#I want to make one about her other stories but maybe this is too much spam

[threeacttragedy]

Entry 19: The One Where I Perform Mis-Directed as a Three Act Comedy, Act II

“Before you started the bumpers cars act, for the record unless you’re eight years old trying to make your dolls kiss, smashing your teeth together is not an ideal approximation of romance.”

“And [Hattie’s] gaze fell to [Anthony’s], felt as if somehow it was attached to his, as if there were filaments between them hooking together every time their glances connected.”

“Maybe there had already been the faintest glimmer of this horrifying attachment even then. His first steps on a map to a very unexpected destination but somehow it still felt as if there’d been no warning at all. As if a thousand insignificant moments and incidents had quietly woven together until one day he’d turned and he’d fallen and he’d been caught by a net of those impossibly unbreakable threads which he hadn’t realized existed.”

“…[Anthony] was not a touchy-feely person… But when he and Hattie, when their characters had kissed each other into the wall, he’d almost purred against her like a damn cat.”

“It was a closed set this morning so thankfully a very minimal number of crew personnel…On the flip side, the team reserved this level of set closure, basically a skeleton crew, for only the most explicit scenes and semi-nudity.”

“But she never had to worry in the past about being more involved in the dance than she ought to be. Not once had she arranged herself in a castmate’s arms and felt as if they were doing something truly, genuinely intimate…"

“Quite clearly the issue here was her scene partner and the potential for an amped up repeat of what had happened last time. Hard nipples, damp thighs, and a heart trying to burst out of her chest, all from a fully clothed screen kiss. This time, they’d both be all but naked, writhing on a bed, gasping, grinding, sighing.”

“This mattress feels very sturdy.”

“The moment Iris bounces him into the mattress in episode 8..."

“If millions of people were going to watch her ride Anthony like a mechanical bull…”

“Stevie pointed at the ornate mirror near the bed. Her gesture a spectacular symphony of sarcasm. ‘As your pre-seduction routine appears to involve a great deal of hair flicking and smokey glances at yourself, have at it.’”

“Are you looking for something?”

“‘Falling buckets,’ Hattie said. ‘Or collapsing bedframes or beams coming loose…’”

“…when the floorboard beneath [Anthony’s] boot performed a preemptive strike. The wood tilted inwards, just enough to throw off his footing…and his full body weight surged forward. She could see later in hindsight that he had attempted to both shield her head and not crush her underneath him…"

“Anthony landed on his knees with a painful grunt but had barely hit the floor before he was at her side, touching the back of her head and her shaking shoulders. She just had time to register a little too much cool air on the backs of her thighs, then he was smoothing her skirts down protecting what remained of her dignity in an automatic gesture.”

“’Gentle, this bit,’ [Stevie] said. “Romantic, soft.”

“But in the ways that mattered, especially in the context of an intimate scene and the scripts that they all dreaded most, he’d been surprising. If she wanted to expand into the territory of actual truth, he’d been the most confusing, unsettling, and fun scene partner she’d had in four years.”

“They were still holding hands. They realized this simultaneously and let go immediately.”

“’She’s my baby,’ [Cassidy] explained as she turned the key in the ignition. ‘The first thing I ever treated myself to with my own money, and she’s been with me for the whole crazy ride.’ She patted the gear box fondly. ‘I could never part with Penelope.’”

When discussing the underdog love story on Leicester Square, Hattie commented, “If she were a viewer, she’d be shipping them hard.”

While Anthony and Hattie were looking at gravestones, one caught Hattie’s eye…

“The dates here coincided with the time period of Leicester Square… Below the words was a symbol of a V-shaped flying dove. At first glimpse, it strongly resembled two raised fingers.”

While reminiscing about growing up, Hattie recalled, “...her mother reading aloud to her from a battered old copy of The Magic Faraway Tree.”

“’Do you remember the day we first met,’ [Hattie] asked suddenly."

“In all honesty, no. His early days on various TV and film sets had all blurred into an archived jumble of long hours, interchangeable costars, despised hotel living. As difficult as it was to imagine now, he had no distinct memory of the very first time he had ever seen Hattie. Although, he might have a vague recollection of earrings shaped like miniature garden gnomes. He did, however, have a crystal-clear memory of the first time he’d actually seen Hattie with all that the emphasis on that word implied.”

“She’d obviously read the ‘no’ in his expression, and her smile widened.”

“’It was a Tuesday morning at Malvern Abbey.’”

“And now she felt excessively wrong sharing close whispering breaths with Patrick especially with Anthony sitting on a folding chair a few meters behind the camera awaiting his queue to slip in for the daydream portion of the scene, and currently watching their every move. His pose was typically lazy, one boot crossed over the other, his fingers tapping on the arm of the chair, but he hadn’t looked away from them once. Something in his demeanor had the usually easy-going Patrick antsy as hell, probably the twitching eyelid.”

“’A definite improvement,’ Stevie’s voice came from behind them, very dryly. ‘And if we’d actually started shooting yet, we could probably call it a day.’”

[evermoreness]

hi lovely!! i had a random idea for a fic where reader is harry’s kindergarten teacher and he lets it slip to you that single dad james thinks she’s pretty? im just imaging a little 5 year old letting that information slip like it’s the most casual thing in the world and meanwhile james is dying of embarrassment hahahha. i just thought it would be cute :)

— This idea is so cute! Thanks for sharing with me, hope you like it! @iloveremmy

secret crush | james potter

pairing: james potter x muggle!reader

summary: dad!james is definitely ready to love again after some time, he just didn't think it would be harry's kindergarten teacher.

obs: feel free to send any requests!

masterlist

The small classroom was filled with laughter, crayons, and the chaotic energy only a group of five-year-olds could create. The walls were covered in colorful drawings, some resembling actual objects and others looking more like abstract masterpieces only a parent could pretend to understand.

At the front of the room stood y/n, the most beloved teacher in the entire kindergarten. She had a natural warmth about her, making every child feel special. She was also quick-witted and funny, always finding a way to make the most mundane things exciting. Her students adored her.

And at the center of it all, sitting on one of the tiny chairs like he was some kind of prince, was Harry Potter.

Harry was an interesting child—smart, playful, and with a sass level that could rival a teenager. He had a mop of messy black hair that never seemed to stay put, big green eyes that sparkled with mischief, and a personality far too charming for a five-year-old.

He had been extra sassy today, insisting he was "way too advanced" for their ABC exercises and that "Uncle Moony reads him much harder books." You had learned by now to just nod along when Harry said bizarre things like that.

You had taken a particular liking to him. Not that you played favorites (at least, not openly), but something about Harry made you want to protect him even more than the other kids. Maybe it was the fact that he was being raised by a single dad, or maybe it was the way he always looked at you with that cheeky little grin whenever he was about to say something absurd.

Right now, that cheeky grin was in full force.

"Miss y/l/n," Harry said, swinging his legs under the table as he colored.

"Yes, love?" you replied, crouching down to his level.

He leaned in as if he was about to share the most confidential secret of his life. "My dad thinks you're pretty."

You blinked.

Oh.

Oh!

You opened your mouth to respond, but Harry, apparently very pleased with himself, continued. "He says you're too young to have this many kids"

Well, you definitely held back the laughter, but as you didn't have an answer to that, you just changed subjects. You leaned over to glance at Harry’s drawing. It was a messy but clearly heartfelt attempt at a stick figure version of himself and his dad, complete with what looked like… a broomstick?

“That’s a great drawing, Harry!” you praised, ruffling his hair. “Is that you and your dad?”

Harry nodded, proudly holding up his masterpiece. “Yeah! That’s me, and that’s Daddy, and he’s flying really fast on his broom because he’s the best at Quidditch!”

Let's say Harry Potter was a really imaginative kid. He would always say some really funny stories about witches and sometimes, he would full on create new words. Like he was just doing now. You found it cute, but little did you know that it was actually all true.

You grinned. “I bet he is.”

Harry’s little legs swung as he beamed. “Yeah! And he says he used to be the best Seeker at Hogwarts! I wanna be like him when I grow up!”

“That’s a great dream,” you said, genuinely warmed by how much Harry admired his father.

James was tall, lean, and had the same messy hair as his son. He was dressed casually, but there was something effortlessly charming about him. And then there were his eyes—warm, hazel, and currently widening in horror as he realized what his son was in the middle of saying.

"And my dad also said—oh, hey, Dad!" Harry greeted, as if he hadn’t just delivered a verbal nuke seconds before.

James, who had clearly heard enough, looked like he wanted the earth to swallow him whole. "Harry," he started, his voice a little strained, "what exactly have you been telling Miss y/l/n?"

Harry, completely unfazed, gestured at his teacher. "I was just telling her how you think she's pretty."

You had to bite the inside of your cheek to keep from laughing. You found it cute how a grown man was becoming all flustered right now.

“I mean—” James rubbed the back of his neck. “I might have said something along the lines of you being… you know… a good teacher.”

Harry frowned. “No, you didn’t.”

James glared at his son. A warning look. A look that screamed drop it, drop it now, child.

Harry, of course, did not drop it.

James let out an awkward, nervous laugh, running a hand through his already messy hair. "Yeah, um, I don't know where he got that from—"

"You said it last night," Harry reminded him. "When you were talking to Uncle Pads and you said—"

"Okay, that's enough, kiddo!" James cut in quickly, picking up Harry like he was a sack of potatoes. His face was an interesting shade of pink now. "Time to go, say goodbye to your teacher!"

Harry, enjoying this far too much, gave you a knowing look before waving. "Bye, Miss! See you tomorrow! Oh, and it's okay! My dad only likes you a little bit."

James groaned. "Oh, for Merlin's sake—"

You, to your credit, simply gave James a bright, amused smile. "It’s fine. Kids say the funniest things."

James, still trying to compose himself, let out a breath. "Yeah. They do."

You tilted your head, studying him for a second. "Though, I have to say, you do have a very smart kid. And very honest."

James gave you a sheepish smile. "Yeah… unfortunately, he gets that from his mother."

There was a flicker of something in his eyes—something sad, something that made you instinctively soften your tone. "She must've been wonderful."

James nodded. "Yeah. She really was."

For a moment, there was a comfortable silence between them. Then, because James couldn't handle any more embarrassment today, he awkwardly cleared his throat. "Right. Well. We'll be going now. Before Harry decides to share my entire life story."

You grinned. "That’s probably a good idea. Have a good evening, Harry. James."

James hesitated for half a second, then nodded. "You too."

As he walked out, still carrying a smug-looking Harry, you couldn't help but shake your head, laughing quietly to yourself.

James Potter, huh?

This was going to be interesting.

As soon as they were outside, James crouched down and gave Harry a look of pure exasperation. “Alright, Prongslet. Why?”

Harry just grinned up at him, utterly unapologetic. “I like Miss y/n. You like Miss y/n. Uncle Padfoot said you should talk to her more. I was helping.”

James dropped his head in his hands. “You and Sirius are banned from talking to each other ever again.”

The aftermath

James Potter was dying.

Not literally—he had survived multiple Quidditch accidents, a war, and Voldemort himself—but right now, standing outside of Harry’s kindergarten classroom, he was convinced that actual death would be less painful than the secondhand embarrassment he had just experienced.

His five-year-old son, his sweet, traitorous, utterly clueless son, had just casually exposed his very real, very secret crush on Miss y/n.

He was never showing his face in that classroom again.

…Okay, that was a lie.

He’d be back tomorrow.

And the next day.

And the day after that.

Because Harry loved school, and James definitely wasn’t going to pull him out just because he got caught being a pathetic twenty-five-year-old with a schoolboy crush on his kid’s teacher.

But, Merlin’s beard, how was he supposed to look you in the eyes again?

But instead, he found himself standing there like an idiot, because—screw it—he wasn’t actually opposed to talking to you.

At first, James had been mortified, barely able to meet your eyes when he picked up his son. But as the days went by, he found himself lingering a little longer each time. It started small—asking how Harry was doing, if he was behaving (spoiler: he wasn’t), and if he was making friends.

But then your conversations stretched longer.

“So, uh,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck, “I actually wanted to talk to you about Harry.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

James nodded, trying to look serious. “Yeah. His, uh… behavior.”

You blinked, looking at Harry, who was currently playing with another student and doing absolutely nothing wrong.

“…His behavior?” you echoed.

James cleared his throat. “Yes. It’s, uh, very concerning.”

You folded your arms, clearly humoring him. “What exactly is concerning about it?”

James hesitated. “Well. You know. The talking thing.”

You bit your lip, trying not to laugh. “The talking thing?”

James sighed, knowing you weren’t buying it. “Yeah. You know. The way he just… talks. No filter. Says things. About me.”

You did laugh then, shaking your head. “James, you do realize that’s completely normal for his age, right?”

James groaned. “I was hoping you’d say there was a cure.”

You grinned. “Afraid not.”

James huffed, but there was a smile playing at his lips now. “Brilliant. Well, at least tell me—how do I make sure he doesn’t casually ruin my life every time he opens his mouth?”

You shrugged. “Sorry, but I think you’re doomed.”

James sighed dramatically. “That’s what I thought.” He glanced at Harry again, who was still happily playing, then looked back at you. “Well, I guess I should be glad he didn’t say anything too bad.”

You smirked. “Oh, no, just that you think I’m really pretty and smile a lot when you talk about me.”

James groaned. “Merlin’s sake, why would you repeat it?”

You laughed. “Because it’s funny.”

James shot her a look. “For you, maybe.”

You tilted your head, grinning. “Oh, come on, James. It’s not that bad.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You do realize that I’m going to be forced to relocate and change my name now, right?”

You snorted. “Is that so?”

“Yes,” James deadpanned. “I’ll be John Smith from now on. You’ve never met me before in your life.”

You shook your head, still laughing. “Well, John Smith, if it makes you feel any better…” you hesitated for a second, then shrugged, your voice softer. “I don’t mind what Harry said.”

James froze.

Your eyes were warm, teasing but also… something else.

And suddenly, James realized—maybe this wasn’t as embarrassing as he thought.

Maybe Harry had just given him the best excuse in the world to talk to the woman he’d been secretly crushing on.

And maybe—just maybe—he was okay with that.

For the first time that day, James grinned.

“Well then,” he said. “In that case, I think I can survive the humiliation.”

You chuckled. “Glad to hear it.”

From that day forward, James’s routine of picking Harry up from school became a little different.

At first, he told himself he was just being polite—nothing wrong with staying an extra minute or two to talk to Harry’s teacher, right? Totally normal. Every parent did that.

Except every time, those one or two minutes stretched longer.

And longer.

Until one day, he realized he was actively looking forward to pick-up time—not just to see Harry, but because he’d get to talk to you.

Getting to know each other

James had fully intended to keep his distance after the Incident—as he now called it in his head. He had absolutely not planned to linger when picking up Harry, nor did he intend to talk to you for longer than necessary. But that's not exactly what happened since they had been talking a lot lately.

"Everything good today?" James would ask, standing at the doorway.

"Harry was a little sassy during storytime," you would say, amused. "He insisted he already knew how it ended and started narrating over me."

James sighed, rubbing his temple. "Of course, he did. Did he at least get it right?"

"Surprisingly, yes," you said. "Honestly, he’s way too smart for a five-year-old."

James smirked. "He gets it from me, obviously."

"Oh, obviously," you teased, raising an eyebrow.

And then, the next day…

"Harry told me today that he was going to ‘summon his broom’ to get out of naptime."

James coughed. "Uh. Kids have wild imaginations, don’t they?"

"Mhm," you said, amused. "Though, I have to say, that’s a very specific thing to imagine."

James quickly changed the subject.

And then, the next day after that...

He found himself lingering near your desk, watching Harry shove his tiny arms into his backpack with all the grace of a rampaging hippogriff.

“So,” James started, leaning against the desk, “should I be worried about his academic future, or is struggling with backpack logistics a phase?”

You grinned. “Don’t worry, it’s a phase. I think.”

James sighed dramatically. “Merlin’s sake, that’s a relief. I was beginning to think I’d have to enroll him in some kind of Backpack Etiquette for Beginners course.”

You chuckled. “Well, I do give him stickers when he remembers to pack up neatly.”

James blinked. “That’s brilliant.”

You shrugged, smirking. “Bribery works wonders at this age.”

James laughed. “Noted.”

And just like that, their conversation stretched past the usual parent-teacher exchange.

James found himself not in a rush to leave.

You didn’t seem to mind.

And Harry, for once, didn’t interrupt with any more mortifying revelations.

A win for James.

A week later, James arrived earlier than usual and found you organizing a small shelf of children’s books.

“Expanding their literary horizons?” he asked, stepping closer.

You looked up, smiling. “Trying to. Some of them are still convinced books are just really boring building blocks.”

James smirked. “Ah, yes. The tragic underappreciation of literature.”

You chuckled. “Exactly.” you tilted your head. “Did you like reading when you were a kid?”

James shrugged. “I liked it. But I wasn’t the sit-quietly-and-read type. That was Remus.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Remus?”

“My best mate,” James explained. “Loves books. Absolute nightmare when you try to pull him away from one.”

You grinned. “Sounds like the kind of student I’d love to have.”

“Oh, absolutely,” James said. “Meanwhile, I was the kid causing problems in the back of the class.”

You pretended to gasp. “You? Causing trouble? I would never have guessed.”

James smirked. “Shocking, I know.”

You fell into easy conversation after that, sharing stories about school, books, and the different kinds of students you had over the years.

James barely noticed the time passing.

Neither did you.

"Alright, I have to ask," you said one day, arms crossed as you leaned against the doorway. "What’s up with Harry and the ‘Uncles’?"

James blinked. "What do you mean?"

"He talks about Uncle Padfoot and Uncle Moony constantly," you said. "Are they even real people?" you said, knowing that those names were definitely not usual. Maybe they were imaginary friends.

James tried not to laugh, he couldn't explain it to you in a detailed way, you were a Muggle after all. "Padfoot and Moony are my best mates. They are very real. It's just their nicknames. Padfoot is Sirius, Moony is Remus."

You smiled, trying to understand why they were even called that. "I swear, sometimes Harry sounds like a tiny old man when he quotes them."

