#I'll try to port it there this week though :-)

[rathologic]

i had a really quick question. if one wanted to change the font size in classic HD either through settings or mods how would they do so? i tried that upscaled mod on nexus but it doesnt fit my screen and shifts everything around weirdly. i want to try and experience classic hd but the font is so tiny it genuinely hurts my eyes

I'm sorry to say this may not be a really quick question... basically, patho1's .ft font files are a custom format that do not have known editor software. A colleague in the Pathologic Modding Discord has I think worked out most of the file format's structure though! You should be able to find enough information to change a font file in the p1 #modding-discussion channel history (this information is OVERDUE to be ported to the wiki).

Otherwise, the only suggestion I have is to extract your game files (here's a text/video tutorial), go to the "Fonts" folder, and try copying and renaming every .ft file to be the largest one. (The renamed files will be installed automatically). I'm not sure if the format will read the replaced files correctly re: "undocumented format", but it might be a good shot!

[sillimancer]

parents threw me out of the house for the day so hello from a random panera

[theonottsbxtch]

Your Charles series was so good. And your writing is amazing.

Could you maybe do something where reader is friends with Arthur’s GF- Jade or someone in his friend group and she meets Charles and he literally has a fall in love at first sight moment with her and maybe he becomes a bit obsessed 🫶🏻🫶🏻

LOVE ME, BABY | CL16

an: i did a mix of a smau and written for this one and since i'm moving to france again soon i'm making her french ehehe

jade_distinguinn

liked by yourusername, arthur_leclerc, yourbestfriend and 28,428 others

look who's finally come to visit @/yourusername

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userone: facecard never declines for both of them

usertwo: i need them both

userthree: omg finally getting to see yn in monaco

yourusername: take me to the port, i need to find a sugar daddy

jade_distinguinn: enough.

userfour: they're so pretty

yourbestfriend: it's fine leave me behind, i'll cope

yourusername: you had work??

jade_distinguinn: i tried to pay you to come??

yourbestfriend: shh don't expose me.

userfive: i would commit war crimes to be apart of their friendship

monaco casino, arthur's birthday

The night buzzed with a certain energy Charles knew all too well. The Casino de Monte-Carlo was alive with high society types, gamblers, and tourists, all bathing in the golden glow of the chandeliers. A typical night in Monaco, he supposed, but something about tonight felt different.

Charles had come here to celebrate Arthur’s birthday, content with blending into the backdrop. The Austin Grand Prix was just a week away, and while most people recognised his face, tonight wasn’t about the spotlight. That was Arthur’s role tonight, surrounded by his circle of friends. For once, Charles was glad to slip into the shadows.

He’d just stepped away from the table, heading towards the bar when it happened. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw you, gliding through the crowd like you didn’t belong in all this glitz, as though you were in your own world. Your dark hair fell effortlessly over your shoulders, and the understated elegance of your dress caught his eye. Not flashy, not trying too hard.

Then, in one brief, perfect moment, you brushed against him.

The light contact jolted him from his thoughts, and before he could even react, you turned, eyes wide with surprise.

“Oh, I’m sorry!” Your voice, soft and clear, carried the unmistakable lilt of a French accent.

Charles’s world tilted as your eyes met his. He wasn’t used to this—the sudden quiet that seemed to fill the room, as though all the noise had fallen away in your presence. And yet, here you were, pulling him into that stillness.

You didn’t look at him the way people usually did. There was no spark of recognition, no polite nod that said, I know who you are. Just calm, curious eyes, waiting for a response.

Charles cleared his throat, his usual confidence faltering. “Yes… sorry, I—”

“Are you alright?” you asked, a faint smile playing at your lips, almost teasing.

He couldn’t help but laugh softly, surprised by how easily you handled the situation. Handled him. That never happened to Charles Leclerc. People usually fumbled over their words, especially in places like this where Formula One drivers were practically worshipped. But you? You were treating him like he was just another guy in a suit, standing in your way.

“I’m… Charles,” he managed, extending his hand automatically.

You glanced at his hand, but instead of shaking it, you smiled politely and looked past him, scanning the corridor. “Nice to meet you, Charles. But I really need to find the bathroom before I get even more lost in here.”

And just like that, you were leaving. The most baffling part? You still had no idea who he was.

“Uh, it’s just down that corridor to the right,” he said, voice a bit steadier now but still trailing after you as you moved away.

“Thanks.” You shot him one last glance, smiled briefly, and disappeared into the crowd, leaving him standing there with an unfamiliar feeling settling in his chest.

Charles was used to attention. But this? This was different. A fleeting encounter, barely lasting seconds, yet it had left something behind he couldn’t quite shake. You’d treated him like anyone else. Not a celebrity, not a driver—just another person. And that intrigued him more than anything.

With a sigh, Charles turned back towards the bar, trying to push the thought of you out of his mind.

But minutes later, back at the table with Arthur and the others, his thoughts kept drifting. He couldn’t shake the memory of you, couldn’t help but glance at the entrance now and then, half hoping, half expecting to see you again.

And then, there you were.

You moved through the crowd with a quiet confidence, your head held high, walking straight towards the table. Charles’s pulse quickened as you drew closer, your gaze sweeping across the group until it landed on him.

Jade noticed you first, her face lighting up. “Darling! There you are!” She jumped up, pulling you in for a quick hug.

Charles watched in amusement, barely concealing a smirk. You hadn’t recognised him yet, still oblivious to the fact that you’d just met him.

You sat beside Jade, and Arthur leaned over, gesturing towards Charles. “I don’t think you’ve met Charles here, have you?” His grin was wide, completely unaware of the encounter that had already unfolded.

You glanced his way, and for a split second, something flickered in your eyes. But you kept your expression composed, only hesitating for a moment before replying smoothly.

“No, I don’t think I have.”

Charles leaned forward, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. You were good. Playing it off like the two of you hadn’t just crossed paths minutes ago. The fact that you weren’t acknowledging it only made him more curious.

He extended his hand again, this time with a knowing look in his eyes. “Pleasure to meet you.”

“Likewise,” you replied, your gaze meeting his directly, a glint of challenge flickering there.

Arthur, still oblivious to the undercurrent between you two, continued on casually. “Charles’s been in Monaco as long as you. Just got back from testing in Italy.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Testing?”

“He’s a Formula One driver,” Jade added, glancing between you and Charles.

