eye to your actions.” Arlecchino glared at Clorinde, who held her glare at the Harbinger. “How long has this… thing been going on for, Y/N?”

“...two months.”

Arlecchino narrowed her eyes, furrowing her brows. “I was not aware you fancied the champion duelist.”

“Hey, Clorinde’s more than her title!” You exclaimed adamantly, holding onto Clorinde’s hand.

“I can leave if I am interrupting something-”

“Stay.” Both you and Arlecchino whipped your head at the champion duelist. She shrugged, staying still in her spot, her hand still in yours.

“Oh, little sibling,” Arlecchino sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “The champion duelist? Out of every other Fontainian?”

“Is that a problem?” You scoffed.

“No, no, but you could have done so much better.”

You placed a hand on Clorinde’s shoulder, glaring at your expressionless sister. “Hey! Stop being mean to my girlfriend! You always do this, judging people without ever actually knowing them! If you had a conversation with Clorinde, you’d know that-” 

“I was not talking to you, Y/N.”

You could hear Clorinde trying to hold back a chuckle as she placed a hand on yours, rubbing small circles around your thumb to calm you down.

“What’s your deal, Arlecchino? Won’t even let me date? Won’t even let me outside the house without two Fatui agents trailing me?” You scoffed.

“I could care less about how you spend your time. The only thing I care about is your wellbeing.”

“I’m perfectly healthy and safe when I’m around Clorinde. I don’t need you to worry. And if you even care about my wellbeing, you wouldn’t be hounding me 24/7 for my location and status, you overprotective idiot.”

You glared at Arlecchino, and Arlecchino returned your glare. “As your older sibling, I have a say in your safety and wellbeing. Perhaps I am overprotective, but blood runs thicker than water.”

“Well, thanks for your ‘concern’, but I’m pretty safe around Clorinde.” You huffed, emphasizing your point by wrapping your arms around Clorinde.

Arlecchino scoffed. “Stubborn as always, Y/N. When will you learn?”

“Shut up!”

Arlecchino sighed, standing up. “You should be heading back to your room now, Y/N. I’ll see your… partner out.”

“But-”

Your sister’s glare told you that she was in no mood to argue or negotiate, the crimson crosses in her eyes flickering. You rolled your eyes at her, before turning to Clorinde with an apologetic look. “I’m sorry about her. I’ll talk to you tomorrow, okay?”

“It’s alright. You don’t need to apologize.” Clorinde smiled. You planted a soft kiss on Clorinde’s lips, knowing Arlecchino had pursed her hips and wrinkled her nose in disgust. Good. You glared at your sister one last time before heading back to your room.

Arlecchino sighed. “I care for Y/N; they are my sibling at the end of the day. They are my only…true family. I understand that to them it is difficult to find a significant other due to their tie to me and my affiliation. While I will not understand what you saw in my sibling, I suppose seeing their outburst to my comments about you is enough for me to infer that they do care about you deeply.”

“I understand you care for your sibling, Knave. I would expect any sibling to do so. I promise you, I will do my utter best to make your sibling happy and safe; I will protect them with my life. Y/N means the world to me, and I will treat them with the respect they deserve.” Clorinde responded, dipping her head at the Harbinger.

“Good. Good.” Arlecchino held the door open. “You better, champion duelist, otherwise it will be your own back you will need to watch to, not just your clients. Have a good night.”

[cb-writes-stuff]

Writer Questionnaire

Thank you @ari-writes-things for the tag! I’ve wanted to do one of these for a while.

It’s very long, and I frequently scroll through my blog. Hence, it’s going under a cut.

How long have you had your writing tumblr/writeblr? A fast and loose estimate is fine!

A little over a month.

What led you to create it?

I wanted to share my stuff (writing related and not) with people who’d like it so I’m not just sending my thoughts into the void.

What’s your favorite thing about the writeblr community?

I haven’t interacted with it much, but I like how much variety there is! And how people actually exist who want to talk about writing.

What’s one thing you’d like your mutuals to know about you?

Um… I don’t know. I guess that I’m shy. I’d love to talk, but I never know what to talk about. If I don’t interact with you much, it’s not because I don’t like you! I just don’t know how to start a conversation.

Is there anything you’d like to see more of on your dash?

Writing snippets from people I know and stories I’m following.

Which wips or writing projects have you been noodling about lately?

Just my main wip, Project Opal.

Do you remember what inspired them/what got you started?

It sounds kinda stupid, but I had a dream once. That dream has nothing to do with the story in its current state, but it’s what got me started on this project.

How much time, in your best estimation, do you spend thinking about them?

A few to several hours a day, I’d say.