James laughed. "That… yeah, that tracks. They’ve been around his whole life."

You smirked. "So, which one gives the worst advice?"

"Oh, definitely Sirius," James said immediately. "He told Harry once that he could read his mind and my poor kid spent the rest of the week scared to think"

You burst out laughing. "That’s terrible!"

"I know!" James said, grinning. "Remus had to be the voice of reason that day, convincing Harry that his uncle couldn't read his mind"

The small talk everyday was becoming a habit.

James would ask about your day, and you would roll your eyes and dramatically recount whatever chaos had ensued in your classroom—kids throwing crayons, glue disasters, the occasional crying over absolutely nothing. You were expressive, funny, and had this energy that James found… comforting.

You, in turn, asked about James—not just about Harry but about him. His work, his hobbies, things he liked. And James found himself telling you, actually enjoying your chats instead of awkwardly stumbling over his words like he thought he would.

But, of course, Harry noticed.

"Dad," Harry groaned one afternoon as James leaned against the classroom doorway, chatting away with you while other parents picked up their kids. "You’re doing it again."

James blinked down at his son. "Doing what, Prongslet?"

Harry huffed dramatically, grabbing his tiny backpack. "Talking and talking and talking."

You burst into laughter. "Oh no, Potter, you’ve been caught."

James narrowed his eyes at his son. "Maybe I like talking to your teacher, kiddo."

Harry groaned even louder, stomping toward the door. "Ugh, come on! We're always the last ones now!"

You laughed, nudging Harry’s nose playfully. "Oh, come on, am I that bad?"

Harry sighed dramatically. "No, but Daddy talks to you too much."

James cleared his throat. "Well, I just—y’know—parent stuff. Making sure you’re doing okay."

Harry squinted at him. "Uh-huh. Sure, Dad."

You smirked. "Guess I must be very interesting, huh?"

James ran a hand through his hair, looking away. "Uh… yeah. I mean, no—I mean—"

You just chuckled and waved at Harry. "See you tomorrow, little tornado."

Harry grumbled something under his breath about adults being annoying and led the way out.

James followed, but not before sneaking one last glance at you.

Getting some advice (from the professionals)

By the time a couple of weeks had passed, James knew he had to do something.

Because this? This standing-in-the-doorway-every-day-for-way-too-long thing? This was not normal behavior. He wasn’t just talking to you about Harry anymore. He liked talking to you, period.

And that? That was terrifying.

You were the first person he’d felt anything for since Lily. It wasn’t the same—Lily had been his great, big, all-consuming love. But you? You were warmth, laughter, easy conversations, and teasing smiles. And that was something.

Which meant he was going to do the scariest thing he’d done since facing off against Voldemort.

He was going to ask you out.

Sirius and Remus, of course, had opinions.

"You just gotta charm her, Prongs," Sirius said confidently, lounging on James' couch. "Lay it on thick—tell her she’s the most beautiful woman you’ve ever seen, maybe throw in a ‘your eyes shine brighter than the stars’—"

Remus snorted from his chair. "Yes, James. Do that. That definitely won’t make her think you’re a lunatic."

Sirius furrowed his brows at his boyfriend "Hey! I think it worked wonders when i charmed you to like me"

Remus gave him a look "When did exactly you charmed me, pads?"

Sirius was quick to answer "Second year, of course, and it worked!"

Remus was trying not to laugh "Do you actually know that it didn't work, i just liked you back?"

Before Sirius could even snap back, his face surprised, James groaned, dropping his head into his hands. "I don’t need to charm her. I just… need to not make a fool of myself."

Sirius smirked. "Well, that’s impossible. But, hey, shoot your shot."

James was pacing his living room, gripping his hair. "I can’t do it. I can’t do it."

Sirius was looking deeply amused. "You, the James Potter, too scared to ask a woman out? This is history in the making."

Remus, sitting in an armchair, gave a long-suffering sigh. "James, it’s just coffee."

"Just coffee? Moony, I haven’t dated since Lily!" James threw his hands up. "What if she says no? What if she thinks I’m a terrible father for even thinking about dating?"

"Mate," Sirius said, sitting up. "I promise you, the last thing she’s thinking is that you’re a terrible father. She likes you."

James scoffed. "She doesn’t like me."

Sirius smirked. "Oh, yeah? Then why does she always smile at you? And laugh at your terrible dad jokes? And talk to you for an eternity?"

"That’s just—she’s nice!" James insisted.

Remus gave him a knowing look. "James. Just ask her."

James groaned. "Fine. But if I make an idiot of myself, I’m blaming both of you."

He was really going to ask you out.

Taking actions

It was a Friday afternoon. James had spent the entire day hyping himself up. This was it. No more standing around like an idiot. No more pretending he was just talking about Harry.

He was going to ask you out. Casually. Coolly. Like a totally normal, smooth person.

(He was absolutely not smooth.)

"Hey, y/n," James started as he leaned on the doorway of the classroom, trying to look relaxed.

You, who was organizing a chaotic pile of paper, looked up and smiled. "Hey, Potter. You’re right on time for the usual end-of-the-day complaints from your son."

Harry, currently sulking with his backpack, threw up his hands. "They played ring around the rosie today! Do you know how boring that is?!"

You laughed. "What, not exciting enough for you?"

"No!"

James smirked. "That’s tragic, mate."

Harry crossed his arms. "Can we go now or are you gonna talk for twenty years again?"

James cleared his throat. Now or never.

"Actually," he said, looking at you, "I was wondering if you wanted to grab a coffee sometime."

You blinked. "What?"

James internally panicked. "Casual coffee. Like—like two people, drinking coffee, talking, existing in the same space—"

You raised an amused eyebrow. "Are you asking me out?"

James wanted to die. "I—I mean—yeah? But, like, you don’t have to—"

You grinned. "James."

He swallowed. "Yeah?"

"I’d love to."

James froze. "Wait. What?"

You smirked. "I said yes, Potter. You good?"

James stared at you, processing, before a slow grin spread across his face. "Oh. Well. That’s… good. That’s great. That’s—"

Harry groaned. "Finally!"

James turned to him. "Oh, what now?!"

Harry threw his hands up. "It took you forever to ask her! I thought you were never gonna do it!"

You laughed. "Seriously?"

James groaned. "Can’t anything be a secret in this family?"

You just smirked. "Apparently not."

James, still grinning, nodded. "Alright then. Coffee it is."

And for the first time in a long time, James felt something that wasn’t just surviving. He felt happy.

[neferaskingdom]

Not So Bad After All | CL16

NEFERASKINGDOM

Summary: Valentine’s Day sucks, the bathroom line is too long, and Charles just wants to go home. Until a ridiculous scheme, a fake proposal, and the best tiramisu of his life change everything.

Previous | Series Masterlist | Next

Charles Leclerc did not want to be here.

Valentine’s Day was already insufferable, but being dragged to a bar by his well-meaning (and currently very drunk) friends was making it so much worse. His brothers were off on their respective romantic dates, and instead of sulking in peace at home, he was here—stuck in a crowded bar, dodging heart-shaped balloons and being subjected to overly loud love songs blaring from the speakers.

And now, to top it all off, he was standing in an absurdly long line for the bathroom.

“Ridiculous,” he muttered under his breath, shifting his weight from one foot to the other as the line refused to move.

“Tell me about it,” a voice said beside him.

Charles turned his head to find a woman standing next to him, arms crossed, scowling at the line ahead. She looked equally unimpressed with the night’s events.

He raised an eyebrow. “Bad night?”

She huffed, tilting her head towards the couple making out aggressively in the corner. “I’ve seen horror movies less disturbing than that.”

Charles snorted, a genuine smile tugging at his lips. “Agreed.”

They lapsed into silence, both staring ahead at the unmoving line. A few seconds passed before she spoke again. “You don’t look like you’re having fun.”

He exhaled, rubbing his face. “That’s because I’m not.”

She smirked. “Then why are you here?”

Charles sighed, hands in his pockets. “My friends thought I needed ‘cheering up’ because my brothers are both in relationships, and I am not.”

She nodded sympathetically. “Same. Except my best friend didn’t even try to lie about it. She just said, ‘You’re too single, and it’s embarrassing.’” She gestured toward the girl still making out in the corner. “That would be her.”

Charles winced. “Brutal.”

“Right? I told her I’d rather stay home and watch a move or something.”

Charles let out a laugh, genuinely amused. “I think I’d prefer that too.”

As the line inched forward at a snail’s pace, their conversation flowed effortlessly.

"Okay, explain this to me," she said, turning to face him fully. "Why do people think giving someone overpriced flowers that will die in three days is romantic?"

Charles chuckled. "Right? And the price! it's like they double it just because it’s February 14th."

She scoffed. "Exactly! And don't even get me started on the chocolates. You know they just put the same candy in a heart-shaped box and charge extra."

"The worst part is the expectation," Charles added, shaking his head. "Like, if you don’t do something extravagant, suddenly you don’t love your partner enough?"

She snapped her fingers. "Yes! If you need a specific day to prove your love, maybe your relationship isn’t as strong as you think."

Charles smirked. "So, not a fan of grand gestures, then?"

"Oh, I love grand gestures," she admitted, tilting her head. "Just not ones dictated by capitalism."

“So let me get this straight,” she said after a particularly heated rant about heart-shaped balloons. “You got dragged here against your will, your friends abandoned you, and now you’re standing in line for the bathroom ranting at a stranger?”

Charles groaned. “I am beginning to think I have been tricked.”

She shook her head in mock pity. “Tragic.”

He opened his mouth to respond when, to his horror, his stomach let out a loud growl.

She turned to him, grinning. “Oh my god.”

“…I’m hungry,” he admitted, rubbing his neck sheepishly.

She laughed. “You know what? Let’s get out of here. I know a place.”

The place she led him to was a semi-formal restaurant with dim lighting, cozy booths, and the most incredible menu Charles had ever seen. By the time their food arrived, they were already deep into conversation, swapping stories about their worst dates, cringiest romantic gestures, and Valentine’s Day traumas.

Charles took a bite of the cheesecake and immediately let out a sound that could only be described as obscene. “Mon dieu. This is the best thing I have ever eaten.”

His companion grinned. “Oh, you think that’s good? There’s something even better.”

He looked up, intrigued. “Impossible.”

She leaned forward conspiratorially. “They used to sell the most heavenly tiramisu. It was legendary. But they discontinued it.”

Charles frowned. “Then how do you know it’s better?”

She smirked. "Because I’ve had it before and fun fact it’s on the secret menu now. But it’s a whole ordeal." She leaned in slightly, lowering her voice like she was letting him in on a great secret. "The thing is, their tiramisu is legendary—like, hours of prep, delicate layers, the kind of dessert that requires actual effort. It got discontinued because the chef didn’t want to deal with the hassle anymore. But, through my very reliable sources—" she wiggled her eyebrows "—I found out they still serve it. But… only for very, very special occasions."

He raised an eyebrow. “I’m listening.”

She pulled a simple ring off her finger and slid it across the table. "They only serve it on very special occasions Charles. The chef is a real romantic."

Charles stared at her, unblinking. “You’re joking.”

She shook her head, trying to look serious despite the mischief in her eyes. “Not at all. I’ve tried everything to get a taste again, but my friends refuse to participate in my schemes.”

Charles hesitated, glancing between her and the ring. “You’re telling me I have to propose to you… for tiramisu?”

She nodded solemnly. “For the greatest tiramisu known to man.”

He exhaled, rubbing his temples. “I cannot believe I am considering this.”

She gasped. “Charles. Think of the dessert.”

He groaned dramatically before picking up the ring. “Fine. But if we’re doing this, we’re doing it right.”

Before she could react, he got down on one knee.

The restaurant quieted.

Charles took her hand, his thumb brushing over her knuckles as he looked up at her with nothing but warmth in his eyes. "Mon amour," he murmured, voice steady, heartfelt. "We've known each other since we were kids. You were always there—my partner in crime, my best friend. I can't imagine my life without you."

A few people around them sighed dreamily.

She felt a laugh bubble up, but Charles was fully committed, his gaze unwavering. "We've had our ups and downs, but through it all, it's always been you. And it always will be." He lifted the ring, giving her a small, knowing smile. "So what do you say, mon coeur? Marry me, and let’s spend the rest of our lives together."

The restaurant erupted in applause as she let out a shaky laugh, nodding. "Yes," she breathed, eyes locked onto his. "Yes, Charles, of course."

His grin was immediate, radiant, as he slipped the ring onto her finger. She let out a soft laugh, shaking her head. "You know... I think I always knew it was you. Ever since the day you carried me home after I sprained my ankle as a kid."

Charles chuckled, squeezing her hand. "You remember that?"

"Always," she said, voice warm. "And now, I guess I get to spend forever remembering this too."

The applause grew louder, a few cheers echoing through the restaurant as the chef himself emerged, grinning from ear to ear, ready to present them with their well-earned tiramisu.

As soon as they sat back down, she burst into laughter. “I cannot believe you just did that.”

He smirked. “Well, I had to commit.”

The tiramisu arrived, and the moment Charles took his first bite, he slumped back in his seat. “Merde.”

She watched, delighted. “I told you.”

Charles stretched his arms above his head as they stepped out into the cool night air, letting out a dramatic sigh. "I hate you."

She snorted, stuffing her hands into her coat pockets. "Wow. Romance is alive and thriving, I see."

"No, seriously," Charles continued, shaking his head. "That tiramisu was too good. Now every other tiramisu I eat will be a disappointment. You’ve ruined me."

She smirked. "That’s the price you pay."

Charles groaned. "I despise you."

She hummed, clearly enjoying his suffering. "Well, if it helps, they have different staff on Mondays."

He glanced at her. "And?"

She grinned. "So, if you want another piece, we could just… go again."

Charles narrowed his eyes. "How do you even know this?"

She took a deep breath, like she was trying very hard to act normal before saying something completely unhinged. "Because I have tried everything to get that tiramisu again. I have studied their staff schedules, noted which days the chef isn’t working, and even considered staging a fake engagement like 15 times, but my friends—" she threw her hands up in frustration "—are all cowards who refuse to propose to me for the sake of dessert."

Charles was already laughing before she even finished. "I cannot believe you have gone to these lengths for tiramisu."

"It’s not just tiramisu, Charles. It’s a masterpiece. A once-in-a-lifetime experience. A divine creation that mere mortals like us barely deserve. And yet, my so-called friends refuse to put their morals aside for the cause." She sighed. "Until tonight. You, sir, are a true ally."

He smirked. "Clearly. And what do allies get?"

She shrugged. "Eternal gratitude? The satisfaction of knowing you’ve done something noble?"

Charles held out his phone. "Your number."

She blinked. "What?"

He wiggled the phone slightly. "So we can go on Monday, obviously."

Her lips parted, eyes scanning his face like she was trying to find the joke. "You actually want to go again?"

Charles shrugged. "I mean… yeah. That tiramisu was worth it. And, you know… you’re fun."

She studied him for a second before snorting. "Unbelievable."

"Believe it, mon amour." He winked.

Still smiling, she took his phone and added her number before handing it back. "Fine. Monday it is."

Charles grinned. "Perfect."

As they walked side by side, their conversation spiraled into absurdity.

"Okay," she said, "how many ways do you think we could disguise ourselves to get another piece?"

"Fake mustaches?" Charles suggested. "Though that might be too suspicious."

"Agreed. What about wigs? I could totally pull off blonde."

"Mmm… questionable. We’d need a full transformation."

She snapped her fingers. "Fake accents! If we pretend to be tourists, they might not recognize us."

Charles gasped. "Genius. We’ll go in, act completely clueless—where should we be from?"

"Not Australia. You could never pull off an Aussie accent."

"Fine. Italian tourists. Very authentic."

She laughed. "You realize this is insane, right?"

Charles smirked, nudging her playfully. "And yet, you’re still planning it with me."

She groaned. "I hate that you have a point."

As their ridiculous tiramisu heist plans continued, Charles found himself thinking that maybe—just maybe—Valentine’s Day wasn’t so bad after all.

[robertsfloyd]

his girl

an alpha that hadn't yet claimed you. your first time in the hard deck. his flirty superior. what could go wrong?

technically a part two to military issued, but it can be read as a standalone

Bradley Bradshaw was in love.

he held you close, nuzzled against your neck as you sat in his home. your home now, too, you supposed.

you didn't have a choice in the matter. when your first met, you were adamant you'd made the wrong choice in becoming a military omega. but Bradley's alpha scent was in your nose. his big, strong hands were on you, your brain melted.

you couldn't help it. your omega brain switched on, and you nuzzled against him, trying to get as much of his scent on you.

you wanted to drown in it, get drunk off of it. your alpha. your big, strong Alpha that you couldn't get enough of.

his lips nipped at your neck and you released a giggle. he hadn’t claimed you, yet, waiting for your heat. that was the proper way to do it, how the military wanted it done.

he now had a reason to come home.

***

it was weird, walking around with an Alpha that hadn't claimed you. you held his hand as he led you from the Bronco and into the bar.

the hard deck. a cute name, considering the little bit Bradley had told you about naval aviation. "ready?" he asked you, lifting your hand to his lips to kiss the back of it.

you swallowed the lump in your throat, but the way your moustache tickled your skin had you giggling. "ready," you answered.

meeting your alpha's friends was a big deal. even when you tried to pretend it wasn't, it was a big deal. his friends. the people he worked with. the people that would make sure he came back to you. his squad were important to him.

they were important to you, too, now.

this was something this should have waited until you were mated, until you had his claim on your neck and yours on his. but you were completely covered in his scent, and that was the next best thing.

the hard deck was a cacophony of shouts and jeers and music from the juke box. shouts of those trying to be louder than the jeers, jeers from the group playing darts. noises from the pool table too, cues hitting balls and balls hitting each other.

he led you through the hard deck, past the bar and over to a group of people in khakis. "hey, rooster!" one of them called as the two of you approached.

mostly alphas, you noted as you looked at them. two betas, no other mares in sight.

"guys, there's someone I want you to meet."

Bradley pulled you in front of him. his hands rested on your shoulders as he introduced you, gave his friends your name.