Charles didn’t take his eyes off you. He saw the moment of realisation in your eyes, just the slightest widening before you regained your composure. But he caught it. You’d finally connected the dots.

You recovered gracefully, your voice smooth and unaffected. “I guess I’ve been too busy to follow sports.”

Charles let out a low chuckle. You were definitely good at this game. And the best part? You weren’t going to make it easy for him.

“That’s what makes it interesting,” he replied, his gaze steady on you.

Jade quickly pulled your attention to something else, and Charles watched as you turned away, part of him disappointed, but another part relieved. It gave him a moment to take you in fully, to process what had just happened. You hadn’t recognised him—not as a Formula One driver, not as anyone of importance. You’d smiled, thanked him, and carried on.

As the conversation at the table continued, Charles found his thoughts drifting back to you, glancing your way more often than he should. There was something about the way you carried yourself—an effortless kind of allure, unpretentious and completely disarming.

He realised he’d been too quiet when Arthur nudged him, snapping him out of his reverie.

“Charlie, you alright?” Arthur raised an eyebrow, his tone curious.

Charles blinked, forcing a grin. “Yeah, yeah. Just thinking.”

Arthur chuckled, clearly unconvinced. “About your next race or something?”

Charles’s eyes flicked back to you, now laughing at something Jade had said, completely unaware of the fact that you were occupying his mind.

“Actually,” Charles said, lowering his voice so only Arthur could hear, “I was wondering if you could give me her number.”

Arthur looked puzzled. “Her? Really?”

Charles rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. “Yeah, she’s... different. I’d like to get to know her.”

"Alright, I get it," Arthur said, his voice low enough so the others couldn’t hear. He glanced over at you, then back at Charles, his smile fading into something more serious. "But no can do, mate. She’s Jade’s best friend."

Charles blinked. "What’s that got to do with anything?"

Arthur shrugged, his grin returning. "It means I’m not getting involved. If you want her number, you’re going to have to ask her yourself."

Charles felt a jolt of panic surge through him. "Ask her myself?" The words came out louder than intended, and he quickly lowered his voice when you glanced in their direction. He cleared his throat, trying to appear nonchalant. "I mean, you can’t just—"

"Nope," Arthur cut him off, his expression completely unyielding. "I’m not risking it. Do you know how long it took me to win over Jade? If I mess this up by playing matchmaker and it doesn’t work out, I’m screwed."

Charles groaned inwardly. Arthur’s girlfriend, Jade, was lovely, but he had to admit—Arthur had a point. The last thing he wanted was to stir up any drama, especially with you being Jade’s best friend. But still, the thought of approaching you directly made his pulse quicken.

"You’re really not going to help me out here?" Charles asked, trying one last time.

Arthur grinned like he was thoroughly enjoying the sight of a Formula One driver getting flustered over a girl. "Not a chance. But look at it this way—you’re Charles Leclerc, mate. You can handle it."

Charles stared at him, deadpan. "You realise I drive at 300 kilometres an hour for a living, right? This is way more terrifying."

Arthur burst out laughing, slapping him on the back. "Good luck, mate."

Charles watched as Arthur leaned back in his chair, clearly done with the conversation. He couldn’t believe it. Ask her myself. He glanced at you again, and his heart did that strange, unfamiliar thing where it skipped a beat. This was insane.

But there was no way around it.

He took a deep breath and downed the rest of his drink, trying to steel his nerves. The next race was nothing compared to this. Alright, he thought, just go over there and act normal. But even as he thought it, he knew ‘normal’ was the last thing he’d be able to pull off around you.

How had this become the hardest thing he’d ever done?

charles_leclerc

liked by arthurleclerc, jade_distinguinn, carlossainz55 and 986,583 others

celebrating 24!

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userone: my fav grid siblings

usertwo: oh my who are the girls at the end?

arthurleclerc: merci frero

userthree: i want to know what a leclerc party is like

jade_distinguinn: @/yourusername we got put on blast in that final picture

arthurleclerc: @/charles_leclerc eyes

jadedistinguinn: what?

arthurleclerc: nothing mon amour

userfour: i wish i was there

userfive: happy birthday arthur!

yourusername: oh god i look awful

charles_leclerc: i think you look quite the opposite actually

texts between jade and arthur

jade's apartment

You were lounging on the sofa, the late afternoon light filtering through the blinds, casting soft, golden streaks across Jade’s apartment. She was curled up in the armchair across from you, scrolling through her phone and sipping tea. It was one of those rare, lazy afternoons where nothing was pressing, and the air was filled with the comforting hum of nothingness. A perfect break.

“So, what are you and Arthur up to tonight?” you asked absently, flicking through the channels without much interest.

Jade glanced up, shrugging. “Not sure yet. He mentioned something about Charles going to England tomorrow for testing, so we might just go out for dinner and come back unless he wants to go and see Charles.”

Before you could respond, there was a soft knock at the door.

“That’ll be him,” Jade said, setting her cup down and stretching.

You got up to answer the door, opening it to find Arthur standing there, a familiar cheeky grin on his face.

"Alright, ladies?" he said, stepping into the apartment with the ease of someone who's done it a hundred times before. He gave Jade a quick kiss on the cheek before plopping himself down beside her on the armchair, completely at home.

"Hey, Arthur," you said, sitting back down on the sofa. "Heard Charles’s off to England tomorrow? Are you going to see him tonight?"

“Yeah,” Arthur says, leaning back and draping his arm across the back of Jade’s chair. “Got some testing to do, nothing major, just a quick day trip, so we’ll be home tonight.”

“Must be exhausting,” you commented, more out of politeness than anything. Formula One life sounded glamorous, but you couldn’t imagine the constant travel.

Arthur chuckled. “Yeah, he’s got a crazy schedule, that one. Actually…” He hesitated for a moment, shooting a glance at Jade that you didn’t catch, then continued, “Charles is looking for someone to dogsit while he’s away. Just for the day, really. His usual sitter fell through.”

You blinked, surprised. “Charles has a dog?”

“Yeah, a small dachshund. Leo. Sweetest thing you’ve ever seen,” Arthur said, his voice casual but you missed the slight edge of anticipation that lingered beneath his tone.

You glanced at Jade, who was suddenly very interested in her tea, and shrugged. “I could do it. I’ve not got any plans tomorrow anyway, and I’ve been wanting an excuse to get out for a walk. Might be nice to have some company.”