When someone asks the dreaded, “what do you write about,” question, what do you usually say?

I usually shrug. But if I’m pressed for an answer, I just say fantasy.

Name any characters you created. side characters, protagonists, antagonists, characters who’ve never been written, the first original abomination you ever pulled from your rear; whomever you’d like

Hmm… Let’s see. I don’t really wanna spoil anything, and I’m gonna be talking about the main characters soon…

Oh, “never been written”? Well. Lemme talk about Sils. (Yes, I’ll talk more about her later, and she’s an unrevealed character. I’m fine with it.) There’s so much about her that’ll make her act weird, but not in the usual kind of weird. I really look forward to writing her.

Who's the most unhinged?

Probably Ven, I think. He’s not exactly unhinged, but he’s the most willing to do stupid things with minimal forethought.

Who comes the most naturally for you to write?

Probably Lynn. Being the most English certainly helps in that regard.

Do you ever cringe at them?

No? I haven’t written very much of my wip, so I might in the future.

How much control do you feel you have over your characters? do they ever “write themselves,” refuse to cooperate, or do things you didn’t expect? To what degree? Are some less cooperative than others?

Quite a bit. Sometimes too much, perhaps. The problem-fixer in me wants to fix all the problems and avoid conflict.

Do you enjoy people asking questions about your characters? and do you have a preferred means of receiving said questions? for example, as asks, as replies, as reblogs, as tag notes, as comments on ao3, etc.

ABSOLUTELY. Ask me anything. I would love to talk about my characters. And I’ll take questions in any form!

What makes you want to follow another writeblr account? Do you follow ‘em as you see ‘em, or take time scoping out the blog to make sure you align with its content? Do you follow based on wips, or vibes?

I make sure to check a blog out before I follow it. Some stuff really isn’t good for me to see, so I try to avoid it.

Mainly, I follow for vibes. But I also like wips, of course!

Do you interact with non-mutuals often?

No, but just because I’m bad at it. It’s kinda hard when I don’t know them. Social anxiety doesn’t help.

Do your mutuals’ characters occupy space in your noodle?

Honestly, I haven’t read enough of their stuff for that. I’d love to, though!

Now, to tag my writer moots…

@xenascribbles @avdlwriting @die-in-beautiful-stars-tonight @orion-lacroix @threedaysgross @funkytrashcan @severevoiddragon @thebookishkiwi @alex-books-and-stuff and anyone else who wants to do it! And if you’re a writer moot of mine and I didn’t tag you here (probably because I didn’t know or forgot), consider yourself tagged! (No pressure, of course!)

[butmakeitgayblog]

Did you ever think about Bellamy telling Clarke that they need a plan in Mount Weather that doesn’t kill everyone after he sees a kid with the last name Lovejoy? After killing the kid’s dad no less. Was that foreshadowing that by killing everyone in Mount Weather, Clarke would be killing all the love and joy she had felt/might feel in the future?

I mean this as nicely as possible, but fr do not give this show one ounce of credit beyond what you see on screen. 90% of the fantastic meta and in-depth analysis/backstory/continuity that's been attributed to this show has been entirely fan made. We took crumbs and made bread. These mfs did nOt think that deeply about it.

Like for example, I remember when Lexa's tattoo changed and we all noticed and questioned like omg that must have meaning right? There's meaning there, was it for the mountain, was it for Clarke??? And the showrunners were like 'ahahah 😅😅 well you'll uhhh have to figure that on your own I guess ahaha it's a secret 😅😅😅.' Turned out, they'd just changed it because it fit better on Alycia's noodle arm with the added piece 😐

I just, I cannot stress enough how fucking shallow and badly written a lot of this stuff was. There was very little forethought to anything, you can tell a lot of seasons were just slapped together from one to the next, grappling at past things and pasting then together rather than actually having this broadly complex, thoughtfully crafted storyline. And I don't necessarily entirely blame the actual writing room, I think they were probably hostages to jrot's ~groundbreaking vision~. Another perfect example, the flame. That,,, Did. Not. Exist. In season 2. It didn't. Neither did Titus. Lexa very clearly talks about reincarnation and she never mentions the chip or Titus or anything. It's never even addressed wtf would've happened if she'd been eATEN BY A GD GORILLA! Like am I supposed to believe that Titus would've then gone to TonDC and,,, been on Pauna poo checks??? Would baldy have been sifting through every pile in the woods that he could find trying to get back the chip????

Ya see what I'm saying? It's nonsense.

As potentially poetic as something like the name having meaning could've been, fr don't give this show that much credit. More than likely one of the writers had just watched Titanic recently and remembered the name Lovejoy in it and thought 'heyyy that sounds pretty' 🤷‍♀️