"hi," you said abd swallowed the uncomfortable feeling in your throat. too tight, lump in your throat too big.

shoving the pool cue into the hands of the spectacled man, the broad, brown haired an strode over. he looked tall, until he got close to Bradley.

beta, you realised once you breathed in.

"hangman," bradley mumbled, his moustache twitching as he pulled you closer. like he had anything to be worried about. you were well and truly his.

"who's this pretty little thing?" he asked, looking you up and down. a beta raised by alphas, you decided.

you patted your alphas chest. "this is Bradley," you said and smiled up at him. "he really is a pretty little thing, isn't he?"

red cheeked, hangman laughed at you. no, not at you. with you. "I'm jake," he said and held his hand out to you.

"nice to meet you, jake."

one by one, you met all of Bradley's friends. they were all lovely, but your favourite was natasha. she was maybe the second sexiest Alpha you had ever seen (behind Bradley, of course). not only that, but she was lovely. friendly, but she could easily hold her own. if they were a Pack, more than friends, she would have been their leader.

sat in Bradley’s lap, you listened as his friends told you stories. what they could of their time in the Navy. none of the horrible stuff, none of the traumatic things they had been through. instead, the moments they found themselves... enjoying.

no, enjoying wasn't the right word. but it allowed them to feel like they belonged.

as you listened, your glass became empty. you shook it, the ice cubes clinking together, before you drank them, too.

"I'm gonna get another," you said to Bradley and kissed his cheek.

he tightened his grip on you, not letting you off of his lap. "hey," he said quickly, his eyebrows raising.

rolling your eyes, you pressed a kiss to his lips. you pulled away, giggling as you made your way to the bar.

"same again?" the woman behind the bar asked.

"please," you said and she began making it for you.

you pulled your card from your purse, but someone placed their hand on top of yours, stopping you.

not Bradley, you would have recognised his scent immediately.

you looked up at the man, also in khakis. his dark hair was greying at the sides and there was something about his smile that put you off, like he wasn't used to the action. "I got it, darlin'," he said and opened his wallet.

you shook your head. "I'm good," you said and grabbed your card again. "thank you, though."

"c'mon, put it away," he said, trying to sound light. "a pretty 'mega like you shouldn't have to pay for your drinks."

a smile split across your face. "you're right," you said and tucked your card back into your purse. "lemme go and get my Alpha real quick."

you made your way back over to Bradley, grabbed his hand and pulled him to his feet. "what're you doing, angel?" he asked, hands on your waist, pulling you into him.

he looked at the man beside you. "cyclone."

he fucking knew him!

oh, this was too good.

cyclone cleared his throat. "Rooster," he said as Bradley pulled out his wallet.

"have you met my Omega yet?" he asked, paying for your drink. you sipped it, practically glowing as your alpha protectively stood up for you.

he leaned down and kissed your exposed shoulder. "go sit down, Angel," he whispered and sent you on your way. you went willingly, sitting beside Nat and watching as Bradley spoke with cyclone.

"I didn't know he knew him," you muttered and sipped some more of your fruity cocktail drink.

natasha released a laugh. "knew him? that's our superior."

your mouth dropped open. your alpha. sticking up for you. in front of his superior.

you were so in love.

I'd loooove some more abo/hybrid!au top gun requests!

[bapeach]

Boombastic

Just a short story while I try to get back into writing. Don't love it, but it's better than nothing 😁 Constructive criticism is always welcome. Find my masterlist here :)

Pairing(s): Nika Mühl x female!reader  Word count: 1.3k+ Summary: You catch Nika watching TikTok edits of you.

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

When you enrolled in UConn, your only plans were to play basketball and get a degree. You didn’t care about making friends or getting a girlfriend. You only really wanted to play ball, but you knew you needed to have a backup in case something happened and you could never play again. So a degree in communication it was.

It’s not like you struggled making friends, you just didn’t ever have your own little friend group. You hopped from group to group, always a friend to everyone, but never letting anyone get too close. Well, that was before you came to university. If you really thought you were going to be able to only be teammates with your basketball team, you thought wrong. Joining that team means joining a family. And thank God for that. You loved those girls to pieces and were happy to call every single one of them your best friends.

You were especially close to Nika, however. Which was a good thing, seeing as she was also your roommate. And maybe you also had a tiny crush on her, but no one needed to know that. Sure, you two playfully flirted with each other all the time, but that was all just a joke. To the Croatian, at least. You meant every single thing you said to her. Things like how she was the prettiest girl you’d ever seen, how her smile could light up the darkest rooms, and how if she were yours, you’d treat her right.

There are moments when you think she might like you back. The way she looks at you isn’t the way friends look at each other. Friends also don’t blush the way she does when you lean in close to mutter a compliment. But then you start overthinking it and make yourself believe that you’re just imagining things. Because there is no way that the goddess that is Nika Mühl will ever like you.

----

You hum your favorite song to yourself as you walk through the hallways. You’d just gone out for some errands and were on the way back to your dorm. You wonder if Nika is already there or if she’s still with Paige. You hope she’s home, maybe then you two could finish the show you’d started a while ago. You quicken your step a little as you near your dorm. When you open the door, you take a step inside to see Nika already on the couch, her back towards you. 

A grin appears on your face as you quietly put your stuff down on the table next to the door. You open your mouth to say something, but you know that wouldn’t do much. Nika is wearing those annoying headphones that you complain about at least once a day. They’re great for the person wearing them, the sound is clear, and outside sounds are completely muffled. They aren’t so great for the people around them, though. You can clearly hear everything the wearer is listening to, while they can’t hear you yell at them to turn it down.

You start taking off your shoes as you hear the song playing on Nika’s phone. You smirk a little as you recognize the music. Boombastic by Shaggy. The song has been all over your fyp all week, so you figure the brunette is scrolling on TikTok. Your face scrunches up in confusion when you’ve finally taken off both shoes. The song was playing on repeat. “I swear to God if she’s watching an edit of herself to that song,” you think to yourself as a mischievous grin grows on your face.

You walk over and pause behind her, watching her phone from over her shoulder. Your mouth drops open as you see yourself in the video. A smirk appears on your face as you watch Nika play the TikTok over and over again. You see that she’s already liked it and has it saved to one of her folders. You shoot forward, snatching the phone out of her hands as you quickly back up.

The brunette bolts up as she looks at you with wide eyes, her cheeks blazing red in embarrassment. “Y/N, give me back my phone!” She huffs. She tries to take it out of your hands, but you hold your arm away from her as you look at her cockily. “Damn, I look good,” you hum, pursing your lips.

“Y/N, please,” she begs, looking at the floor. You tap her profile as you check out in which folder she saved the video. “Oh. My. God… You have a folder with 102 edits saved of me?” You laugh in shock and amusement. The Croatian girl burns an even brighter red as she stops trying to steal the phone from you, having accepted defeat. She sits back down as she puts her face in her hands. “Shut uppp,” she whines.

You look away from the phone towards the brunette, your smile softening. “God, she’s adorable,” you think. Nika huffs as she hears you take a screenshot of the number and send it to yourself. She wishes the ground would open up and swallow her whole. Once you’re done, you throw the phone next to her, not looking as it bounces against her thigh.

You grab your own phone, saving the screenshot before opening your TikTok. After a few swipes, you put your phone back in your pocket as you look at Nika with a grin. Feeling her phone buzz, the brunette grabs it and unlocks it to check your message. She stares at the picture you sent for a few seconds. It was a screenshot of your own TikTok account, a folder with her name on it visible. The number “253” on display.

“You… you have 253 TikToks saved of me?” She says as she looks up at you, her eyes wide. “102 is a rookie number. I thought you liked me?” You tease as you cross your arms. She rolls her eyes as you walk over, a smirk forming on her face. “253 of me? People are gonna think you have a crush on me, Y/N/N,” she grins. You grab her hand and pull her up from the couch. Her cheeks flaming as you pull her against you. “Hmm, and so what if I do?” You say with a low voice as you grab her chin. 

“I’m not sure I believe you,” she replies, looking up at you with doe eyes. “Is that so?” You mutter, leaning a little closer to her. “Mhm… Why don’t you show me how much you like me?” She mumbles back. She barely has time to finish her sentence as you pull her face towards your own. You kiss her hard and deep as you grip her a little tighter. When you’re out of breath, you back up a bit and smirk. “How was that for proof?”

She rolls her eyes at you, a grin on her face. You soften a bit as you look at her. You move your hand to cup her cheek as you rub your thumb across it. “I really like you, Niks,” you say, your voice barely louder than a whisper. You don’t care about the fact that you’re looking at her with vulnerable, desperate eyes. You needed her to know. 

She grabs your face in her hands, pulling you close. You stare into her eyes, only being a few inches away from her. “Then why haven’t you asked me out yet?” She murmurs, her lips a small pout. You look at her in adoration and a hint of regret. “I’m sorry for being too scared to… Let me make it up to you? Dinner at 6 tomorrow?”

She grins at you, pulling you in for another kiss. “Deal.” You beam a wide smile at her before smirking. “So… Do you often watch TikToks of me on repeat?” You let out a deep laugh as Nika slaps your shoulder, pushing you away. You grab her wrists, pulling her back against you in a hug. “You’re a jerk,” she mutters against your chest. “Yeah, but you love me,” you reply, feeling her smile against your shirt. “Hmph,” she huffs, but squeezes you tighter.

You suppose those damn headphones aren’t so bad after all.

[aheathen-conceivably]

Zelda knew the way to City Hall by heart. Week after week she had picked up Violette from school, staring at it across the street while admiring how its stately white columns reflected the sunlight like a mirror. Now, she was standing right in front of it, too nervous to move her feet but too restless to simply stand still anymore.

She looked down at the card in her hand once more, even though she knew every line from anxious fixation. Alexander Barnes, Librarian. Letting out a deep breath, she put the card in her pocket before walking into the building.

As she stepped inside the heavy wooden doors swung shut behind her. Immediately, the noise and heat from the courtyard became a distant memory. In front of her another set of doors were open wide to a simple courtroom, one she hadn’t seen in half a decade. Quietly, a myriad of emotions overcame her, bolstering her resolve as she realized that maybe this place was a nexus of new beginnings for her after all. 

A new sense of calm accompanied her as she followed a dim, sparsely furnished hallway to a closed door inscribed with a shining metal plate. Alexander Barnes, Librarian. She stood still for a moment, listening to see if anyone was inside before she raised her hand and knocked on the door.

A distracted voice told her to enter, and before she could second guess herself she turned the metal handle and walked through the door. The office was small, filled from one corner to the next with books and mismatched furniture that made her think the whole scene was moments away from bursting at the seams.

In the middle of it all sat a man at his desk, his glasses beginning to fall down the bridge of his nose as he stared diligently at a stack of papers in front of him. At the sound of her footsteps, his gaze bolted up and he seemed not to recognize her. Both of them looked at eachother with embarrassment, and Zelda nearly turned on her heels and walked back out the door.

She tried to muster an apology before leaving unceremoniously, but just as she gathered the courage to do so, a smile overtook the man’s face and he pointed familiarly in her direction. “Mrs. Duplanchier! You must forgive me. You’ve caught me in the middle of a letter that has taken just about every ounce of my concentration. And all of this - the office - I mean, well, it’s just a mess, I fear. Would you - do you want to sit?”

His voice trailed off as he looked around the room for a chair. Other than his own there was only one, tucked into the corner and covered with books. As he moved them onto the floor Zelda’s eyes wandered through the room. He had books on every surface, tucked onto shelves, in stacks on the floor, perched precariously at the edge of the desk. But as she watched him move them to make room for her, she could tell that they had all been stacked carefully and with love.

“Ah! Here you are,” he rounded the desk and sat across from her, allowing her eyes to finish searching every square inch of the space without pressing her with questions. Her gaze finally settled back on his, which was still looking at her curiously. It didn’t seem to throw off her words quite as much as most people’s did. “This is - it's quite a collection you have here. I often thought the books I’d managed to collect were noteworthy but this - this is just remarkable.”

His eyebrow lifted slightly. “Do you have a collection?”

Zelda laughed lightly, mostly to cover up the embarrassment that she felt anytime she talked about herself. “It feels a bit silly calling it that here, amongst something so impressive. It’s mostly just books I brought from home - from England, I mean, when I was a girl. But I’ve bought what I could over the years.”

“England! I thought I may have heard as much back at the truck. How did you possibly end up here?”

Her eyes trailed away from him slightly, roaming back to the stacks of books that were lining the walls. “Its a long story, I suppose. One infinitely less interesting than any selection of which you have here. May - may I ask you about them? The books, I mean. And the truck. All of it really, how any of this came to be.”

With an affirmative nod of his head Zelda began the litany of questions that had come to her mind over the weeks of waiting for this meeting. There was very little about his job that she didn't want to know. Where had the books come from? Where did he drive? Was someone pay him to do so? Where was he headed next?

He answered each question thoroughly and patiently, as though no one had taken the time to have such an interest in his work before. As she reached her last question, where was he headed next, he smiled widely and pushed his glasses up even higher on his nose. “Nowhere, hopefully. I’m working on a request for the Works Projects Administration to open a permanent location in Strangerville.”

Zelda’s eyes went wide in disbelief. “A - a real library, here? In Strangerville?” 

“That’s my hope. Of course there are competing proposals but I’ve been surveying the region and the town is perfect. With the Route running through it and the abandoned Queen Annes up the hill, it’s exactly what the Administration is looking for.”

He could easily read the look on her face, a mix of childish amazement and interest, and ventured further, “Listen, I - I unfortunately can’t promise anything; but if you have an interest in the project I will need a team. They’ll want a catalog of everything I’ve collected and a survey of potential locations. I should know who the grant is awarded to in five - maybe six days? I’ll write to you, if you’re interested.”

“Yes!” She answered so quickly that her anxiety barely had time to register what she was saying. “I - would love that.”

Previous / Next

[adieutristana]

Could you do a second part of the request for Sevica's niece x Jinx? I would love to know what happened with Reader and Powder

Please 💞

of course! thank you for the request <3

i’m no longer quarantined (yaaaay!) but that means back to regular posting pace, sorry :( hope u guys enjoyed 4 fics in half a week.

this is a part 2 to this fic! this will be the final part of this story, i hope it's not obvious but i was struggling with the direction

characters included; jinx, powder (act iii au), sevika (familial), ekko (platonic)

summary; you and powder make amends, though you know that you have to get back to your universe.

tags/warnings; fluff, hurt/comfort, s2 spoilers, mentions of drinking and smoking, powder majority of the story, angsty in the beginning, jinx at the end, brief arguing, universe hopping or whatever that's called, happy bonus at the end

men dni.

"all done,"

you smile, putting your hands out behind powder in a grand gesture that says 'ta-da.' pink ribbons adorn azure locks, carefully woven into both of her twin braids. a nod to the pink streak through her hair, and frankly- she looks beautiful. you don't want to stroke your ego, but you did a damn good job.

tension still hangs in the air, but seems to slowly slip with every second that passes. powder's jealousy is on the backburner for now as she looks over her hair in the mirror, her eyes curious. the sight is bittersweet. she looks happy, enamored with her new hair. a smile is tugging at the corners of powder's glossed lips, and those blue eyes are looking up at yours with such merriness. the braiding seemed to do the trick.

though the twin braids bring you back to jinx, your jinx. it's a delicate balance, a sort of tug-of-war in your mind. on one hand, this powder looks genuinely happy. she isn't the broken down girl you know and love. her cheeks are fuller, her skin has more color to it, she's taller, her smiles are more frequent, and they're real. the version of you whose body you're occupying clearly loves her, and she clearly loves this alternate you in return.

you love her back, at least you think you do. this is still jinx, just... less tortured. or rather, jinx is the distortion of powder. it's confusing, really, and you don't think you can spend too much time thinking about it before your brain starts to hurt.

you could grow used to this, if you allowed yourself to. but you knew you couldn't, not when jinx was waiting on you. probably worrying herself absolutely sick. you'd promised your girlfriend you'd be back soon, a few hours tops. but it'd been much longer than that by now, the next morning having come and gone.

you knew jinx and how she thought. she'd probably fully convinced herself by now that you were gone. that you'd disappeared into the lanes or maybe even piltover to find yourself someone better, just to leave her to wither. no matter how many times you swore to the girl that you would never, the insecurities still lingered in the back of her mind. they were likely at the forefront now.

"damn, i look... good," powder starts, pulling you out of your daze. she lets out a light chuckle, a mix of a gasp and laugh. "never thought i'd see you play hairstylist, but you did pretty great."

you give a gentle smile in return, situating yourself behind powder in the mirror and draping your arms around her waist. you place your chin on her shoulder her smile widens and she gives a satisfied 'hmm' sound, powder's head leading to the side against yours. a picture-perfect couple if you've ever seen one.

but it isn't real. at least, this iteration isn't. part of you wishes it was, wishes that you had something with the powder you knew as a little girl. in a zaun better than you could've ever imagined. you wished so badly that this is who powder became in your world, instead of jinx; as much as you loved her. but no matter. 'no use in dwelling,' your aunt would tell you in times like these.

though you knew that wasn't the case, and the other part of you felt that this was wrong. even though you're in her place, you're not the one powder loves- not really. a different version of her, sure, but you can't help feeling like you're lying to powder.

yet, what are you supposed to do? tell her the truth, that you'd somehow ended up in a parallel universe where things were remarkably better than the one you'd come from? that the version of her you knew and loved had been mistreated and neglected for much of her teenage years, only to go on to become a pyromaniac? that zaun had somehow moved backwards?

you nuzzle closer to powder's touch, the scent of strawberry shampoo and fruity perfume filling your senses. you supposed you could keep this charade going for a little longer, at least until you figured out how to return to your home universe.

the way powder is looking at you through your shared reflection and smiling, so at peace, you know that this isn't all bad. you may not be the one powder knows, but you can act the part. you can make her happy. you can indulge for a little bit.

"somethin' on your mind, babe?"

she asks, her smile unwavering. you shake your head in response, your grip around her waist tightening the slightest bit.

"no, just looking at you." you hum. "you look beautiful right now, you know."