For a brief moment, neither Jade nor Arthur said anything. It was like they’d frozen, and you were about to ask if you’d said something weird when Arthur cleared his throat.

“Yeah? That’d be brilliant,” he said, flashing a quick smile at Jade before looking back at you. “Charles will appreciate that. Leo’s great, really. You’ll get along.”

You nodded, thinking it was no big deal. “Happy to help. I love dogs.”

Jade set her cup down a little too carefully, and you missed the look she shared with Arthur—a quick, knowing glance, a barely-there smile. It was the kind of look that was exchanged between people who were clearly up to something, but you were oblivious, already thinking about what you’d need to bring for Leo’s day out.

Arthur leaned forward, grinning now, clearly pleased with how smoothly things were going. “I’ll let Charles know. I’ll pick you up tomorrow morning and drop you off at his place?”

“Perfect,” you said, pulling your knees up to your chest and settling back into the cushions. “I’ll make sure Leo’s well looked after.”

Arthur and Jade shared another glance, but you were too busy scrolling through your phone now, thinking about where you’ll take Leo for a walk. Maybe the park nearby?

Jade stretched, standing up and nudging Arthur’s arm. “We should probably get going, yeah? Need to go pick something up from your mother’s salon.” she said, clearly making something up on the spot.

Arthur jumped to his feet, playing along smoothly. “Right, yeah, can’t forget about that.”

You waved them off, entirely unaware of the little conspiracy brewing right under your nose. “See you tomorrow, then.”

As they left, Jade turned back, a small smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “You’ll love Leo, trust me.”

“Looking forward to it,” you called back, smiling.

yourusername

liked by jade_distinguinn, arthurleclerc, charles_leclerc and 3,853 others

dog sitting duties

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userone: omg is that leo??

usertwo: chat if they date, my glock is finna be locked and loaded

userthree: is that charles' place??

arthurleclerc: my nephew is so adorable

userfour: i want to be her so god damn bad

userfive: i must have been the worst sort of person in my past life WHY IS THIS NOT ME

jade_distinguinn: cutest ball of fluff ever

usersix: parents?

charles_leclerc: thank you for this

charles' apartment, late at night

Charles dragged his suitcase behind him, feeling the familiar ache of travel settle into his muscles. The testing had gone well, but the flight back from England had drained him more than usual. All he could think about was getting home, maybe grabbing a quick bite to eat, and collapsing into bed.

As he unlocked the door and stepped inside, something felt off. Normally, Leo would be at the door within seconds, his tail wagging like crazy, eager to greet him after any amount of time apart. But today, there was no thundering of paws, no excited whining. The house was still, unusually quiet.

“Leo?” he called out softly, frowning as he dropped his bag by the entrance.

No response.

His concern grew as he walked further into the living room, the sight before him making him stop in his tracks. There, curled up on the sofa, was Leo—and beside him, fast asleep, was you. Your head was resting on a cushion, and Leo’s small dachshund head was draped lazily over your legs. Both of you looked completely peaceful, completely unaware of the world.

Charles blinked, feeling something in him soften at the sight. He’d forgotten for a moment that Arthur had mentioned you’d offered to look after Leo while he was away. Seeing you there, though, sprawled out on his sofa, completely at ease with Leo beside you, was… unexpected. But in the best possible way.

A small smile tugged at the corners of his lips as he quietly stepped closer. Leo’s ears flicked up as he noticed Charles, but the dog didn’t move, simply blinked sleepily before resting his head back on you, clearly not ready to leave his comfortable spot. Charles chuckled under his breath. Traitor.

His eyes moved back to you. You were still in your casual clothes, one arm draped across your chest, your breathing soft and steady. He felt his chest tighten, this strange warmth creeping up on him as he stood there watching. He could see why Leo hadn’t come rushing to the door—you were good company, after all.

Charles sighed quietly, rubbing the back of his neck. As much as he wanted to crash right there on the sofa himself, beside you, he knew you’d be more comfortable in a bed. He hesitated for a second before moving closer, carefully reaching down and gently sliding one arm under your legs and the other under your shoulders. You stirred slightly as he lifted you, but didn’t wake, your head leaning into his chest as he carried you through the apartment to his bedroom.

You felt light in his arms, your face peaceful as he laid you down on the bed, tucking the covers around you carefully. His heart gave an unfamiliar lurch as he stepped back, watching for just a moment as you settled into the blankets, still fast asleep.

Charles smiled softly to himself, shaking his head as he quietly left the room, closing the door behind him. He glanced back at the sofa where Leo had curled up, already resuming his nap. “Looks like I’ll be taking your spot tonight, mate.”

text between yn and jade

charles' apartment, following morning

The first thing you felt was warmth. Your body was cocooned in softness, the kind of comfort that made you want to sink deeper into sleep. But something didn’t feel right. You blinked your eyes open slowly, expecting to see your familiar surroundings—the sofa, Leo, maybe even your shoes kicked off somewhere on the floor—but instead, you were in a bed.

You sat up quickly, blinking against the morning light streaming through a nearby window. Your heart skipped a beat as you took in the room around you. This definitely wasn’t your apartment. The walls were unfamiliar, the duvet softer than yours, and the faint scent of something cooking wafted through the air. Panic settled in your chest.

The events of yesterday start rushing back. Leo. Charles. You’d agreed to dogsit while Charles was in England for testing. You must have fallen asleep on the sofa—but how did I end up in bed?

Oh no. Did Charles put me here?

You felt a rush of mortification as the realisation hit. He must have carried you. Carried you. Heat rose in your cheeks as you glanced around the room, suddenly very aware of the fact that you were lying in his bed. His bed!

Throwing off the covers, you swung your legs over the side of the bed and stood up, running a hand through your hair. You didn’t even know what time it was, but it felt later than it should be. God, how long have I been asleep?

You headed towards the door, trying to shake off your embarrassment as you stepped out of the bedroom and made your way into the main part of the apartment. The smell of food grew stronger, and as you rounded the corner, you froze.

Charles was standing in the kitchen, barefoot, wearing nothing but a pair of grey sweatpants, and flipping something in a frying pan. His back was to you, but there was no missing the fact that he was shirtless—completely shirtless. The morning light caught on his tanned skin, highlighting the defined muscles of his back and shoulders. Your brain momentarily short-circuited, and you stood there like an idiot, staring.

Oh God, this is so much worse than I thought.

He turned around, catching sight of you standing there, and smiled, completely unfazed. “Morning.”

You blinked, feeling the heat rush to your face again as you tried to form coherent words. “Uh… morning.”

He set the pan down and wiped his hands on a nearby dish towel, seemingly unaware of your internal struggle. “I hope you slept alright. Sorry if I startled you by moving you to the bed, but I thought you’d be more comfortable.”

Your heart was still racing, and you were pretty sure you were about three shades of red at this point. You fumbled for a response, trying to keep your eyes from drifting back to his very toned, very bare torso. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to just… fall asleep on your sofa like that.”

Charles chuckled, clearly amused by your flustered state. “No problem at all. You looked comfortable, and Leo clearly wasn’t moving anytime soon.” He nods towards the dog, who was lying by the kitchen, tail thumping lazily against the floor.

You let out a breath, still feeling a bit mortified but tried to compose yourself. “I just… I didn’t realise I was that tired.”

“No harm done,” he said, waving off your apology. “I’m actually glad you stayed. Saved me from dealing with an overly energetic dog first thing in the morning. He pawed at your door to join you last night and only came out 20 minutes ago, all calm.”

You managed a small laugh, feeling slightly less awkward now, though your eyes kept darting to his chest before you forced them back up to his face. Focus.

Charles seemed to notice your discomfort, his smile softening. “I was just making some breakfast. Do you want to join me?”

You blinked, caught off guard by the invitation. “Breakfast?”

“Yeah, the thing people eat at the start of the day?” he said sarcastically and casual, as if this whole situation was perfectly normal. “I’m making eggs and toast, nothing fancy. But you’re welcome to stay.”

Your stomach betrayed you by rumbling softly, and you realise you hadn’t eaten since lunch the day before. Despite the lingering embarrassment, the idea of sitting down with him, maybe getting to know him better, didn’t sound half bad.

You nodded, feeling yourself relax a little. “Yeah, okay. I could eat.”

Charles grinned and gestured to the kitchen island. “Great. Grab a seat, I’ll get you a plate.”

yourusername

liked by arthurleclec, charles_leclerc, jade_distinguinn and 33,539 others

"nothing fancy" and "just eggs and toast"

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userone: LEOOOOOOO

usertwo: that last pic gIRL??

jade_distinguinn: oh no the charles fans found you

yourusername: fuck

jade_distinguinn: good luck

userthree: who is she omg?

userfour: i think she's arthur's girlfriend's bestfriend from paris?

yourusername: yo that is insane, how did you find out i'm from paris

arthurleclerc: i'm sorry for what's about to happen

yourusername: THERE IS WORSE??!?

userfive: she is gorgeous

usersix: idk who i want more

charles_leclerc: if you were impressed by this, wait until you see what dinner consits of

yourusername: are you inviting me to dinner?

charles_leclerc: only if you say yes

yourusername: yes

userseven: WE ARE WITNISSING HISTORY

twitter

charles' apartment, one night

The evening sun was just beginning to dip below the horizon, casting a warm, golden glow over the apartment. Charles had insisted on cooking dinner for the both of you, despite your half-hearted protests. Now, the smell of something delicious—a mix of garlic, herbs, and roasted vegetables—filled the space, making your stomach rumble.

You were seated at the small dining table, watching as Charles moved around the kitchen with surprising ease. He wasn’t wearing a shirt again, but this time you’d had a little more time to get used to it. It wasn’t helping your concentration, though. Every time he turned to grab something or stir a pot, your eyes seemed to betray you, drifting toward the defined muscles of his back, the curve of his arms as he worked.

He caught you staring once or twice, shooting you a quick, knowing smile, which only made you look away, cheeks burning.

“Alright,” he said finally, bringing over two plates and setting them down on the table. “Hope you like pasta.”

You glanced at the dish in front of you—perfectly cooked spaghetti, tossed with olive oil, garlic, and roasted tomatoes. “It looks amazing,” you said, genuinely impressed.

He sat across from you, pouring some wine into your glass with a teasing smile. “Thought I’d try to impress you.”

You laugh, taking a sip of the wine. “Consider me impressed. You didn’t strike me as the cooking type.”

Charles leaned back in his chair, smiling lazily. “What, just because I drive fast cars for a living, I can’t handle a kitchen?”

“Well, yeah,” you tease, twirling some pasta around your fork. “It doesn’t really scream ‘domestic life,’ you know?”

He chuckled at that, but there was a soft, almost thoughtful look in his eyes as he watched you. “Fair enough. But there’s more to life than cars, you know.”

You take a bite of the pasta—perfectly seasoned, of course—and nod. “I’ll admit, you’re a man of surprises.”

As the conversation flows, you start to relax, the initial awkwardness of the morning fading away. You tell him about your time in Paris, about how you’ve been studying film and journalism at university. Charles seems genuinely interested, leaning forward slightly as you talk.

“So, you’re a filmmaker then?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Hopefully one day,” you say with a laugh. “I still have a year left at uni. Right now, it’s more learning than making.”

Charles takes a sip of his wine, considering. “What kind of films do you want to make?”

You pause, twirling the wine glass in your hands. “I think... films that make people feel something. You know? I want to tell stories that resonate, that make people look at the world a little differently. Journalism’s the same for me. It’s all about storytelling.”

He watches you as you speak, his gaze intense but soft, like he’s taking in every word. “That’s... really cool,” he says, his voice quieter now. “I think the world could use more of that.”

You smile, feeling a strange warmth spread through you—not just from the wine, but from the way he looks at you, like he’s genuinely interested in who you are, not just the surface-level stuff. “Thanks. I leave tomorrow, though, back to Paris to finish my term.”

There’s a brief silence, and for a moment, the lightness of the conversation shifts. Charles sets his glass down and leans forward, his eyes not leaving yours. “You don’t have to go tomorrow, you know.”

You blink, surprised. “What?”

He shrugs, a playful smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “I mean, what’s a few more days? Stay a little longer. We can get to know each other better.” His tone is light, but there’s something deeper in his eyes—a hint of something more serious, more intent.

You hesitate, your mind racing. Stay longer? You’d planned to leave tomorrow, get back to your routine, your studies… But the way he’s looking at you now, the thought of leaving suddenly feels less appealing.