"oh yeah? what about the rest of the time?"

powder reaches behind her to playfully poke your side, earning a short giggle from you. you shake your head in mock resignation, giving an amused huff.

"you look great all the time. i just happen to think i enhanced that beauty a bit."

you chuckle. powder rolls her eyes, her smile never faltering.

"miss humble over here. braided my hair once, and now her ego's off the charts."

she jests. you're quickly coming to recognize these playful jabs as a way the girl shows affection. it's not far off from jinx at all. but still, this moment of holding powder from behind, feeling the quiet warmth of her body against yours and seeing that smile in the mirror. you wish that you could freeze this moment in time, frame it even. capture it so that it never slips away from you. though again, you know this won't last. it can't.

✧.*

"any developments?"

"we've got... something."

ekko offers, his tone more resigned than you'd hope to hear right now. you let out an exasperated sigh, your gaze falling to the ground of the dank alleyway. though you raise your hand and wave off, a gesture to urge your friend to continue.

"heimerdinger and i are trying to work on a time machine. something that can rewind time a little, maybe even bring us back."

he says, though he sounds uncertain. you can't say you blame him, necessarily. this entire situation is so confusing.

"when will it be done?"

you ask, eyes wide and looking into his as a sort of silent plea. a heavy sigh escapes ekko, and he slowly shakes his head.

"i don't know. i'm sorry, just... these things take time."

"i don't have time." you plead. "jinx is probably back home, already convinced that i up and left. hell, she's probably figuring out some kind of revenge plot while we're talking."

any other time, those words would be a joke, but now your tone is anything but joking. you know deep in you that jinx is a wreck right now, even if you're not physically with her. not to mention your aunt, not to mention the way of life that you're used to.

"i'm sure she is. and the firelights probably aren't doing much better."

it's true, they're most likely not. no hextech here, no firelights, no jinx, no shimmer ravaging the streets. from the outside looking in, you two would be seen as idiots to have something so good, and want to throw it away for the fucked-up place you'd come from. but jinx was too important to you, ekko's work too important to him. you pause. you'd been sleeping at powder's, but with the absence of the tree and bases in this version of zaun, you couldn't help but worry for your friend.

"where are you staying, by the way?"

"on campus at the academy. the dorms are pretty nice, actually. there's a kitchen, laundry room, and lounge in the building, so i'm all set."

you nod slowly. you should've figured, with him being one of the academy's most esteemed inventors in this world. but still, it was nice to hear that he wasn't just sleeping on benzo's couch.

"you're staying with powder?"

"nope. i'm an apartment owner here, apparently."

"no shit," he breathes out, a bewildered expression on the boy's face. neither of you could've imagined having your own space in zaun of all places, so to know that it was possible.. wow.

silence hangs in the air for a moment, and you're not sure what else could be used to fill it. what else is there to talk about, really? the impending sense of dread both of you have, or the lingering anxiety that you'll be trapped in this reality forever?

"just... keep me updated, okay?" you sigh. "i just want to get back and tell jinx that everything is okay. no matter how nice all of this is."

"when we make progress, you'll be the first to know. we're getting somewhere, i promise. it's in the beginning stages, but i can't do anything when i don't have the means yet." he pauses. "you understand."

you do understand. you don't necessarily have room to not understand right now. he still looks uncertain, but he's giving you a gentle smile in an attempt to reassure you. it doesn't do much for your nerves necessarily, but it's a kind gesture regardless. now all there is to do is wait. gods, you hated waiting, but what other choice did you have?

you quickly exchange addresses in the case of developments or an emergency, before parting.

✧.*

powder had told you to meet her at her hideout, instead of her apartment. that's something that hadn't changed, at least. even in this universe, powder had found and made use of the wind turbine structure you'd see jinx turn into her home. it was different, of course, there were railings around the metal blades.

the decorations were easier on the eyes, much more inviting. although it was still very true to her usual chaotic manner, with messy decorations strewn across the space. her signature crude drawings decorate her dresser, her desk, old makeup palettes scattered around anywhere that'll house them.

but the most striking difference was the altar set up on one of the platforms, dedicated to vi. her big sister, who you'd seen alive and well just days prior. only in passing, but still. your girlfriend's relationship with her sister was strained at best, a near-fatality at worst. but something told you that if jinx knew her sister was gone in a parallel universe, if she was gone in your universe, she'd be utterly destroyed.

but not powder. powder was still fragile, you could see it in the way her jaw clenched at certain words, the way her eyes flitted when she got in her head. but powder could handle it. she didn't let it consume her, like jinx did. she didn't necessarily have a choice when it came to her state, but it was still an interesting contrast.

"hey, you!" powder beams, throwing her arms around you from behind. she presses a flurry of rushed kisses your jawline and cheek, then ending with a kiss to the corner of your mouth. "took ya long enough! what's with the hold up?"

"sorry, babe. just got a little sidetracked."

you hum, leaning into the touch. you turn around in powder's embrace, looking into those sapphire eyes that could make anyone weak. you capture the girl's lips in a chaste, yet sweet kiss. a fleeting moment, but you put all of the affection that you can into it.

"sidetracked? with what?" she asks. "you're always the focused one."

you purse your lips, and you try to think of a good excuse. you were with ekko is where you where, but you can't tell powder that. not after the outburst she'd had just a day prior. but what if she found out anyways? wouldn't it be better for her to find out from you directly, rather than being told by a bystander?

you'll tell her the truth. she knows you and him are just friends. she knows that.

"i was talking to ekko."

you mutter, and powder's expression immediately hardens. like a switch being flipped, her smile falters, and her grip around you loosens.

"oh."

"powder, we were just talking." you plead, your hand running through your hair.

"yeah. just talking, i know."

she says, although it's clear that she's not fully convinced. she shakes her head, a deep exhale escaping her.

"talking about what, though?"

she asks, and your heart nearly drops. you can't lie to her, not while she's in this state. you've seen it. jinx slips into it more often than you can bear- trying to hold herself together whilst her emotions are threatening to bubble to the surface and explode.

you'd sound like a mad woman if you told her the truth. but what other choice did you have?

"look, pow," you start. "i'm gonna sound batshit crazy when i tell you this. but you have to listen to me."

your tone is stern, a 'no-bullshit' air about you. powder nods slowly in agreement, and waits silently for you to continue.

"i'm not... from here," you begin.

"huh? you've always been in zaun."

she's tilting her head in that confused way, and it's adorable- but you have to focus.

"no, no. i know that," you say, scrambling to find the right words. "i mean... this world. i came from a parallel universe or whatever they call it, and i have no idea how to get back. it's the same with ekko. everything is the same here, but different."

you sigh, pausing to catch your breath as you ramble on. powder's eyebrows are furrowed, yet she doesn't interrupt you. she's listening intently. that's a good start, you suppose.

"i mean, zaun is somewhere livable. people whose corpses i've seen are standing right in front of me, and there's none of that fucked-up tech there is where i come from. and you're different. you're happy, and you're healthy. the version of you that i know is someone i don't think you'd recognize."

your shoulders slump, and you're growing more restless as you talk. it's a word-vomit of sorts. you know you probably sound out of your damn mind to the girl in front of you, but you just can't stop now that you've started.

"and i love her. i really do. and i love you, but it feels like i'm lying to you, because i'm not the me that you love. i'm just in her body right now, and i'm trying to figure out how to give it back."

it’s odd, baring your feelings like this to a girl you simultaneously know like the back of your hand and don’t know at all. if powder was looking at you before, she’s looking through you now.

“…please say something.”

you breathe out. powder presses her lips into a thin line, her gaze finally parting from yours.

“say i believe all of this. say it’s true, and you’re not making up some crazy story to shut me up. if i asked ekko what you were talking about, would he have the same story?”

“yes, powder. he would.”

she lets out a heavy sigh, crossing her arms over her chest. powder’s expression is unreadable at best, though she doesn’t seem angry. just… confused. shocked. in disbelief, maybe even denial. though before you can say much more, there’s a knock at powder’s door.

“i’ll get it,” she mutters, turning over her shoulder. she makes her way to the door slowly, turning the knob and opening it to ekko of all people.

“what are you doing here?”

“here for your girlfriend.” he says, hoping that’ll suffice. you’d told him that powder was jealous and he’d need to tread lightly, hopefully placing emphasis on the word ‘girlfriend’ would leave a good impression on her. “we just need a minute to talk. i’ll give her right back, i swear.”

powder pauses for a moment, scanning over his expression for any hints of deception or trickery. but as usual, there is none. just someone who wants to have a conversation with her girlfriend, even though that certain someone is one she’s been wary of. she sighs.

“babe, ekko’s here for you!”

she calls out. you make your way to your feet, striding towards the door while your friend comes into view. his demeanor doesn't give anything away, but he typically doesn't just... show up at people's doors. not the ekko you know. so this must be something important. powder steps aside, allowing ekko into the hideout and turns around.

"i'll be here when you're done," she says, glancing over her shoulder before returning to her desk.

ekko gives one more cautious look to the girl, before turning his attention to you.

"right."

you purse your lips, anticipating his next words.

"we've got something. it wasn't easy doing it, and it won't be easy to get back, but we can do it now." he says, his sentences rushed. "we can do it whenever you're ready- now, if you want."

you quirk an eyebrow.

"now?"

"only if you want to."

you shake your head slowly, wordlessly, crossing your arms in contemplation. you'd definitely prefer to get back to jinx as soon as possible, but now you're having second thoughts. god, after all that you'd done and thought about this entire time, now you're having second thoughts? you confuse yourself, you think. but none of this situation makes much sense to begin with.

"i... yeah. sure." you pause, drawing a sharp breath in. "but what happens to the other me? like, the one that's here?"

ekko's eyebrows knit together, and he takes a moment to consider your question. mentally going over everything that he'd gathered, and everything heimerdinger had told him.

"i think we'd go back to how we were- our other selves, i mean. it was just.. us in their bodies for a while, but they'll go back to normal. they should, anyways."

"what if they don't?"

"listen. do you wanna go back, or not?"

god damn, he's right. this is what you've both been wanting from the start, and while you worry for your other self, you have to put this first.

but still. powder. you barely know this version of her, but you know that she's a good person. a smart girl who loves and gives. she deserves to be happy, she deserves the version of you that she knows and loves so dearly. you can only hope that she'll return to powder after you're gone.

"...yeah. let's do it." you murmur. "but i want to say goodbye to powder first."

he nods, and tilts his head in the girl's direction as if to cue you to go on. you manage a weak smile in his direction, before walking over to powder. your heart's beat in your chest is akin to a war drum, ringing in your ears and making your hands shake.

"hey, pow." you sigh, prompting her to turn her head towards you from... drafting blueprints? what exactly is she doing?- doesn't matter right now. "i'm going back. to where i came from, i mean. i'll be gone for a little bit, but.. everything will go back to normal. you'll have your girlfriend back, your real girlfriend, and i'll be in a place i know."

her blue eyes flit downwards, and she frowns. but still, she manages to slowly nod in acknowledgement.

"okay."

is all that she can manage, and she sounds defeated. it breaks your heart, seeing her like this. you step forward, cautiously wrapping your arms around the girl's shoulders in a gentle embrace.

"everything will be okay." you whisper, feeling her arms encircle your waist. "you deserve to be happy, powder."

✧.*

you're back.

oh, shit, you're back.

you spring to your feet, having been planted smack in the middle of a busy zaun street. passersby speed past you, vendors are loudly shouting to advertise their products, and loud music can be heard in the distance.

all that occupies your mind in this moment is jinx, jinx, jinx. anything else- the fact that it feels like you haven't eaten in days, your muscles are sore from whatever the hell that time machine had done to you, or the fact that you feel like you may collapse at any moment from exhaustion are of no significance to you. you have to find you, you have to see her and know that she's okay, tell her that you're okay.

your first stop is jinx's hideout. she's almost always there, running around while tinkering with some new weapon or conspiring her next big job. but as soon as the door swings open, a deafening silence hits you. one that's uncharacteristic for your girlfriend, the only time she's ever quiet is when she's sleeping- and she doesn't get much of that.

you scramble through the different platforms, looking under large structures- lifting up blankets, looking in her cot, her beat-up couches, but there's no trace of the girl.

so you make your way to the lanes, where you figure jinx may be causing destruction. all you find is shimmer dealers and street rats scrounging for scraps.

your last hope is the last drop. jinx doesn't tend to venture much. she wouldn't be in piltover for anything right now, she doesn't walk through zaun's streets to window shop or sightsee. she sticks to her areas of interest, occasionally venturing out to tag walls, fight, or look for materials. if she wasn't there, you couldn't begin to think of where she would be. you didn't want to think of that.

you push the heavy door of the tavern open, immediately struck with the smell of liquor and stench of smoke, the sound of patrons chatting away and playing card games in the company of friends.

you scan the bar counter, the tables, the bits of the kitchen you can see, but she isn't here either. you can hardly believe what you're seeing. nine times out of ten, jinx is somewhere within the confines of these locations you've searched, but it's as if she's vanished.

however, you do see a familiar face- that of your aunt. tucked away in a dark corner of the bar at a small wooden table, filling out a stack of paperwork.

"sevika."

you start, a brow quirked and your arms crossed.

"not even an 'aunt' at beginning?" sevika jests, not looking up from the papers in front of her. she's scribbling something away, likely to do with the late silco's businesses, but no matter. you don't have time to ask what she's up to, and frankly you don't care either.

"where is she?" you demand, taking a seat across from the woman. "i've looked in the hideout, the lanes, and now here, but she's nowhere."

"where were you?" sevika bites back. the flips to another page, the pen scratching against paper almost obnoxiously. you wince at her tone, slowly shrinking into yourself- though you can't exactly explain that to her.

"that's a long story. a lot happened."

you sigh, bracing your elbows on the wood before you.

"spare me no details," she says, sarcasm lacing her words. "she's worried sick. jinx was asking me all yesterday and the night before where you were, what you were doing, because she'd heard nothing from you. but i didn't know anything, and i still don't. you're grown now, and you can handle yourself. but as your aunt, i'm supposed to know these things. by the way," she pauses, her gaze lifting to meet yours.

"walking out on a girl like jinx isn't a good idea. she's not in a good way."

"i didn't walk out on her, auntie."

she huffs, placing her pen down on the stack before her. she's got an eyebrow raised in that way she does so often, but there's still a softness to her gaze. you're family. while she's not particularly happy with you right now, especially since she's the one who has to take care of jinx in your absence, she's still forgiving.

"i don't have a clue where she could be right now, kid. but she'll be back at that hideout of hers soon enough. i'd just wait."

it's not the answer you'd like to hear; you've got a one-track mind focused solely on jinx right now. but it'll suffice. she's right, she always does eventually return there.

"...thanks, auntie sev."

"yeah, yeah. i've got work to do. go be with your girlfriend."

she concedes, making a 'shoo' motion with her prosthetic hand.

✧.*

you jump to your feet off of the torn plush couch the moment jinx steps into view in her hideout.

"jinx."

her head nearly snaps in your direction, and she runs over to you with alarming speed. she's always been a swift girl, but you don't know if you've ever seen her this urgent.

"baby? is that you?"

she breathes out, standing directly in front of you. wide magenta eyes look into yours, and you nearly begin crying on the spot. your arms throw around the girl's slender frame before you can think. you hold her tight to you, as if you're afraid that she'll disappear if you let go. usually it's her holding you like this, shaking like a leaf and struggling to keep it together, but there's a first for everything.

"yes, yes, it's me. i'm here."

"what happened? i... thought you left." her voice cracks on the last word, afraid and insecure.

"i would never. trust me. a lot happened, i'll explain later, just..."

there's a pause for a moment as you pull back slightly, before closing the distance to press your lips to jinx's. your lips move together in a slow, gentle, desperate rhythm, and you try to put all of your current feelings into them.

i missed you.

i'm sorry.

i'm never leaving.

i love you.

you slowly pull back, your eyes welling with tears threatening to spill at any moment.

"i didn't mean for any of this to happen, i promise you. i never meant to leave you, i told you i'd be back in a few hours and i wasn't." you whisper, a tear spilling and slipping down your cheek. your arms tighten around jinx, and you can tell from the way her breathing is growing labored. she's not upset, just so damn overwhelmed. "i love you, jinx, so much."

another chaste kiss to her lips to emphasize your words.

"are you okay?"

"i... yeah. i'm okay. i just didn't know if you were coming back." she trails off, voice raspy and weak. those words hit you like a punch to the gut, no matter the fact that you'd seen them coming. you hate seeing jinx so torn up, and you hate being the cause of that.

"i'll always come back, babe." you whisper, holding jinx's gaze. you slowly move your hands to rest atop her shoulders. "let's go do something."

"do what?"

"i don't know. anything," you say, your eyes hopeful. "i just need to be with you. i'll tell you everything, and we can do whatever you want. i just missed you."

jinx purses her lips for a moment, a little 'hmm' coming from her as she thinks over the possibilities. she thinks of things in her hideout, but she senses that you want to go out into the city right now. there's a lot of shops, but she's never been one to frequent them. an abandoned warehouse with fireworks.

"i know a place,"

she declares, taking your dominant hand from her shoulder and holding it in hers.

"shall we?"

✧.* bonus!

"oh, screw you!" powder giggles, flour dusting her cheeks.

"i didn't mean to!"

the alternative you is back in her body. she's got no memory of what happened the past two days, all she remembers is waking up in powder's arms to the sight of tears running down pale cheeks. you hadn't sustained any injuries, no scarring, but you were just... gone. you couldn't recount anything.

"it said put the flour in the mixing bowl, not on my face, you goof!"

you're together in your cramped kitchen trying to figure out a recipe, one of vander's that he'd written down for powder. strawberry shortcake, one of her childhood favorites that vander claims she used to beg him for. she vehemently denies this, and you go along with her whims, but you can't help inwardly laughing at the thought of a little powder begging her dad to bake for her.

"it was a mistake, pow! i swear!"

she rolls her eyes, but the hysterical giggles coming from her girlfriend tell you that she's not really angry. she shakes her head, taking the paper in her hands again to reread the instructions. she plucks a wooden spoon from one of your drawers, keeping her eyes focused on the paper.