“I—” you start, but Charles interrupts, his voice dropping a little lower, his gaze never wavering.

“Look, I know we just met, but… there’s something here, right? Between us?”

The words catch you off guard, and your heart skips a beat. You weren’t imagining it, then—this pull between you two, the way your pulse quickened whenever he was close, the way your eyes kept finding him without meaning to.

“I don’t know,” you say softly, feeling your heart race. “Maybe…”

He stands up then, walking around the table slowly, his eyes locked on yours. Every step closer makes your breath catch in your throat, the room seeming to shrink as the distance between you disappears.

When he’s standing in front of you, he reaches out, his fingers gently tilting your chin up so that you’re looking right into his eyes. “Stay,” he says again, his voice almost a whisper now. “Just a little longer.”

Your pulse pounds in your ears as you meet his gaze, your heart caught between indecision and desire. You open your mouth to say something—anything—but before you can, his lips are on yours.

The kiss is soft at first, almost tentative, but then it deepens, heat flooding your body as you feel his hands slide around your waist, pulling you closer. Your hands move instinctively, finding their way to his chest, the warmth of his skin under your palms sending a thrill through you.

The rest of the world falls away, leaving only the feeling of his lips moving against yours, the taste of wine still lingering, his breath warm and steady. When you finally pull back, your forehead resting against his, you’re both breathing a little heavier, your heart pounding in your chest.

He looks down at you, his eyes dark and full of something that makes your knees feel weak. “Stay,” he whispers again, his voice rougher now, more urgent.

And suddenly, leaving feels like the last thing you want to do.

You stare up into Charles’s eyes, still catching your breath from the intensity of the kiss. His forehead is still pressed gently against yours, and the weight of the moment is thick in the air, like the world’s holding its breath along with you.

His hand moves to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing softly along your skin. You can feel the warmth radiating from him, his chest rising and falling a little faster than usual, mirroring your own heartbeat. He leans in again, his lips just a whisper away from yours, and his voice is low, thick with desire.

“Say yes,” he murmurs, his breath warm against your lips. “Stay, just a little longer.”

You swallow, your pulse pounding in your ears, your body still buzzing from the kiss. It feels impossible to think straight with him this close, with the way his touch sets your skin on fire. But then, as his fingers slide down the side of your neck, his lips just barely grazing yours, you make your decision.

“Yes,” you whisper.

His lips crash into yours again, more intense this time, like the word had unleashed something in him. His hands slide down your back, pulling you closer until there’s no space left between you. You gasp into the kiss, your arms instinctively wrapping around his neck, fingers tangling in his hair as the world blurs around you. The only thing you can focus on is him—his warmth, his touch, the way his mouth moves against yours like he can’t get enough.

Charles backs you gently against the edge of the dining table, his lips never leaving yours, and you feel the solid wood press against the small of your back. His hands find your waist again, lifting you effortlessly onto the table. You gasp as he steps between your legs, his body pressing against yours, and you feel every inch of him—strong, solid, and warm.

Your hands slide over his bare chest, feeling the taut muscles under your fingertips all over again. He groans softly against your lips, the sound sending a thrill through your entire body. The kiss deepens, more urgent now, and you feel his hands wander—one slipping up your back, the other gripping your thigh, pulling you even closer.

It’s overwhelming, this rush of heat, of wanting. Your heart pounds harder with every movement, every brush of his lips. His mouth moves from yours, trailing down your neck, leaving a trail of heat in its wake. You tilt your head back, eyes fluttering closed as you let yourself get lost in the sensation.

Then, just when you think you might drown in the feeling, he pulls back slightly, his breathing ragged, his forehead resting against yours again. His hands are still on you, holding you close, like he’s afraid to let go.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that,” he breathes, his voice husky and low.

You smile, breathless and still dizzy from the kiss. “I think I might.”

He pulls back just enough to look at you, his eyes dark and intense, searching yours. There’s a softness in his expression now, something deeper that makes your heart flutter all over again. “So, you’re staying?”

You nod, unable to tear your eyes away from him. “Yes. I’m staying.”

The smile that spreads across his face is slow, but it lights up his entire expression, making something inside you melt. He leans in again, pressing one last soft, lingering kiss to your lips before pulling back and gently brushing a strand of hair from your face.

“Good,” he whispers, his voice low and full of promise. “Because I’m not done with you yet.”

yourusername

liked by jade_distinguinn, arthurleclerc, charles_leclerc and 54,429 others

one more week won't hurt, right?

*tap to load more comments*

userone: GUYS??!??!?!?!

usertwo: is leo about to have a mother?

userthree: THAT LAST PHOTO CHARLES LECLERC HOW COULD YOU DO THIS TO ME

jade_distinguinn: @/arthurleclerc mission acomplished?

arthurleclerc: yes boss 🫡

yourusername: huh??

userfour: can not believe i'm alive during this time rn

charles_leclerc: rumour is you can transfer to UoMonaco

yourusername: charlie you know i can't 🤭

userfive: CHARLIE STOP I CANNOT TAKE THIS I DONT EVEN KNOW THESE PEOPLE AH

usersix: i am sick🤧

userseven: time to start wondering around aimlessly in monaco and pray for the best

the end.

[arsenicflame]

It's a time-honoured tradition- every time Sam comes across Izzy (and Ed) in their travels, he asks Izzy to marry him. And every time, Izzy turns him down.

At this point, Sam is asking more for the sake of it than any belief Izzy will ever say yes, a remnant of childhood dedication touched with 30 years of heartbreak and regret- though even now, a small part of him still holds out hope. Sam's promises have only got more extravagant over the years, from a job as his first mate, to a captaincy, a fleet at his command, a whole fucking island if that's what Izzy wants- but he knows it isn't though, not really. If Izzy was ever going to agree to marry him, to leave his life and go with Sam, it wouldn't be for anything Sam could offer him. Izzy never did care for flashy shows of wealth, for a ship or to be captain. The only thing that ever mattered to him was loyalty given, and loyalty shown in return. 

It all comes to a head after Stede left and came back, after Izzy lost a toe, lost his leg. Sam hasn't seen him since before things with Ed started to really slide off the rails, before stress permanently set into the lines of Izzy’s face. So, when he sees a dishevelled man with a hoof for a leg in a no-name port, he doesn't even consider the idea that he might know him. It's only when he turns towards him, and Sam catches a glance at those oh too familiar tattoos, he realises this is Izzy, his Izzy, that stands before him.

Knowing Izzy's discomfort with pity, he doesn't treat him any differently than he would in years gone by, positioning himself in Izzy's line of sight before approaching and sweeping him up into a bone crushing hug. 

“Israel-goddamn-Hands!” he exclaims, as Izzy grumbles back a begrudging “Samuel-fucking-Bellamy”, a tradition almost as old as their friendship itself. Izzy might not hug him back, but he can’t keep the corner of his mouth from twitching, just for a second.

(If Sam holds Izzy a little tighter and a little longer than usual, well. That's his business)

By the time Sam lets go, most of the crew has appeared in the town square, drawn in by the commotion. They may have given Izzy his leg and welcomed him as one of them, but still there’s an underlying tension, with nobody quite ready to set aside everything that happened before the Kraken. Seeing him cosying up to an unknown man sets everyone on edge, unsure whether to come to their first mate’s aid, or to assume that they've been betrayed once again.

When Ed sees that the yelling was Sam, his hand goes tense where it's held in Stede's. He knows the routine, has seen it more times than he can count, but as he watches them part he realises that this is the first time in a long time he's unsure of what Izzy's response will be.

Knowing that something’s different, knowing that Izzy's feeling vulnerable already, Sam doesn't go for the same flashy proposal he’s been giving for years. He doesn't promise Izzy the world, he doesn't cause a scene (or, any more of a scene than he already has, anyway). He looks at the fractured man in front of him, takes his face in his hands, and says the exact same thing to him he said when they were little more than boys. “Israel, I have to ask you. I know what you'll say, but I have to try. Come with me. Marry me and sail away with me. I'll keep you safe”

And Izzy… hesitates. He glances over at Ed, at Stede, and says to Sam “...We’re staying in port for a week. Ask me again then”

That's the moment Sam knows there is something deeply, horribly, wrong. He's not just looking at an Izzy who got seriously injured in a fight and is struggling to cope, this is something so much bigger than that- and that Ed has something to do with it. Izzy wouldn't even be considering leaving if he didn't. Whether it was negligence or something more sinister, Sam doesn't yet know, but he intends to find out.

[archtroop]

Sometimes I need to remind myself that tumblr is a fringe social network, and is by far not the average. What it is though, is a good sampler of the more extreme, I would say, ideologically swayed. A bit.

The more comments and notes I read from the Free Palestine crowd, the more it gets obvious that these are incapable, useful idiots. Literally, spoonfed couchpotatos at best. Starbucks Boycoyters at worst.

It's like the 00's insecure attention seeking posers, with an amoral, ignorant twist to them.

And they are entirely, ABSOLUTELY useless people.

Some morally rotten such individual wrote me that "Israel deserves what's coming for them, you deserve to die" etc. And it really made me think. What's coming? WHO'S coming? You? You, an unemployed tumblrina? You and what army?

What are you gonna do? Try to kill us all? What's the WORST you can do that wasn't, hasn't been tried already?

Truth is, no one is coming.

You read about this pompous, self indulgent "Palestinian Activism Solidarity ". What the FUCK are you talking about? Where is it? What, SA under IRI at the ICJ?.... Watermelon emojis...? ...Slogans?

The most "affective" actions FreePalestine Movement "achieved" was a few shootings/stabbings/rammings here and there, a hostage situation in Turkey in the name of Palestine (the man was executed on the spot after some negotiations. Turkey, yeah). A few burnt synagogues around the world and a whole lot of terrorized Jews in the Diaspora. Not a single Palestinian benefited. Not in Gaza anyway. To sum it up, what exactly are you gonna do? Blow yourself up in a subway in the name of Palestine? How incredibly unoriginal and unhelpful. Although expected and unsurprisingly fitting to the roots of the movement, I'll give you all that.

No one is coming. A lot of pakapaka from Nassrallah and Co. and a radio silence from the Arab world.

Iran pulled the Houthies out of their boydem only for Egypt, Saudi Arabia, and Jordan to reluctantly push the button to down Houthie ammo flying towards Israel. Houthies "asked" of Saudi Arabia to "let them cross over to fight the Zionists", and not only this is a joke, a caravan of sandals-wearing, AK-47 totting, Houthie caravan crossing Saudia to do what exactly? Bite Israeli ankles in Eilat Port? Rather It's an insult, to show that "here see we tried", since Saudis are fighting the Houthies FOR YEARS, it was never an actual option to begin with.

Are you blind? No. One. Is. Coming.

After 75 years of trying to erase Israel from the map, the 7th of October unleashed what could only have happened after Israel had its last straw broken.

Congratulations, you've managed at dehumanizing Israelis to the point that you managed to rob us from one aspect of humanity, even if temporarily: our symphaty.

Not forever, but for a period. And when you did so, you WERE LUCKY, for US were here WITHIN MINUTES, being smart enough to talk Israel out from attacking on the freaking spot. Instead, Israel waited 3 damn weeks. For 3 weeks, Israel called for the evacuation of Gazans from the northern side of Gaza.

Symphaty has an expiration date. The 7th of October 2023 was that date. You backed Israel to a wall, and no slogan will suffice against a nation that KNOWS that its very existence was threatened in a very real, visceral, inhumane, and depraved way.

No one is coming. Not for us, not for the Gazans. The Arab world is waiting to see, when will they wake up with one Iranian proxy less on the map. The truth is, aside from the pakapaka all round the clock, Isrsel was left with "do what you do, we wait" kind of global attitude.

Arab nations don't care about Palestinians. They don't care for the Palestinian Cause. Never had. It was always for show, as a pawn. A distraction. And we know it, very well.

The Palestinians are, and always were, used. They were used to carry on this idea that Israel would disappear from the map. If not by force, then by proxy warfare and terrorism, with time. If not by proxies, then by mass protest and public opinion. But the thing is, reality is a material thing. You need TO DO a thing for it TO HAPPEN. And public opinion rarely holds. And for how it's loud, the Free Palestine Movement is nothing but that: Loud.

As for the undoing of Israel and Bney Israel, well. Many have tried.

And oh boy, did the Arab nations TRIED.

They PAYED for trying.