"so it says to mix the dry ingredients, then we get started on wet."

"yeah, that's usually how it works when you bake things."

powder grunts, and a light smack lands on your shoulder, prompting another fit of laughter from you.

"my bad for not having experience with this! you said you were gonna make it, so we're making it."

you snort in response, gently taking the recipe from her hands and looking over it yourself. you set down the paper on the counter as she begins mixing the dry ingredients in the bowl- a pink and blue clay one that she'd made especially for you. it wasn't the ideal size for most of your baking endeavors, but you'd never tell your dear girlfriend that. it was perfect, because it was hers.

"i'm happy to make whatever you want, babe. just say the word." you hum, planting a gentle kiss on her cheek before striding to your fridge to retrieve a few wet ingredients.

"anything? anything, anything?"

she asks, looking back at you. her hand is still working.

"anything you want."

"i've heard macarons are really hard. would you make those for me?"

you chuckle lightly, placing a carton of eggs, milk, and strawberries on the counter.

"they wouldn't be pretty, i'm sure. but i'd make them for you."

powder lets out a happy squeal, before turning to you and stepping aside to show you her work.

"i think i'm done mixing." she smiles. "i didn't mess it up, did i?"

you shake your head lightly, a playful lilt to your tone whilst searching your overhead cupboards for a second bowl.

"you did great. it's just dry ingredients, not hard to mix those. the wet ingredients can get a bit tricky, though."

powder rolls her eyes and groans, prompting a laugh from you.

"it's not that bad. come on, let's get started on that. as soon as we're done, you'll have that strawberry shortcake."

[bwat5-blog]

Saying Goodbye: Arcane's Songs Of Grief

**Spoilers For Arcane**

Working on a Jinx post the other day it occurred to me I'd never really delved too much into the music even though it is SO IMPORTANT to the story. This is less critical analysis and more just something that interested me so if you don't care I don't blame you! But I get something out of it every time I get to spend time thinking on and digging into this show, so maybe you will to. This won't be too long as quite honestly I feel that-

A: These are fairly self-explanatory

B: I don't have the mind for lyric/poetry analysis and never have

1. Vi's world falling apart

Goodbye: song by Arcane, Ramsey, and Riot Games Music Team ‧ 2021

So this is the song that plays at the end of season 1 act 1 when we were all collectively saying something to the tune of "OH MY GOD WHAT THE FUCK JUST HAPPENED?!?"

It was a beautiful and tragic moment in the show and seriously set the tone for the rest of the story. I see this song as Vi's perspective as her world is completely falling apart around her.

Vander is dead

Mylo & Claggor are dead

Her possible last interaction ever with her little sister was deeply traumatic for the both of them, leaving her with crushing guilt over her loss of control and hurting Powder

She has literally been kidnapped and imprisoned in an adult prison without cause or trial (there is no pit of hell deep enough for you Marcus)

"I can hear the sound of a heartbeat before it goes out Won't ever leave my memory of bloodshed all around, And I can see a tear on my father's face before it falls out" :

Vi is hearing Vander die and telling us she won't ever be able to shake the memory of all this death and pain. And that comes back around unfortunately...

"Oh, my enemy, how could I have ever let you down?

Oh When all these trees saw us grow Cut our teeth and make our bones right here We'd play with shields made of stone Share our dreams and sit our thrones":

I see this as all about Powder/Jinx and Vi's crushing guilt over how they were parted. The trees watching them grow and the place where they played and dreamed of better days clearly being Zaun. But the line that is so indicative of Vi's trauma here is "how could I have ever let you down". As her guilt over how things happened will go to impact the course of her entire life.

"Be still, 'cause I see smoke up ahead and I got steel in my hands We will return like warriors, I swear, that we'll find glory up ahead Tell me

Where is my home? I don't recognize the faces anymore, no Where is my friend? The one I've known since I was only just a kid

I think it's time to say goodbye Goodbye, goodbye Goodbye, goodbye, woah":

This entire last section speaks to Vi's future when she returns to Zaun. Her entire world has changed. Powder has become Jinx. Ekko is a rebel leader and a warrior. The demon (don't yell at me Silco people I'm talking Vi's POV) who took her entire world away from her sits in her father's house. And when Vi returns she returns with fury and steel aiming to reclaim what she lost. Until she has no choice but to admit the world she knew is gone. Which takes us into our next song.

2. Jinx loses everyone

What Could Have Been: Song by Ray Chen and Sting ‧ 2021

I'd call this the song that captured the world's attention from Arcane. I mean having Sting alone was huge but this whole sequence was once again so beautiful and horrifying at the same time. Vi spends the whole show trying to get through to Jinx up until this point and you want to believe she is going to pull it off. Jinx is recognizing what Silco took from them, and the Council is starting the vote for Zaunite independence.

But it all falls apart. Silco is dead, and Jinx feels like Vi cannot love her anymore and feels rejected by her after everything that has happened. And this song begins, taking us into Jinx's POV as she lashes out in this moment of terrible grief and loss and angry. I'm not going to do the lyrics for this one like I did above because they are all pretty clear and direct. As Jinx makes the long walk to her destiny and fires the weapon that will destroy her people's chance at independence, she is telling Vi, Silco and the world how they have wronged her.

But the trick with Jinx is to remember she is an unreliable narrator. So when we are with her in this moment seeing it through her eyes we have to remember we cannot take everything at face value. So even though throughout the show we have seen Vi's guilt over what Jinx has become driving her, and after Silco's death Jinx essentially seems to blame Vi for what follows because she cannot "love her like she used to" because they are different. Where does that missile actually go?

I am the monster you created You ripped out all my parts And worst of all, for me to live, I gotta kill the part of me that saw That I needed you more

I hope you know we had everything And you broke me and left these pieces I want you to hurt like you hurt me today and I want you to lose like I lose when I play what could have been Oh, what could have been

Why don't you love who I am? What we could have been

I am your ghost, a fallen angel You ripped out all my parts I couldn't care what invention you made me 'Cause I, I was meant to be yours

I hope you know we had everything And you broke me and left these pieces I want you to hurt like you hurt me today and I want you to lose like I lose when I play

I want you to hurt like you hurt me today and I want you to lose like I lose when I play What could have been

3. Death touches Caitlyn Kiramman

I Can't Hear It Now: Song by Arcane, Freya Ridings, and League of Legends ‧ 2024

This song takes us into Caitlyn Kiramman's POV as she is plunged into the darkness of her mothers death at the hands of Jinx. Once again visually and musically it is a stunning moment. There is a notable difference to this one compared to the other two that I wanted to mention.

Vi's song-"Be still, cause I see smoke up ahead and I got steel in my hands, We will return like warriors, I swear, that we'll find glory up ahead Tell me"

Even with all of the loss and grief and pain in the rest of the lyrics there is a moment of hope. A promise of justice and righteous return

Jinx's song- "I want you to hurt like you hurt me today and I want you to lose like I lose when I play What could have been"

Full of anger and blame and hurt . Nothing positive but A LOT of emotion.

Now let's look at Caitlyn's lyrics:

There is an ocean so dark down below the waves Where you watch while these dreams gently float away And there is a silence so soft it's only memory Like the way your voice always sounds when you sing to me

But I can't hear it now Just tell me how to keep breathing while pretending I'm not drowning I don't know if I could I watched the door close for good 'Cause I couldn't keep it open

I just watched as the door closed for good 'Cause I couldn't keep it open

Just tell me how to keep breathing while pretending I'm not drowning I don't know if I could I watched the door close for good 'Cause I couldn't keep it open

Vi and Jinx are full of emotion and pain and loss but they are expressing it, even if it is misguided or negative. Caitlyn is drowning in her grief but trying to force herself to keep going and failing, and blames herself.

"But I can't hear it now ,Just tell me how to keep breathing while pretending I'm not drowning"-

Caitlyn so badly wants to hear her mother's voice again but she cannot. And she is trying to go on, be the new head of her house, testify before the council and everything else while maintaining her composure when inside she is completely and utterly destroyed. I mean for gods sake, revisit the moment she finally is alone with the person she can show vulnerability with:

it's like she barely makes it to Vi before her legs give out...

"I watched the door close for good 'Cause I couldn't keep it open"-

These are the last words of her goodbye to her mother. Not a lament of how the world is changed and she has to say goodbye. Not an angry accusation at those who wronged her. But blaming herself...

Conclusion:

Anyway! I hope you get something out of this. I did by writing it. I love the music of this show, and as a life-long band nerd and music lover seeing a show weave it's music into the storytelling in such an original way was truly special to me. Thank you for reading and take care!

[smilesrobotlover]

Here’s a list of characters that I think should’ve made it in Hyrule Warriors:

Groose. 100% he should’ve been in hw. Each era of characters seem to follow a theme of two heroes and 1 villain (in regards of the main story at least): oot has Ruto and Darunia, and tho he’s not exact I sorta count Volga since he looks like Volvagia, tp has Midna and Agitha and Zant, but skord only has Fi and Ghirahim. Why wasn’t Groose the second hero character for that era??? He’s one of the most important characters in the game and the groosenator is IN IT too! It feels disrespectful to NOT have him in it yet he’s not. I don’t understand the logic behind it but it makes me upsetti spaghetti because Groose is the best guy around

Rusl. This is definitely bias talking cuz I love Rusl but also I feel like it makes more sense. Now… I like Agitha in tp. I think she’s a very fun and charming character that adds more life to the world of Tp, but she’s not an important character in that game. You could go the whole game without meeting her and have no consequence (tho she gives you great prizes so it certainly doesn’t hurt to see her), but for some reason she was added to Hyrule warriors? I just don’t think it makes any sense when the resistance were right there. Rusl is one of the most important characters in the game by being Link’s father figure, protecting the kids, being apart of the resistance, and teaching Link how to fight. It feels more natural to have an actual fighting character that was important to the plot be added, but he wasn’t. And this random child who is not a fighter and has no plot relevance was added instead. I will forever be salty about this. And if not Rusl, they should’ve at LEAST gone with Ashei since she’s also a fighter! Give the resistance some love! They’re such cool characters that were not utilized enough! UGH

Vaati. Now I don’t care too much for Vaati in the canon games, but Vaati is a very unique villain because he’s the most reoccurring villain besides Ganondorf in the Zelda series, and he was the first villain of Hyrule before Ganondorf came into existence. I feel like he should’ve had a chance in the game, maybe not in the main story, but at least a playable character. Now, tbf, Vaati is in games that aren’t super well known save for Minish cap, but still. In the world of zelda he’s very important and I feel like deserved a spot on the roster.

Now this isn’t in the actual Hyrule warriors game, but it is a hw game and I think Astor fits on this list. You’re telling me this guy was the main villain in the entire game save for the final battle and he WASNT playable?? HUH???? That is the most absurd character on this list to not be added cuz he’s not some side character, he’s the VILLAIN. Even Sooga became playable (tho that was DLC) but he WASNT! Astor was done so dirty in this game and he deserves so much better. He should’ve been playable is all I’m saying.

I surprisingly don’t have a strong opinion on this cuz idk how they could do this well but I feel like I must say this out of obligation, but Linebeck… and solely cuz I need him so bad. I want to play him in something or see him in something or do SOMETHING with him. I miss my wife tails… again, idk what they could do but they did add Medli so I’m sure they could’ve figured something out. He’s easily one of the most important characters in phantom hourglass and I would’ve love to see him 😔💔

And that’s all I have. I’m curious what other characters people wish were added to Hyrule warriors :00 but these are the big ones for me.

[megamhafan]

(tw: mentions of csa, abduction, drug usage and domestic abuse) if you were to take away the monsters and fantastical elements in will Byers’s story, you’d straight up get a child struggling with the effects of csa along with it being allueded to that it has happened before. go read the theory made by @greenfiend for extended information https://www.tumblr.com/greenfiend/769426126766522368/lonnie-byers

season 1 part 1

we don’t see much of will in the first season but we do learn some things about him.

in s1 episode 1, we learn from joyce that the town has been insinuating/ suspecting that will might be gay.

we also get from Joyce and hopper’s conversation in the police department that will’s father lonnie, used to call him slurs. (keep a note of that)

in s1 ep 2, we actually see lonnie byers for the first time and we get information about him without it being verbalized when jonathan goes to his house to look for will.

he’s definitely an a abusive father as seen when Jonathan goes into his house and checks the cupboards ( for will)

we see lonnie push Jonathan, and then remark “you’ve gotten stronger” which seals the deal.

(if the bike isn’t evidence for the lonnie kidnapping theory, then. i don’t know what is)

eventually when jonathan is about to leave, he gives lonnie the missing poster of will. and makes a comment

“incase you forgot what he looks like”

and lonnie’s weird girlfriend, cynthia walks out and says this weird line…

“he’s kinda cute, maybe i should trade you in for the younger model” (talking about jonathan)

she also could be talking about will, considering she did glance at the missing paper beforehand.

but i want to click those two stated lines together.

as we can see, lonnie’s girlfriend is very much a young woman in her 20s, while lonnie is a man in his late 40s approaching his 50s. so it is very weird for him to be involved with her.

lonnie has always be interested in people who are barely adults/ still teenagers.

lonnie was 25 when he started dating a then 17 year old joyce.

in child predators, they don’t repeat the actions of going for younger and younger people because they actually are attracted. they do it because it’s taking advantage of someone younger, someone who might not know better.

if we’re going based off the theory that lonnie abused his sons that way, then the pattern of preying on younger and younger people clicks in with the “incase you forgot him” line.

lonnie abused jonathan first, then when will came along, he abused both. and when jonathan reached puberty, lonnie left him alone.

(note: people who prey after children, specifically boys sometimes stop when they reach puberty as they begin to have bodies that don’t resemble girls anymore)

he continued with will, and never stopped. only seeing will as a smaller and younger jonathan, and thus “forgetting what he looks like”

because his sons blended into one person in his head.

in s1 ep3, troy and james walk up to the boys and start joking about will being dead. troy even says that “he was probably killed by some other queer”

he also adds a little bit of context to where he heard that. “at least that’s what my dad says”

troy says that his father told him that. and if you look at the home lives of troy and will, they’re very similar.

abusive dad

worried mom

not too well off financially

now we know that the duffers like to drop hints and clues about characters in the background and also about the lives of certain characters so that i can’t take away from the main story.

so what if troy is being used as a mouth peice essentially to explain why the town came to the conclusion that will is gay.

if you move around the things he says, you get…

“he was probably killed by a queer”

“at least that’s what dad says”

lonnie was the one who started the rumor in town, he’s the one who eventually started saying a queer person killed will.

s1 ep4 & ep5 will’s “body” is found in the quarry and hopper has to tell joyce that they found him.

this is also when lonnie shows up, he plans to sleep on the couch for a few days and attend the funeral.

he does something that always confuses me.

when he is arguing with jonathan in his room, he tells him to take his evil dead poster down because it’s inappropriate.

i assume he means that because the house is grieving, they shouldn’t have anything up on the walls.

but i think it’s more than that.

as stated by other theorists, lonnie’s name means oak tree, and the woman in the poster is being grabbed by a oak tree.

i’ve always seen that it was supposed to represent what lonnie did to Jonathan.

but with all this moment from episode 2 in particular…

it has me thinking that lonnie wants it down because it brings to light what he did to his son, how he took him and what he’s been doing to him for years. specifically it’s Jonathan making it visible what his father did to will.

and now that will is “gone”, lonnie wants it hidden forever. buried with his child.

which makes the moment where Joyce finds the check for the money that lonnie wants to take out because of will’s “death”, even more compelling.

it’s joyce not just confronting what her ex husband is doing via taking money out to pay his debts, essentially using their dead son for money.

it’s her confronting that lonnie has been using his son for things that you don’t use a child for.

she kicks him out, making sure that he doesn’t come back to harm her or her children again.

while all of this is going on, mike and the rest of the boys are at school attending will’s memorial service, when they hear troy and James talking about will.

after this, mike confronts them angrily, because it’s a messed up thing to do.

troy then says these lines

“what’s there to be sad about anyways?”

“he’s flying around with all the other little faries, all happy and gay”

this moment would then cause mike to snap and push troy.

also to note that mike was absolutley ready to fight troy, if it meant protecting the image of his friend.

when troy gets up ready to go and attack mike, he looks like he's going to punch him, but is stopped when el secretly squeezes his bladder with her mind, causing him to pee himself.

(note: troy’s face is of uncomfortableness, rather than embarrassment)

when we get to part 2, we’re going to talk about this first, along with a intermission

[angelsdean]

hot take maybe but actually i do expect my mom to comfort me and make me an ice cream sundae when i’m sad even when i get to 40 and she’s 70. my grandma does that for her still. it’s not. limiting her. it’s not saying she only has to be my mommy. i have taken care of her too. it’s saying we love each other and want to take care of each other. mary struggling to be able to interact with grown up sam and dean was very very valid and understandable and i love her for it. she also could’ve maybe tried a little more anyway. they could’ve lent on each other. idk.

Yea i've said before that I think it's a bit outrageous the way people seem to think someone stops being a parent once their child reaches adulthood. Maybe it's a cultural thing, I don't know, but the whole idea of "once your kid turns 18 they're out the door and not your problem anymore" is so deeply flawed IMO. But yea I focus more on "debunking" the claim that Dean expects some sort of motherly coddling / babying from Mary because that seems to be the deancrit take I see the most with regards to this arc / the "i'm not just a mom" scene.

But for sure many people seem to have some weird ideas IMO about what it means to be a parent. Like I think you can feel for Mary and understand that parents can and are more than just parents, but also understand that they will never stop BEING a parent either. Their kids will always be their kids. It's why people always say being a parent is a full time job, not something to go into lightly, that you should be sure you actually want kids and understand that having them is a lifelong commitment etc etc. And having kids makes them become your priority, even when you want to be selfish you always have to try to put them first. Obviously that lessens as they grow up but like, if your adult child were injured or had some kind of health issue / challenges as a parent it's still your job to be there for them, to support them, to care for them. That doesn't just end at 18. It's why *I* know that even though I like the idea of kids I probably never will have any because it's so much responsibility and because those kids are always always going to come first, forever! That's kind of part of the parental "contract" IMO. And even when they're adults, a parent should still be the one person in the world your kid can turn to, rely on, seek comfort in.