But that's in the past, largely. Now, the annihilation of Israel and the creation of a Palestine is just a cruel pipe dream, with human prisoners, and an international cheering squad. After all, you can't free something that never existed and couldn't form one coherent ideology that makes sense and strives towards a positive, creation-adjacent activity in 75 years of its yappery. It's just not there. If the ideology surrounds destruction, it can not create. It can only destroy.

You may shout your lungs out and make up all kinds of delusional narratives. In the end, they are just that: empty words to make the righteous self of the woke crowd feel better, to feel active. To be a part.

To be USED.

It says a lot about the sad reality of this mass of people. The yearning for purpose, this loneliness. The rootlessness. Loss of identity. Identities so fractured, so incohesive. Loss of trust in the institution. The shallow knowledge. The practically non-existent reading comprehension.

All are easily diverted to create this cult like behavior.

People cry their eyes out over something that not only they have zero way of affecting but oftentimes is inflated, twisted, and presented as something completely false, or fake or what have you, instead of looking around them and doing something about their own realities. Pouring their hearts out over an unreality, fruitless.

This is either willful ignorance or escapism. Can't even say which one is worse.

This mass is being used. It creates a pool of despair, mysery. Feelings of "not enough", of unachievment. Those masses are breeding grounds for terrorism activity recruitment.

One party, one goal.

Free Palestine is a magic combination of words. You would ask, what is it? And they would sell you, ah, it's this magical place over the rainbow far, far away, and you can be the savior of those people. What a beautiful fantasy. Except you can't save those who did all their best to commit a slow, painstaking suicide, over 75 years. It's unrealistic, whatever this so-called "movement" is yapping about. There are no outlines, no strategy. It's just empty, big, bombastic words, to rile up emotionally as many people as possible, who look for a meaning.

I keep remembering the movie The Wave (2008). It's amazing how word by word, scene by scene, the story is playing out right now with worrying accuracy.

I don't know where this will lead Europe, UK, US, Canada... Australia... you all should be on high alert internally. But one thing is pretty clear.

No one is coming. As for Israel... You did your worst already. You have left Israel with nothing to be afraid of.

BDS biggest achievement was the eventual unemployment of thousands of Palestinians from the West Bank. UN is a joke. Red Cross is a joke. UNRWA exposed, visibly and undeniably. Abraham Accords are proceeding, even if slower, yet still they do. HAMAS gets mopped the floor with. And Lebanon has to do the impossible: drag Hezbollah away from the Isrseli border. Otherwise, there won't be much of a Lebanon to speak about in a very short amount of time. And that's not even a threat. It's reality. As government officials in Lebanon plead with Hezbollah to halt, Israel is ready on the border for 80,000 Israelis are internally displaced within Isrsel itself because of the war with HAMAS, but mainly away from the northern border because of constant shelling by Hezbollah.

And it won't hold forever.

And no one is coming.

Because who will? You and what army?

[exilethegame]

Writing Update (09/22/23)

Hello everyone! It's been a while since I made one of these, huh? 👀

I've spent the past few weeks settling back into university work, but now I'm back into the swing of writing and developing things. So I thought I would take this chance to clarify some things, and lay down what the future of The Exile is gonna look like.

The Public Demo is now done. Chapter Five is the last chapter that you'll be able to play for free until the game is finished. Right now, I am working on rewriting what is written and porting the game into Twine. This means I'm expanding scenes, adding variation and flavor text, fixing stubborn lingering bugs, and implementing a codex + optional flashback scenes (*cough* and art *cough*) into the game. This will take a while.

I'm not just copy and pasting things into Twine and changing the coding-- I'm polishing things, adding lore and info, and overall just making the game significantly more "put together" so-to-speak. The version of The Exile that's up right now has been the Alpha Version of the game, It's never been properly edited beyond fixing glaringly obvious typos, continuity errors, and bugs. Now, I'm working on actually implementing broader, more complex changes into the game based on feedback I've gotten over the coarse of the past two years of writing!

My hope is to release the Twine Demo at some point around January. But that's a goal, not a deadline. I'll likely take in more beta readers for the Twine version of the game at some point, and post the Twine build onto my Patreon more casually in the following months. I'll delve more into both of things, however, when the time comes.

My hope is to be as transparent as possible and try to be more active on here as I work on things, so expect to see writing updates once more! Though they'll likely be quite short, functioning just to keep you guys updated on what's going on ~*behind the scenes*~

That's all for now, and thanks for reading! :)

Rewrite Progress [Prologue] The entirety of the Prologue is being rewritten and expanded upon.

Expanded the Jamie + Lnyla encounter in the woods (scene has three main variations, and can end in 4 different ways! And Jamie is less of a little brat <3)

[WiP] Expanding Vethna's intro scene-- there are two main variations, and there will likely be more than one way for the scene to end this time...

Added codex entry for magic-users

Added codex entry for Vrithka

Added codex for blood magic

Working on overhauling and simplifying stats (the main focus with be MC's combat stats, along with MC's personality + commanding style)

Debating adding a sort of optional "personality test" that will tell you what mythosi your MC would be based on their personality!

[wolfjackle-creates]

Bring Me Home Arc 2 Part 16

Happy WIP Wednesday everyone! Sorry I missed last week, but I think I should be good to get back on track going forward. Finished making most of the baby things I want to make for my soon-to-be nephew, so I'll be able to spend more time writing than crocheting again.

Story Summary: Tim and Danny are both neglected by parents who care more about their work than their families. They deal with this by spending too much time online and find each other playing MMORPGs. They keep up their friendship as Tim becomes Robin and Danny becomes Phantom and don't bother keeping secrets from each other.

First, Previous

Word Count: 1.4k

-----

An hour later, all eight of them were ensconced in the theater in Sam’s basement with a few pizzas and salads spread around them. Wulf again refused any and the rest dug in.

“All right, Tuck, we need to figure out what Walker’s up to. Can you ask Wulf?”

Tim watched as Tucker asked and Wulf responded. Then Tucker burst out laughing and slapped his knee.

Tim’s eyes narrowed. He wouldn’t.

Sam scoffed. “You have no idea what he said, do you?”

“Not a clue,” Tucker admitted.

Tim groaned.

Bart cocked his head. “Give me five minutes, I’ll be right back!”

Before Danny could even finish asking, “Where are you going?” Bart was gone.

Conner grabbed another slice of pizza and said, “He’s off to learn Esperanto. Hang tight and he’ll be right back.”