And I understand these expectations are complicated in this particular narrative by the fact that Mary died young and is not equipped to be a mother to adults. I think that's such a delicious component that I wish they leaned into more. She is grieving her babies. She is allowed to feel those feelings and feel confused and unsure and struggle with accepting this new dynamic with her children. But a big part of Mary's arc in s12, which culminates in 12x22 with "I need you to see me" is that she is the one stuck in the past, needing to accept her reality and "SEE" her children for who they are now. That's what the arc is moving towards, that acceptance. And after s12 we see her and Dean have a better relationship. We see her still getting to be Mary the person AND Mary the "mom." She hunts, she comes and goes, but she's someone Dean can talk to, share a meal with, spend time together. It's what he always wanted most. He tells her in 14x11 that "just knowing you're around, that you're alive has meant everything to me."

Anyways, I won't ramble about all that again because I've made a bunch of posts about it already. But yes, I think it's normal for Dean (and Sam) to want Mary to comfort them, do nice things for them, the way any parent or really a family member in general might do. They are not asking for kisses on their boo-boos and getting tucked into bed with a bedtime story, which is how a lot of deancrit posts read. What they want is some sort of familial reciprocal care. Like the way Dean spends quality time with those he loves. The way he baked a cake for Jack. Cooks for his family. The way he gives people gifts. The way he fixes Cas's truck. The way he calls to check in on people. He doesn't do these things out of some obligation or playing some "role", he does them because he cares. Because he loves his family, and that's just what family does for each other.

Someone in my tags last night said it very well that what Dean really wanted was just, another family member, to spend time with, to share their joys and burdens with. Someone like Bobby, that he could turn to if he needed. Bobby was a parent figure but he wasn't "parenting" them, y'know? He was someone Dean could lean on, but he didn't expect Bobby to shoulder all his burdens. And I think that's what Dean wants most. Just someone he can lean on and rely on, since he's been having to be the strong one for everyone his whole life.

[roodles03]

Hazbin Hotel Angelic Wings Theory

Something I thought of while falling asleep last night, is that after Vaggie regains her wings, they become retractable.

Vaggie regains her wings in Hello Rosie, but as we can see in the next episode they're seemingly gone

But later in The Show Must Go On, it's shown she can just pull them out at will and then retract them when she wants later.

Now comparing her to another Angel of her kind (exorcists) Lute ALWAYS has her wings out and it appears she CANNOT retract them. (This also applies to Adam but I don't think he counts as a true exorcist angel)

This may also apply to Vaggie herself before she was brutalized and attacked by Lute. As she has her old set of wings at all times.

(Yes, TORN off, not CUT off. Lute didn't use angelic weapons to cut off Vaggie's wings, she TORE them off with her bare hands. That's why Vaggie was able to grow them back)

So perhaps having your wings physically torn off in some way, when you grow them back it has the side effect of making them retractable. I was thinking that maybe the animators just don't want to draw the wings at all times but clearly they do for other angels and other winged characters so this seems purposeful.

This also seems to apply to the seraphim angels we see, Sera and Emily. They ALWAYS have their wings out and it doesn't seem they can retract them at will.

Now, who else is a Seraphim who CAN retract their wings?

Yes, it's Lucifer.

In fact, it seems Lucifer highly prefers to keep his wings retracted. Seemingly only using them to fly, fight, or show off. They also appear to come out automatically similar to his horns when he goes full-demon.

Now I actually did go back to the opening storybook sequence, and Lucifer has his wings out the ENTIRE time rather than just before which does make this a bit confusing.

But I do find it really odd he only has half his wings here, just before being thrown into hell, despite it not being a side profile. As an artist I really see no reason for that choice, it wouldn't really affect the silhouettes too much because they show overlap in earlier scenes. It just seems super odd here. But at the same time, there's no way to know the true intention of why they drew it the way they did. Maybe it was to make things appear clearer, it could be foreshadowing he lost half his wings? Who knows. I don't have an answer for this part.

But It's also important to note this opening scene was narrated to us as if it were a storybook being read to a child. Narratively, It's a simple narration/exposition of a previous event in the story. A lot of shows do this and leave out the details in order to actually show us what happened on screen in a flashback down the line. And to make that actual flashback more satisfying and NOT feel like a waste of time, they most definitely had to leave stuff out of this initial exposition. (Plus you still want mysteries to keep viewers engaged) Think of the Roo, Root of all Evil Theory, or how they don't talk much about Eve at all. This could be stuff they intentionally left out in case they do have a flashback of this moment later in the series.

So it's entirely possible that they purposely left out Lucifer getting his wings torn off to make it a surprise for when they do actually show us the fall of humanity, and in turn, Lucifer's fall.

Of course, you could argue that Vaggie and Lucifer CHOOSE to retract their wings while the other angels don't, but the fact that no angel we know of besides them does it, and they're both fallen angels, one of which we know FOR SURE had their wings torn off, it raises enough eyebrows for me.

Basically, I think it's very possible that through the evidence of Vaggie's wings being retractable after growing them back, and every other angel we know of never retracts their wings and has never had their wings torn off, it can be assumed that Lucifer might have had his wings torn off as punishment when he was sent down to hell.

[k0k0-library]

MDNI: I lost my Love. Can I have yours, Comrade?

Pairing: Tartaglia x F! Reader

Fandom: Genshin Impact

Rating: 18+

Warnings: menntions of soft sex, cuteness overload from our good red fox, cunnilingus or however the fuck you write it as, slight breeding king, but not really, harbinger on the loose being a simp, mention of y/n because I was never over my ao3 erra, minor character death

You are the traveller in this one, you're a womam, deal with it

It was a sunny summer morning in Lyiue. You woke up from a restless slumber, as Paimon was already complaining about the heat. "Paimon didn't remember the Harbour being this steamy last time we were here." You giggled slightly, putting on your skirt over your undergarments; the little fae was right. Liyue really did get more hot than the last time you were here for your adventure with the Carp Adeptus. But that is a story for another time, my dear. The sun was shining brighter than usually, the incoming warmth, or rather heat, was making itself felt from morning. This was going to be a long day, wasn’t it, traveler?

The two of you went outside, still groggy after a not-so-good night's sleep and made your way to Wangming Restaurant to see if you could buy something for 200 mora. In the weird economy of the land of the geo archon, you could never know what 200 mora might get you: a fried egg or an entire old-style house. Stay tuned to find out! The economy in this nation was horrible, truly. Imagine not knowing how much something will cost the next day or how much inflation and deflation will last; horror, pure and utter horror.

As Paimon's mouth salivated over the fresh fruit salad and cremmy tea puffs, your stomach was crying and your wallet was embarrassed to even show face to other people. "300 mora for a fish cutlet?! This is obscene!" You hear some cummon passerby say intrigued. Obscene indeed. Paimon was tugging at your hand like a child begging you to get something good to eat. You didn't had the heart to tell her the both of you were broker than Zhongli. Ah, how much you wanted to go back to those simpler times, when people didn’t knew you and you and Paimon would sleep under the stars, eating sunsetias and skewers, and didn’t had so many things on your mind, didn’t know the dark secrets of Teyvat.

You heard an all too well known whistle, you didn't even had to turn aroud to confirm your suspicions on who it was. "Oh? What do my favourite ladies want to eat this morning?" Tartaglia, Childe, Ajax, 11th of the Fatui Harbingers (regardless of the free spots in the mafia), and all time pretty boy was back in Lyiue. Sometimes, you felt like he was following you around, but you couldn't really say he followed you in Natalan from what you know. And he wasn’t in Monstadt… but Liyue, Inazuma, Fontaine were on his checklist, and you could only guess that he also was spying on you in Sumeru through Dottore’s eyes.

"Childe!" Paimon chanted in a sing-song voice, excited to be telling him all about your travels since you parted ways in Fontain's Court Room. He gave you his wallet and gave you the heads up to order whatever you wanted as he took your companion to one of the tables. After ordering and grabbing the plates, you went to them.

You nodded slowly and sat down. You still had his vision, who was stupid enough to ever lose, missplace or sell a vision. Not you, not ever. You told him you left it at your room at the Harbour with your blade and Paimons plushie. "A plushie-" "Mavuika gifted her a plushie to make the parting better." He sighed deeply, it was clear that the whole shabam with Natalan was not a good thing for him. After all, his idol, his master and maybe friend has lost his life to the Kingdom of Night, forever condemned to forever guard the Throne of Flames.

"So? What brings you back here?"

"I could ask you the same thing, girlie. Still got my vision on you by any chance?"

While you and Paimon ate confused he told you everything that he knew. Aparently, the God of Love was growing more weary of the harbingers and was afraid that if she allowed the strong ones to continue on, they will riot against her. So she was sending them off to suicide missions like she did with La Signora, drove them to insanity like she did with the Wondered (you thought), and now cursed Capitano and forced his soul into the Night Knigdom to guide the lost souls. But souls will forever get lost there. It was like the problem imposed by Oroboros, an all powerful snake. Childe didn’t knew more than he already told you.

"So, you met Capitano... I believe you were surprised of what happened?"

"Why?"

"Because the Tsaritsa wanted him dead for a long while"

The God of Love and Compassion loosing herself to doubt and hunger for power was something inimaginable at first, but you remembered Venti’s and Zhongli’s words, as well as Mona’s. The ones that love the most will one day turn as cold as ice and will start to hurt not only others but themselves also… In other words, the Tsaritsa was destined to go mad with fear and hate. Her people, her believers… were they going to be ok?

"So, you see... since the Tsaritsa sees me as powerful, I have to hide back in Lyiue again. Here, the Fatui can't reach me easily since the area was cleared long ago by you." He slowly sipped from his tea cup. He tried not to show it, but he was scared that death was waiting at his doorstep at home. Or maybe he would die with honour, but he could never make his family mourn or suffer from the loss of his life. Yes, this seemed more like it, the ginger man was always thinking of his family before anything else.

"So this means that you are now stuck here? For eternity?" Paimon inquiered with her mouth stuffed with sweet red bean paste buns. Childe nodded. "Well, not really eternity. I'm still just a man, you know? I'll live maybe to 60 or 70 years considering how many wounds I have had all these years... One of my hands already started to get too stiff, you know?" He emphasised his words by trying to flex his left fist, but his hand moved hardly, his palm convulsing for a second before allowing him to close his fist.

You wanted to reach out and hold his hand, to reassure him to comfort him in a way. To loose something as simple as free mobility in a hand from this age was hurtful to watch, let alone actually experiencing it. Tartaglia was a strong man, hiding his emotions and feelings from everyone around him. Yeah… definitely he didn’t want to put pressure or concern his family. You wondered what lie he told his parents and his little siblings for them to not even question his sudden return to the land of the Geo Archon.

___________

After you ate and talked some more, Paimon decided to go back to the room you two had near the harbour and take a small nap. She was teribly tired after the long walk from Natalan to Lyiue; and to be entirely honest, you were as well. But of course, you chose to spend some time with the redhair instead, not knowing when exactly you'd see him next. He was like a wild fox, fast and cunning, always hiding himself in the shadows until he'll strike again and capture the mouse or hen he wishes to eat. But was he going to be able to hunt again like the predator he was raised as? Was Tartaglia going to be ok laying low under the radar?

Was the Tsaritsa really this heartless? To kill her most precious soldiers?

It seemed horrible. Absolutely horibble! But it was the cruel truth: from the predator, Childe became the pray in a matter of days, weeks, heck even months! But, the archon did seem insane enough to have considered this form the beginning, planing the intricate deaths of all her dear harbingers. Why else would she let them fail almost all missions… and, in first instances, Signora and Childe were the only ones who retrieved the gnosises without too much trouble. You were the trouble, in a way, but much more weaker and inexperienced than now. Were you the reason why everything was happening? Why people died?

The sun was shining brightly, and it was humid outside, the heat even more unbearable as you walked with the harbinger near the Quingxu Pool. He invited you to take a stroll around the Lisha, but found yourselves walking for a couple of hours now. "Y/N, I... I was going to ask you if you're any closer to finding your brother? I know how much family means to you. " Ah, he read you like an open book. "Well, to be honest, we did meed a couple of times and we talked. I even have a picture with him but i don't remember ever taking it..."

That was curious really. Not remembering a fond memory with your lost twin, yet remembering everything you and Childe did together. It seemed like you were a traitor. He didn't judge you though. He held your hand and lead you to the pool, trying to pull you in. He climbed up the trees and got fresh sunsetias for you. He even collected some nice and shiny pebbles from the deeper ends of the Pool just so he could give them to you. "The lake isn't even that deep, girlie. You just have to get in! It's more fun-" He tried to reason with you, but you still refused him, vehemently. Not after seeing Ferminet almost loose himself in the Primordial waters.

And so you followed him. The water almost instantly got colder, giving you goosebumps as soon as it hit your skin. You shivered slightly, feeling the sand slip loose from under your feet, you had to rely now simply on yourself to stay afloat. Now, when did Childe get soo good at swimming? You didn't remember him being so good? Or maybe his little predicament with the All Devouring Narwhal changed him more than you thought. The water was like an ice bucket, the complete opposite of the weather outside. If you were going to get sick from this, you’d kill him.

"A traveller afraid of a little challange?"

"Wll, you didn't challange me, Mr.~"

"Fine, then I challange you to swim with me in the deeper ends" Now, a traveller not accepting a challenge was like a watch not telling you the time… And so,…

You finally were almost next to him, the redhead inviting you to dive in with a smile. You took in a large breath and dove underwater. Your head, dried and overheated by the sun, met with the cold, refreshing gust of waters that got in between your locks. You wanted to shriek from the sudden change in temperature, but you couldn’t, not right now anyways. You felt a hand gently wrapping around your upper arm, and tugging at it, like telling you to follow it. Childe, the ever-so-gentleman that he was, allowed you to hook around him as the two of you dove deeper and further into the water. At this rate you were going to drown! You needed air at some point and you were anxious about getting out in time for it! You squirmed in protest, as you saw he wasn’t even thinking about the obvious like you did. He held you closer to himself, your head pressed to his chest allowing you to feel the steady and slow rhythm of his heartbeat to calm down. You felt the water pressure getting lighter and lighter.

You realised he brought you to the surface only when the sun mercilessly burned the top of your head and you opened your eyes reluctantly. You laid on top of the ginger harbinger as he floated, smiling up at the sky. “Scared ya? Don’t worry, milyy. I’d never let you drown, get pierced my a hilichurl’s arrow or shredded by the claws of a saurus.” You really didn’t want him to notice the blush dusted darkly on your face, but you were sure he did notice it. Even someone as oblivious to love as paimon would. His words were more than a comfort told to cool the waters (pun intended); he actually meant everything he told you, which warmed your heart more than the heatwave was already doing it.

“You’re staring, girlie…”

“And are you complaining, Mr. Tortellini?”

Not even 2 seconds after you called him that, he twisted his body to the side, making you fall in the water unexpectedly as he laughed like a hiena at your futile attempt to bring him down with you. You both held each other in a kind of far embrace and laughed at the absurdity of it all, life being so hard, yet the two of you playing in the water like two kids that did not yet learned about the cruelty of the world and how vile some people could be. You were two kids playing, two kids having fun and two kids falling in love with one another… Falling in love, in this economy?! (Sorry I had to make the joke), but no really, falling in love in this situation, with him of all people could lead to only pain. Will it be more painful to never tell him, or to live with loving him only for him to die so easily so suddenly…

You were conflicted, deep down, your mind not fully allowing you to feel happy about this moment with Childe. How about a brain factory reset, traveler? Only 2 trillion mora, only for you. Buy one get one for free-

“Y/N, you look so pretty with your hair all wet like that, you know? The prettiest girl ever, my milyy” The harbinger suddenly said as he places a butterfly kiss on your cheek, his hands slowly going further up your arms, now grasping your shoulders lightly. You knew that part of this gentleness of his was due to the join pain he felt… You felt bad for him, feeling the need to hold him even tighter and tell him you loved him more than anything. But will you? Risking everything, your friendship and your memories with him only because you were selfish and you wanted him to offer more of his heart than he already had? It was a horrible thing to do: confessing to another human. Horrible, but more than that horrifying. What if he didn’t just said no, but felt so disgusted and used by you that he would tell you to go fuck your self, stay away from him for 100, no 1000 years in this and the next lives that will come.

“Aren’t you going to tell me anything, girlie? You’ve been staring at that poor calla lily for the past 10 minutes…” And answer, he wanted an answer from you. But to what question.

“I don’t think I can tell you.

“Then I’ll wait for that answer: 100, no…. One thousand years I’ll wait for your answer in this and the next lives to come.” His grasp on your shoulders was more powerful and meaningful, he wanted you -- he needed you to answer him and to tell him you felt the same, didn’t he?

You just smiled and sighed with a slight shake of your head. This man will be the death of you, that was for sure. Either from his cuteness, from his devotion to you or from a brutal future spar. Though, you did help the later doesn't happen ever again. You still had bad dreams about what happened at the Golden House.

All this time, all this mother fucking time that you two had spent together in an awkward-ish way that mutual pining people do; he belived you two were a couple. Genuinely belived you were a thing?! Sir how dare you not be more obvious for this sweet little traveler. A big part of you was reliefed he felt the same, but there was a tiny part that was confused. You never gave him signals that you even liked him romantically, yet he believed you two were together. The 11th Fatui Harbinger was a very stange man, a cold and unforgiving person, yet he protects his family and loves them all with his very being. And now you learn he loves you; maybe just as much.

"I think I am in love with you, Childe..."

"Of course you are, we're together-"

"What?"

Childe gently cupped your cheeks in his hands and slowly pulled you in for a kiss. You didn't fight it, not one bit as you let yourself go soft in his arms. Not a thought between your eyes as his rough, yet warm lips glide against yours in a slow dragged out way. It felt good, having him here like this with you in the water. "You cannot believe how much I've wanted to kiss you, milah, but you always act so cold.."

You didn't know how and you didn't know when; but the red haired man brought you both back to the lake shore. You were still drunken by the kiss, as the lack of cold water around you made you instantly warm up to un uncomfortable level. You gently pushed him away to take a deep breath in and calm your senses. Or rather tried to come back to your senses, but you were drunk. You were so drunken by this man.

Well, how can anyone not let a cute fox like him take a bite when he asks so politely?

"Childe-"

"Please let me love you, Y/N~"

______________

When you've gone back to your place by the harbour it was already late at night and you found Paimon waiting for you by the porch, with a cup of chilled tea and a few sweets. She looked like she waited for you for quite a bit. The still partially wet hair, dusted cheeks and crampled damp clothes were signs that something did happen between you and the Harbinger. But Paimon was never one to ask you something like this, and definitely she wasn't judging; she was just worried you came home late.

"I promise I'll come back before sundown next time-" You half-appologised like a pre-teen girl caught out with her boyfriend. And what a boyfriend you now had: one that knows how to make your mind foggy with pleasure as he laps at your folds, one that gently kisses you as he puts it in the first time and caresses your cheek as you let out soft sobs or when he spils deeply into you.

Tartaglia was a rough man that used to fight tooth to tooth with anyone who dared to even look at him the wrong way. He was never the type of man to show affection to anyone, his family members were the only ones he used to care about and protect. But now he has you, now that changed forever. Or at least... you hoped that it will last forever.

[atzluvz]

Through blood and petals

Series masterlist

A/N: As previously stated this is my first ff ! All opinions and feedback is appreciated :)

Pairing : Mafia!San x reader (not written in this chapter though)

Warnings : angst, san gets traumatized, major character death (it all works out in the end tho i promise) , san is in the mafia n highkey a serial killer...

Word count: 1.3K

Series Summary : San let his guard down once, and it cost him everything. Now, he’s built his walls higher than ever.Living with the weight of his past. But when a kind hearted florist enters his life, his carefully guarded world starts to crack. He swears he won’t make the same mistake twice; but some things are impossible to resist.

Chapter 1: No surprises

“A heart that's full up like a landfill. A job that slowly kills you, bruises that won't heal.”

San didn’t really like his career, and not the typical “I hate my job, aarrgghh!!!” kind of complaints. He genuinely despised it. And not that he could back out, oh no. Everyone knew once you joined the mafia, the only way out was in a casket. Maybe that’s why he learned to dissociate during work, leaving all his feelings and emotions behind in his cozy, luxurious penthouse. But what did that make him? A killer without emotions? A machine? No, that’s what made him the perfect asset to the Velvet Dagger Cartel: fast, effective kills with no attachment to his victims. San was there to do his job and make the evidence disappear like it never even happened. Each life he took was like checking off another item on his checklist. He couldn’t remember the last time he saw his targets as real people. That was, until he met her.

She was supposed to be like the rest, just another civilian to help expand their territory. But when San got his mission folder, something didn’t sit right. They never gave him undercover roles, let alone for a ridiculous three months. He was supposed to intern at the bakery where she worked, learn her schedule, poison her, and check her off the list. Simple. Clean. Efficient. But for some reason, everything about this felt wrong.

At first it was nothing. Just brief glances as she served pastries with a smile that was too warm for his liking, too much emotion, too much vulnerability. But as the hours merged into days, her laughter echoed in his mind when his shift was long over. How her voice would greet every customer with a level of kindness he doubted existed in this world, it started to tear him down. She was just a mission, nothing more.

But she had this refreshing feeling to her. She was nothing like the cold, calculating people he was used to. She had this aura that made everything feel softer. She’d talk about her dreams of opening a bakery, how she wanted to make the world a little sweeter, one pastry at a time. She shared stories of her childhood, how it was only her and her mom, but they managed. It was bittersuite she said, a loss of something to earn something else. Every detail about her life was wrapped in warmth, like the oven’s heat that surrounded the bakery. And the more San watched her, the more he saw her as something other than a target. She became a person, a real, breathing, beautiful person.

And suddenly it happened. He couldn't tell when the information he was supposed to extract turned into real interest. How he’d linger in the kitchen for too long, asking questions about ingredients or recipes, only to watch how her eyes lit up when she explained. Every smile she gave him felt like a small crack in the cold walls he’d built around himself. Not like she was blind to it, and he knew, they both knew the feeling between them wasn't platonic. Slowly the meetings discussing the bakeries turned into dates at a nearby cafe. And in those moments, san forgot all about his job. He was just … him. And she was just her. The more he fell for her, the harder it was for him to remember his purpose.

So, when the poison arrived, he couldn't bring himself to do it. Even after he learnt everything he was supposed to know. The way she would come in at 8:00 every morning and leave at 5:30 with a cinnamon roll in her hand every time, always with a smile. That stupid smile, the one that made him melt. She didn't deserve to die. She didn't deserve to become yet another name on his stupid list. But the mafia isn't forgiving. They wanted her gone, and so he had to make her disappear. But he couldn't. He wouldn't.

San arrived home later than usual that night, the weight of his mission plaguing his mind. He had made up his mind. He would end it. He would walk away. He’d tell her everything, run away with her, leave it all behind. But the moment he walked through the door, the air was thick with something unfamiliar. The faint scent of roses. Her scent.

He froze in the doorway, his breath catching in his throat as he saw her.Her body was sprawled out in the middle of the living room. Her once vibrant eyes were open but lifeless, staring blankly ahead. A trail of blood pooled beneath her, the color stark against his white rugs. The delicate flowers she’d worn earlier were crushed under her body, petals scattered like remains of a dream that had never had a chance to bloom. She was gone. And it was all his fault.

He couldn't take his eyes off her. Trying to memorize every detail, the way her hair framed her face, the soft curve of her lips, the faintest trace of a smile she’d given him just hours before, as if she had known nothing was wrong. But in her delicate hands, the ones that once held him so softly, was a piece of paper. Marked with a dagger. He recognized it all too well. The letters he once placed himself, now in the hands of the love of his life.

His phone buzzed in his pocket, but he ignored it. He couldn’t bear to face whoever was on the other end. He knew what they wanted. He knew what they would say. But then, it rang again. And this time, he answered it. “Did you think you could walk away, San?” The voice was cold, laced with amusement. “You let us down. We thought you were better than this. But you lowered your guard” he heard a spine chilling chuckle from the other side “ Your just like the rest of us. Disposable.” San’s grip tightened around the phone. His eyes never left her body. “You took her from me,” he said, his voice barely controlled. “You’ll pay for that.”

The rage inside him was a wildfire. He wasn’t the cold, emotionless machine anymore. She had turned him into something different. Something human. Without thinking, he grabbed his gun from the table and left the penthouse. Moving like a predator hunting down its prey. He made his way to the headquarters, each step fueled by the image of her lifeless face, her broken body. He didn’t care how many lives he had to take. He didn’t care who stood in his way. They wouldn't be able to stop him anyway. He cocked his gun before kicking the door in….

The heavy air in the room felt like it was pressing down on him. San stood in the doorway, the faintest tremor in his hand as he wiped a smear of blood from his collar. The silence was suffocating, broken only by the sound of his boots scraping the floor as he stepped forward. His gaze swept across the room, lingering on the men who had once called him a brother, now sprawled motionless, their expressions forever frozen.

Chapter 1.5 : Fourth of july on its way

[anakinstwinklebunny]

hii another bunnytine’s fic idea came to me today:

little vinnie makes a valentine’s day present for his dad :’) OR

maybe little vin has a valentine at daycare and Sam helps him make something for her!

- 🐮

SAM MONROE does not do Valentine's Day.

He’s spent years watching idiots in his school scramble to buy overpriced chocolates and those stupid heart-shaped balloons, only for most of them to end up freaking crying in the bathrooms by lunch. The whole thing was so pointless, and he’d rather spend the day chain-smoking outside the auto shop than give much of a damn about it.

But now, as the fate wanted, he’s sitting at the kitchen table, staring at a pile of red paper, glue sticks, pink glitter and heart-shaped stickers like they personally offended him.

Vinnie is sitting across from him, babbling to himself in that little toddler voice, chubby fingers smacking at a paper heart Sam had (painfully) cut out. The story standing behind all of it was the daycare. They sent a note home saying the kids had to bring a homemade Valentine’s card for their little party tomorrow. And somehow, somehow, Sam had ended up being the one stuck doing this damn project.

"Alright, lil man," Sam sighed "we gotta make this card, okay? So no eating the glue this time."

Vinnie, in his oversized sweater and socks that barely clung to his tiny feet, just giggled, eyes squinting as he clapped his hands. "Sammy!" he chirped, reaching for the glue stick.

Sam squinted. "Yeah, yeah, I know, I’m Sam. Now here—stick this heart down."

Vinnie took the glue stick and smeared it casually across the entire page like he’s trying to paint the damn thing. Sam groaned, scrubbing a hand over his face. "Jesus, kid, not like that." He reached over, fixing the heart and trying not to rip it in half.

Vinnie just laughed again, face lighting up like Sam is the funniest thing in the world. And—damn, man. That face always got him.

So, grumbling under his breath, Sam moved closer to Vinnie and started actually helping. He held Vinnie’s tiny hand in his bigger one, guiding him to press the heart down properly. He even let the kid slap a few stickers on—most of which end up half off the page—but whatever. It’s his masterpiece, right?

Once the card is somewhat done (meaning Sam has fixed most of it while Vinnie kept giggling and smacking stickers onto the table), Sam grabbed a marker, biting his lip before speaking up. "Okay, we gotta write something." He glanced at Vinnie. "What do you wanna say?"

Vinnie, looking proud as hell, grinned. "Babi!"

Sam snorted. "Yeah, okay, don’t think the other kids will get that, bud." He sighed, shaking his head before scrawling, in his messy-ass handwriting:

«Happy Valentine’s Day, I guess. From Vinnie»

Good enough for a project for daycare.

"There. Done. You happy now? You like it?"

Vinnie, in all his tiny glory, gasped, hands covering his little mouth before his lips twisted into a smile. Then those pudgy hands excitedly, clumsily clapped and then—out of nowhere—leans forward, pressing a wet, sloppy toddler kiss to Sam’s cheek.

Sam froze.

His heart did this weird-ass thing in his chest, like it fucking melts, and he sweared if anyone ever saw him right now, he'd deny it to his death.

"...Yeah, okay," Sam mumbled, swallowing thickly before ruffling Vinnie’s soft curls. "Maybe Valentine’s Day isn’t that stupid."

Vinnie just giggled again, too happily, grabbing another sticker and slapping it on Sam’s arm.

Yeah. Maybe it’s not so bad after all.

TAG LIST: @kingdomhate @divineani @haydensprettyprincess @skyguys-princess @catnipaddictt @heartscone @haydensbbg @inneedsoffanfics @jediavengers @literally-izzy @anisluvrgirl @slutforfinnickodair @xhunnybeeex @fuckmyskywalker @gallerygourmet @ysrjune @anakinskwkler @bimbo-baggins17-deactivated2025 @cookybananas @emotionallybruisedx @diorvalentina @sevinax @throughparisallthroughrome @aniiuv @ritosparty @ninastyless @lily-strnlo @thesassypadawan @awhhayden @sydkneez @anisangeldust @l1ttle-misssunsh1ne @anakinca @rubiesarepretty @luluartpop @nikiloveshayden @cloverina

[ubemango]

commission 6: friends-to-lovers!Hoseok

note 1: for Miss Sam!!!!!!!! Thank you for your help back in November!!!!!!!!!! I hope sexy sexy brother’s best friend/f2l!Hoseok is Good To you!!!!!!!!!!! Mwah!!! 🥰🥰🥰🥰💕💕💕💕💕😁😁😁😁😁

note 2: a little background--the premise for this story did not come easy to me. Like At All!!!! I was struggling--AGAIN--with Exposition and you know what I learned? in medias res never fails me. Truly she is God. I love her. Anywho, Keyword(s): Talking to your dog for emotional support! Tension! Mutual pining!!!!!!!!! Being so close you don’t know what to do with yourself anymore!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Word count: 4.5k. Class is in session!

note 3: a big big biiiiiiiiig Thank You to @b1usides and @angelguk for helping me out with this ;_; Truly would not have come out with this without you I love you!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Thank you for ur input and insight and interest and MWAH !!!

(note 4: I wrote all those previous notes back in 2020. GOOD LORD IT IS 2025. This is not a come back I just wanted to post this because I wrote so much of it and I’m tired of thinking my writing is too ugly to post. It can be ugly but also exist on this blog. Yay!!!!!!! Mindset mindset! I wuuuvvvv youuuu my friends I hope you’re doing well!!!!)

“Now?”

“Now,” Yoongi says, “and don’t come up with excuses about being busy because I know you’re doing your dalgona shit right now.”

You slide the bottle of instant coffee a little closer to your chest for protection. He probably overheard you talking to your mom about your plans in the kitchen last night. “You’re evil.”

“Whatever. Just–come, please? Everyone’s busy and Hoseok won’t finish unpacking today if we don’t get the help.”

Hearing that name sends electricity down to your toes. “What’s in it for me?”

“Being a nice sister–“ Yoongi’s breath is stifled with effort, probably from lifting a box– “and helping my best friend move into his new apartment?”

“I just got home–“

“I wouldn’t have called if it wasn’t important. The air conditioning here hasn’t been turned on yet,” he baits, and you hiss at that. “You know what that’s like.”

You do. The sun is unforgiving in the throes of late spring, and even you’d been contemplating holding out on your move back to avoid the heat. You’d made sure to finish unpacking last night, the loom of today’s plus-twenty weather with humidity heavy on your shoulders. Yoongi’s strangled tone tells you Hoseok’s got a billion and one things to unpack.

“Fine,” you concede. “Just text me the address.”

“Don’t take too long.”

The line cuts. You get the text in three seconds.

You stare forlornly at the whisk and bowl you’d gotten out, watching your phone screen light up with Yoongi’s text. To think you’d be hauling ass with cardboard boxes instead of making frothy coffee. What you thought would be a little welcome-back activity now that you’ve moved back home with your family instead lies toppled since you’ve been voluntold for other plans.

Plans to see Hoseok for the first time in years.

Immediately, you hold your breath. Maybe if you restrict your airflow then things won’t be so real and sudden, and why couldn’t Yoongi have called Namjoon, or something? He’s ten times as strong as you are. He lives in the city, too. You feel cheated. Older brothers don’t like taking things into consideration.

Your lungs burst into a yelp when something furry brushes against your leg, which, thankfully, stops you from contemplating all of Yoongi’s wrongdoings with revenge. You realize you’ve got your fist tight around the whisk.

“Girl, you scared me!”

Boppa stares at you with her long eyelashes and sits down at your feet. She’s the picturesque prettiness of a ten-year-old cockapoo. It’s kind of insulting looking at her sometimes.

“Boppa, I think my life’s about to fall apart and it’s all Yoongi’s fault,” you tell her.

She offers no response. You drop the whisk, reach over for her treat jar, and pop the dried meat into her mouth. Just a reward for the anxious rambling you’re about to dump on her pretty little head.

“Remember senior year, Boppa, and I couldn’t do my calculus homework because I missed too many classes? So Hoseok helped me out with all the problems I didn’t get?” You don’t think she does. She just pants, watching you put your mise-en-place away. “Or when he helped me make soup for Yoongi when he had the flu that one time?”

In your head, a dam breaks, and it all comes roiling back.

The way you remember Hoseok is different every time. Little disjointed moments throughout high school, college, and it starts with junior year, when he’d come over after a music council meeting with Yoongi. He’d walked past the living room, caught sight of your puffed face from crying over Sandra Bullock and Ryan Reynolds; so startled by your hiccuping that he’d offered you a coupon to the pizza place near school and told you to get lunch with it the next day. Because pretty girls don’t deserve to cry, and Yoongi slapped his neck for being too nice to his little sister and dragged him upstairs to practice for their sectional.

It’s who he is, has always been. The kindness that never wavers, always there when you need help–carrying groceries into the kitchen when your mom complained about bad knees, patiently waiting for you to work through a difficult log function, walking Boppa when Yoongi was too lazy to do it. College Hoseok disappeared for a bit, busy with obligations and social circles. But like all strong currents, he came back with a force, seeking refuge on your couch after an overnight stay at school. 

(You’d made him a snack, that time. He gave you the prettiest smile ever. When you’d settled into bed, you could hear his snoring from your bedroom.

You slept so well that night.)

“Boppa, why,” you wail. “Why is this all coming back. I just got home.”

She blinks. You toss her another treat. She eats it well.

“I’m not in love with him.” Affirmations, affirmations. It’s good to air out your grievances, especially since no one is home to hear them. “I’m not!”

Boppa looks at you as if to say, I haven’t accused you of anything, so why are you so strung up?

“I don’t know what’s going on!” You shriek, slamming your palms on the counter.

Logically, you’re correct: you aren’t in love with Hoseok. He was just so overwhelmingly good. Attachments formed. Hoseok came to your home all the time. And home is a permanent fixture you could never get rid of, and you’d been away for two years, living in the western side of the city, forgetting you had a life back here, learning new intersections, knowing where to touch fruits to see if they were ripe, seducing the hot pharmacy man into a spicy romance (and subsequently dealing with the heartbreak), living, accomplishing, and these things end. Some parts of life end so you come back home, and Hoseok is home, you’re home, and the one thing about all of this is that it’s all Yoongi’s fault!

You close your eyes, feel the rush of your entire life come to a halt right at this very moment. You wanted coffee, not an attack on all your senses.

“Boppa,” you say, realizing something else. “I need a housewarming gift.”

You hear her get up, and you watch her stop where you’d left your extra bag of rice from unpacking. She lies down in front of it.

“Do you think that’s a good gift?”

She yawns. You google the meaning of offering jasmine rice as a gift for new homes.

“Abundance of love and food,” you say from your findings. It’s good. “Smart girl.”

She makes a grunting noise when you carry the bag away from her, and accepts the kiss you leave behind her ear as your goodbye for now.

She’s due for her mid-afternoon nap. You’re due for a reality check.

The drive over to the apartment is short, and you’re thankful because your seat belt scorches you when you shift the wrong way,  and suddenly your mood is sour all over again. But your parallel parking, though–it’s so immaculate you almost start crying. The balance of good and evil in your life makes you tired. The giant bag of rice almost makes you tip into the asphalt of the sidewalk.

Security buzzes you in with the code Yoongi sent you, and no later than 20 seconds pass when you find yourself in front of unit two-eighteen. You knock, and steel yourself.

The door opens.

“The fuck is that?” Yoongi snorts.

You heat high in your cheeks at the interrogation. “Boppa told me to do it.”

“Our dog told you to bring rice?”

“It’s a gift,” you seethe, “and our dog is a magical dog.” (It’s the truth. Somehow when Boppa howls, your mom will suddenly come up with cryptic news. The last time, an old auntie died.)

“I like it,” a voice says, and suddenly Hoseok is nudging Yoongi out the way. His entrance freezes you in your spot. His fingers brush against yours when he takes the bag from your hands. “Really. My mom brought rice for when my sister moved out–means abundance, or something.”

“Exactly,” is all you can breathe out, and he smiles–just as you remember–and then he disappears into another room. Never one for grand gestures; he comes and goes. Maybe it was just a ghost who happened to look like Hoseok and really liked lifting rice into the netherworld.

The slam of the grain against what’s probably the kitchen counter interrupts the thought. Yoongi makes a disgruntled noise, which more or less means come in before I start insulting you.

“We’re fixing the bed frame right now,” he explains, the door squeaking shut under his hand. “It’s already super hot in there so just–don’t come in.”

“Man sweats?”

“You know how meat smells when you’ve left it out on the counter all day?”

You recoil automatically. “I–? Ew.”

He’s joking. Probably. But it’s enough to make you stay away from that part of the apartment. The living room space is comfortably small; enough square feet to classify as cozy, not cramped. The linger of heat is a silent threat–you can already feel yourself starting to get sticky under your collar. They’ve got a mini-fan propped on one of the many boxes littered on the carpeted floor, though, whirring through little bursts of air.

There are so many boxes. The thought alone is making you sweat more.

“Thank you for the help.” Hoseok pops in again. Brushing his hair away from his sticky forehead, and you’re almost offended at how suave that move was. The audacity of good-looking people to do good-looking things unprovoked. “I really appreciate it.”

You could never refuse him. This is the truth you’ve always known. “It’s no problem. I didn’t think you’d have this much stuff.”

He flounders with a sheepish smile. “Yeah. I didn’t think I did either, but I had a whole nest of shit that I had back home in my closet and I didn’t want to throw anything out.”

“So for nostalgic purposes you’re risking heat exhaustion, is what you’re saying,” you joke.

“So mean.” Hoseok puts his hand over his heart. “You really wound me, you know?”

Yoongi interrupts with a cough. “You guys are boring, I’m going back to the bed frame.”

“I’ll be there in a sec,” Hoseok calls after him. He stands rigid for a second, gathering his thoughts. Probably just avoiding responsibility for a few precious seconds because going back to the proclaimed Meat Room sounds like a painful thought. “Um–I would catch up more but I just–I really need this done before we actually pass out.”

“It’s okay. Really.” He nods his gratitude. “Where should I start?”

“We’ve already done the bathroom, so… you think you can start with the kitchen?”

You nod. Hoseok sighs another “thank you, again,” and takes two steps backwards, as if to keep that soft gaze on you for as long as possible. He spins away before you can think too hard about it.

The kitchen is separated from the living room by the sink, and this is where all the goodies sit. One box is labeled with nothing on the side. Another has nothing but a picture of a smiling plate, a tiny fork and spoon holding hands. But the most enticing one is the box that says MUGS, SO MANY MUGS! MOM CAN’T FIT THEM ALL!

His mom’s loopy handwriting is so cute. You start with this one. In the bedroom, Yoongi screams.

“Are you okay?” You yell out, ripping at the tape with your nail, sorting the bubble-wrapped mugs by… colour? Shape? Who even owns a mug made out to be a literal octopus? The suction cups are so weirdly detailed. You put that furthest in the cupboard above your head, and pop a couple bubbles of bubble wrap to feel better.

“‘M fine,” he calls back. “Hoseok almost hacked off my thumb.”

“I did not!” Hoseok responds passionately.

They stay silent, save for more banging on wood. You organize to the clipped rhythm of the fan swaying back and forth.

It barely dawns on you that you’re in Hoseok’s new kitchen, voluntarily fixing his stuff. And if you thought about it, he would absolutely do the same for you. The symbiotic relationship of being nice just because. It’s the only way you know how to interact with each other. Someone gives, someone receives.

(You missed home. You missed Hoseok.)

It takes half an hour to sort through all the kitchen essentials. The plates and the bowls are stowed away neatly, cutlery in the first drawer below the counter. All the cleaning supplies are safe under the sink. The bag of rice sits heavy in its spot where Hoseok had left it. You’re sweating.

Not as badly as Yoongi and Hoseok are, though. They trudge in the kitchen, breathing hard, eyebrows wet with their effort.

“We’re done with the room,” Hoseok greets. Yoongi ignores you and goes straight for the handle of the fridge. He reaches for two water bottles, and hands the second one to Hoseok. “Wow, you cleared this fast.”

The compliment should not be as hard-hitting as it should be. Your giddiness is silent. “It was easy. Also your octopus mug really freaked me out so I put it, like, as far away from reach as possible.”

“I got him that mug,” Yoongi complains.

“You couldn’t have gotten him a nicer mug?”

“No?”

“You’re ugly,” you retaliate. Yoongi scrunches his face, and drinks his water angrily.

“I like the mug,” Hoseok inserts, brushing past you to open the drawers, eyeing your work, “but yeah, it is kind of. Uh. Out there.”

“Am I being insulted right now?” Yoongi asks.

“It’s an ugly mug,” you say.

“And you got him an ugly bag of rice.”

“I told you Boppa told me to do it!”

“How’s Boppa?” Hoseok interrupts, checking where you’d put the medicine, the first-aid.

“She’s–“

“–good,” you and Yoongi say at the same time. The look he sends you is venomous.

“Stop copying me.”

“You’re ugly,” you say again.

“You guys need to stop giving me whiplash every five seconds,” Hoseok complains. You know he’s used to it, though. Banter that toes the line of actual hurtful words. It’s a common conversation. He inspects the cupboard above the sink next, making little approving noises. “Ooh, bowls on top of the plates. Very nice.”

“I taught her that,” Yoongi says. Which–yes, he technically did, but now you’re just annoyed because he ripped the compliment right from your nose, and now he’s smiling because he knows you’re pissed.

The fan sings its mechanical song. Fighting Yoongi burns up so much energy you fear you’ll collapse once it comes down to fixing up the living room.

Except.

Your brother opens his stupid mouth again, and announces, “I need to leave.”

Hoseok whips around from where he was inspecting the cleaning supplies. “What?”

“Shit. I had to pick up mom from the station.”

The green-lit time on the stove says it’s five till seven. You picture your sweet little mother waiting behind the doors to the passenger pick-up parking lot, and confide in the thought that she’ll probably smack Yoongi once he pulls up. “You’re gonna be late.”

“Oh really,” he mocks. “If I get pulled over for speeding you’ll bail me out, right? Yeah? Cool. I’m sorry. Good luck. Don’t die. Hoseok, take care of her. Or–whatever. It was fun.”

Before either of you can respond, he bolts out, and slams the door behind him in a spectacularly hard fashion.

“Well,” Hoseok says.

“Huh,” you comment.

You make a mental note to kill your brother. Preferably by means of limited gore, maximum pain. Because now you’re alone with the bane (boon?) of your existence in the kitchen with too many thoughts in your head again and again it’s Yoongi’s fault and you wonder why your breakdowns always have to happen in the kitchen.

Calmly, you drink your water.

“So, uh…”

Hoseok fidgets with the empty mug box on the counter. His ears are bright red.

“You wanna–get started with the living room?” You attempt to save the conversation before it gets too awkward.

“Yes,” he agrees quickly, and scurries out with the same swiftness as Yoongi’s departure.

Did he not want to be close to you? Did you smell like meat, too? You put your deodorant on this morning. You sniff at your armpit secretly while Hoseok chooses a stack of boxes to open, and conclude that it is not your good-smelling sweat that’s driving him away, but something else you’re not aware of.

“Honestly, there’s not much here to unpack, a lot of these are just like–winter jackets, the electric cords for the TV…”

“Why don’t we start with the bookcase?”

It looms with emptiness, tucked away into the corner. The dark oakwood that housed all the precious things he said he couldn’t throw away. It feels a little personal, knowing it contains his accomplishments. His secrets? His school yearbooks? A family picture, maybe, stuffed toys he might’ve won from a carnival. For a second you imagine how it would feel, unpacking your things and his things in your own shared space.

“Sure,” Hoseok decides.

You pick the biggest box to open first. The tape has ripped at the corners, sides bulging slightly from the things crammed inside. Some dust flings off when you whip the top open, and inside is way too many books. Elementary school yearbooks, a massive cookbook, the entirety of A Series of Unfortunate Events.

“I didn’t know you read,” is the first thing that comes out of your mouth.

Hoseok startles into laughter. “Uh..?”

“I meant–oh god you know what I mean.” You blush at the slip-up. But Hoseok pays no heed, just laughs even harder.

“It’s fine. It’s–yeah. Back in high school. Found the first book in some second-hand store and ended up buying the rest.”

That explains why the first one is so much more worn down than the others. Loved, flipped through. You heave the box onto the floor, sit down next to it. Criss-cross applesauce. You begin sorting through it one by one.

“So how are you? Now that you’re back home, and all.” Hoseok handles something that clinks slightly–pots of succulents. He staggers on his tip-toes to fit them pretty on the top shelf. You think back to your brief crisis of identity in the kitchen at home.

“I wanted to make the dalgona coffee today but I had a change of plans.”

Hoseok sighs. “Sorry ‘bout that.”

“All good. But to answer your question…” There was no exciting answer to impress him with. You’re back for convenience, lack of work. Ordinary reasons. You don’t want to entertain lengthy stories in the fog of this heat, anyway. “It’s… I’m just back. That internship was all I had going for me, so I’m still on a job hunt.”

“That’s really cool, though. I remember your sketchbooks. And when you built that seat to look like a huge-ass Converse shoe.”

It was one of your projects for junior year. “Yeah, it… I don’t know where that is now, probably stuck in the basement somewhere.”

“Sell it on eBay.”

“Like anyone would pay for that shit.” It literally was a giant wooden slab made to look like a shoe, soft enough for reclining. “It’s ugly.”

Hoseok shrugs. “It wasn’t. But keep thinking that, silly, go ahead.”

“It’s just–I can’t believe you know I built that. Like you remember that? I don’t even remember building it.”

He contemplates. “I’ll always remember you,” he answers, very simply, and for a while he lets it linger, like it hadn’t just gotten your heart racing so fast.

The silence is scary. Maybe he’s trying to read your mind. Maybe if you made a loud noise in your head, he’d be startled. You start thinking about the most obscene moaning noises, straight out of soft, amateur pornography that you see floating on your timeline sometimes. But Hoseok doesn’t budge. 

Damn. He just continues on.

“Do you still cry when The Proposal comes on?”

“Oh spare me,” you beg, itching to slap his leg. He shudders with his laughing. “How about you? You still cry when someone talks about the White Lady?”

You think back to a 16-year-old Hoseok sleeping over at your house once, so vexed by Yoongi’s searches on horror forums that night he’d made sure Boppa slept in the room with them. “You’ll curse my apartment!”

“I’d have to say the name three times, you know.”

He watches you from above with frightened eyes. “You wouldn’t.”

Hoseok should know better than to trust his best friend’s sister. Right as you taunt him with the first syllable–(“Whi…“)–he tucks the last succulent away on the shelf, drops down on his knees, and shoves a hot hand over your lips.

“I will actually, genuinely, really, reallyreallyreally hate you forever,” he threatens.

Well.

You wouldn’t want that.

He is devastatingly close, his gaze so frenzied you’re starting to feel bad. The heat comes in waves: the stifling living room, the pathetic blows of wind from the fan. Hoseok’s body. Proximity you haven’t known in forever. He just stares.

You garble from behind his mouth. “Sto’ wooing ame.”

“What?”

You slide his palm off your wet lip. “Stop looking at me,” you repeat.

“I can’t just look at you?”

Oh. He –?

“You – !” You swat at him like he’s a pesky mosquito, warding off the thirst for your embarrassment. He sits next to you, laughing. “I’m sweaty and my concealer is creasing.”

“You look fine.”

“To you.” You pat under your eyes. “I’m ugly to me.”

“Me is stupid,” he counters.

“Me will kick you if you don’t finish clearing this shit out!”

Hoseok relents, careful to test your aggression. He’s sweating, too. He wipes at his neck, sighing into straight posture from creaky knees. “We can just finish this then call it a night,” he offers. “Are you almost done with that box?”

You lug the cookbook into the remaining space of the shelf. “It’s done.”

“Cool. Then could you just–” he gestures to the cardboard near his feet with one hand, arranging more succulents with the other– “grab that for me?”

You reach over with a grunt, gentle in your hold of the pot. It’s a money plant. “From your mom?”

“I don’t even like plants,” Hoseok complains. He looks to the side of the bookshelf, realizing there’s no space to accommodate the larger pot. Dejected, he just leaves it where he stands. “I’m fixing this tomorrow, I don’t care. Let’s go outside.”

Outside is the balcony, which isn’t as oppressively hot as it is inside but still has you disappointed that it’s, well, hot. There’s no escaping it. Hoseok has to use his entire body weight to slide open the glass doors. “Shit fucking doors. Do you think Yoongi carries WD-40?”

“Probably. Tell him it’s his welcoming gift for you.”

He snorts. “I’d feel guilty. He already did a lot, building the bed with me.”

You follow him to where he leans on the railing. His unit faces west. Perfect for this time of year, when the sunsets are longer. It bleeds low behind the fading bricks of the faraway houses, the inner city high-rises, and if you angled yourself correctly it’s almost as if they lean on the sun itself. 

“This is the real reason why I chose this place,” Hoseok says. “Saw this sunset and knew.”

“I didn’t know you were so sappy.” You scrunch your face like you’ve been fed something sour. He laughs. 

“How else do you think I get all the hot ladies?” He teases. You stop at that. It suddenly occurs to you that Hoseok is a man who’s lived a million lives just as you have, and just as nothing stopped you from trying to date around (re: hot pharmacy man), the same laws should apply to him, too. 

You aren’t hurt, but it does cut a little. And before you can stop yourself, you ask: “Are any hot ladies coming over anytime soon?”

He sounds like he chokes. “God no.”

“Oh.”

“I – it’s boring stuff. Just. No. Maybe there could have been, but no.”

In your heart of hearts, you believe he’s stuttering because he’s embarrassed. But a part of you wishes he’s trying to appease the part of you that’s bristling, like he knows it’s not information you want to hear. It’s almost like a puppy nipping at their owner for forgiveness, though why would he want to be apologizing?

(Unless.)

“Okay,” you say. You try not to think too hard. “Sorry. You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”

Your top lip is sweaty. Every crease in your body is sweaty. You’re also very much aware that Hoseok is looking at you like he wants to say more, but he just hangs his head low. “Thanks. What about you?”

“What about me?”

“You know.” He wipes his brow. “Anything, really. Plans for the summer. Hot men to woo. Or hot ladies, I don’t know.”

You watch the sun set lower. It’s cooler now, and the cicadas are humming loudly. “I… no. I’m not really… I don’t know.”

Good lord. You have the strangest feeling to cut open all your guts and let Hoseok see you for everything you are. He does it so easily, to you. This is the universal truth that’s defined your existence since he entered your life.

“Ugh. I’d offer you beer to cheers for being lonely but you’re driving.” He pouts. “Fuck. Sorry. I don’t want to keep you any longer than you want to stay.”

“I don’t mind.” And because you like to torture yourself, you add: “Not if it’s you.”

(You can almost hear your brother’s voice. You’re so easy. The you in your head gives him a sucker punch and says: Well maybe I like to be easy! The Boppa in your head also kicks him in the shin. You think she’d be cheering you on.)

Hoseok’s eyes widen. “Really.” It’s not a question but a reaction, and Mind-Boppa gives you a fist bump.

“Yeah. Or you can tell me if that was weird. Like. Really. You can.” You’re about to ramble more but Hoseok interrupts you.

“No!” He says this a little too loudly. You flinch. “Sorry. No. No. That wasn’t weird.”

For the umpteenth time today you almost burst into tears. It’s everything sweet and bad and hot pressing in on you, and is Hoseok smiling? He’s laughing. You’re about to spontaneously combust and he’s cackling like he’s cracked the code of something. You must look horrified, because he starts to flounder.

“I’m–sorry. I’m sorry. Please. I’m not laughing at you. I’m just gonna ask you something, and I want you to walk out on me and forget everything I’m about to say if you choose to. Does that sound good?”

You think: it’s hot when he takes initiative.

You say: nothing.

You: nod for him to continue.

“Can I please treat you to dinner for fixing my kitchen for me?”

Catholics say the universe was created in seven days. Hoseok bursts and collides five hundred of them with one question.

“Will you pay for me?” You ask.

“Yes.”

“Do I have to look pretty?”

“You’re always pretty to me,” he says.

“What if I say no?”

“Then I’ll pretend I never asked you and you can go woo another hot person. But I prefer you don’t.”

The sun has set. There’s pink in the sky, and there’s pink in your eyes. You wonder if your pupils have turned heart-shaped. 

“Then my answer is yes,” you decide.

.

.

.

When you sit in the driver’s seat, you think about Hoseok’s smile and what you’d do to keep it there. Then, you declare to your driving wheel, “I’m going to kill Yoongi,” then pull off into traffic.

.

.

.

Hoseok closes the door behind him, and slides down with his back against the wood. “Yoongi’s going to kill me,” he says to himself.