“How can he learn a language so fast?” asked Sam.

Tim swallowed. “He’s a speedster. His normal is faster than our brains can comprehend. He slows himself down so he can interact with us mere mortals. He’ll be back.”

Sure enough, in less than ten minutes, Bart was back among them. He repeated Tucker’s question. This time, when Wulf responded, the ghost was understood.

“So, Walker is pissed at Danny,” translated Bart. “And he totally wants to ruin your entire life and drag you back to his prison in the ghost zone. Apparently he and his guards are overshadowing a bunch of the people you’re close to in the town to trap you in their web of lies.”

Danny groaned and buried his face in his hands. “How do I fight against that? I can’t just soup them all! I don’t even know who all is overshadowed!”

Cassie butt in then. “We know some of them. Dash and your classmates are definitely overshadowed.”

“Your reputation improved thanks to the other night,” commented Conner. “That might help mitigate Walker’s plans.”

“Doubt it,” said Danny. “Most people think I’m a menace. One night of good publicity won’t turn them around. Especially not with my parents there to dirty my name.”

“Let’s prepare a press release,” suggested Tim. “I bet the Young Justice team could get themselves on the local news. And if we speak up for you, it might help.”

Danny exchanged looks with his two friends. Tucker shrugged, “Couldn’t hurt, dude.”

“Fine,” bit out Danny. “What else?”

Conner looked at Wulf curiously. “Bart, does Wulf know how we can get his collar off?”

“Oooh, good question.” Bart asked, but Wulf shook his head as he answered.

“Will he let me look at it?” asked Tucker.

“I might be able to help, too,” added Tim as he stepped closer and reached out to touch.

Before he could actually touch the collar, though, Wulf snarled at him and jumped back several feet. Tim held up his hands in apology and took a step back himself. “Sorry!”

Bart grinned at him. “He said don’t touch it.”

Tim grimaced and nodded. “Think I got that.”

Tucker was already typing away on one of his devices. “I’m gonna try something. Might help.”

And that’s when Wulf screamed out in pain and fell to the floor clawing at the collar.

“Shit!” shouted Tucker as he rushed forward. He managed to plug his device into a port on the collar. Electricity arced back along the connection, causing Tucker to yelp in pain and drop his PDA.

But a moment later, there was a beep and the collar fell to pieces.

Wulf looked down in shock, then up at all of them. “Mi libras?”

“You’re free, dude,” said Tucker.

Bart added something in Esperanto.

Wulf grinned at them, sharp teeth shining in the light. “Mi libras!” Then he turned and disappeared as he jumped through the wall.

Conner groaned and collapsed backwards. “Jerk couldn’t even stick around long enough to help us after everything we did for him.”

Tim sighed and sat down as well. “Well, we’ll figure it out ourselves. Just like we always do. So, operation Fix Danny’s Reputation. We’ll start with talking to the press. What else?”

“Can we write up op-eds describing what really happened in some of his ghost fights?” asked Cassie. “Set the record straight?”

“What if we make you easier to reach?” added Tim. “Get a number the police or the mayor can reach you at so you can show them you’re willing to work with them instead of just on your own?”

“Do you think that’ll work?” asked Danny.

Tim shrugged. “Worked for Batman. Don’t see why it wouldn’t help you.”

Danny sighed and rubbed a hand down his face. “Okay. Let’s do it.”

“Great,” said Tim. “I’ll send out some emails asking for interviews. And then we can start working on the op-eds. How about we split into three groups, Danny and me in one, the rest of you can split up how we like. Then we can go over the major ghost fights that have happened and write tell-all articles that don’t run the risk of spoiling Danny’s identity.”

Conner shrugged. “Sam, wanna work with me?”

Sam grinned. “You betcha.”

Bart disappeared and reappeared next to Tucker. “Tucker and I will work together, too!”

Cassie moved until she was next to Conner. “I call working with Sam and Kon.”

“Great. Now, Tuck, do you happen to know the best contact info for local reporters?” Tim pulled out his laptop and powered it on as he spoke.

“Give me five minutes and I’ll get it for you.”

Fifteen minutes later, Tim had sent out a dozen emails asking for interviews. As he and Tucker were working, Danny and Sam had gone through which ghost fights would be the best to write about and divided up the attacks between the three groups.

Once he was ready to start on the articles, Tim sat down next to Danny. “So, what are we starting with?”

Danny grinned. “We’re going to go over my first fight. The one with Lunch Lady. She wasn’t bad, but caused a lot of clean up for the school and wasted a lot of resources. Most people still don’t even know that was a ghost attack.”

“Great, let’s get started.”

Tim had heard about most of Danny’s fights before, but being next to him in person definitely made a difference. They were sitting with their arms pressed against each other so they could both see the computer screen and add or delete bits as they went. It was nice.

They’d been working for a few hours when Sam’s parents came down.

“Children!” called her mom.

Tim wasn’t the only one to hide a grimace at the term.

Jeremy Manson continued, “The mayor has instituted a curfew for the city due to all the ghosts. No one is allowed out on the streets after nine PM.”

Pamela Manson giggled. “And it’s nine PM now! So looks like you’ll all be staying here. Tim, dear, be sure to tell your father how seriously we took your safety. I don’t want any of you leaving the house until morning.”

Tim turned on his gala smile. “My dad is in a coma, I’m afraid. But I’ll be sure to tell Bruce just how considerate all the people of Amity have been.”

Jeremy let out a forced laugh. “Of course, our mistake. We wish our best to your father, as well. I hope his prognosis is good?”

Tim blinked at him. “He’s been in a coma for months.”

Pamela giggled again. “Of course, we knew that. Right, dear?” She smacked her husband lightly on the arm.

“Sure did!” he agreed. “Well, I hope to hear news of his miraculous recovery. I’m sure he is getting the best of care.”

“Of course he is,” agreed Tim. “I wouldn’t put up with anything less.”

A few more giggles and well wishes, then Pamela and Jeremy made a hasty retreat.

Once they were alone, Conner looked at him with concern. “Tim—”

“I’m fine, Conner.”

Before anyone else could try and say anything, his email beeped. Tim took the excuse and read it over. The most popular morning radio talk show wanted to have the Young Justice on. Tim grinned.

“We’re getting up early, guys. Radio interview at six AM.”

Cassie laughed. “I can do that, can you?”

Tim shrugged. “I just won’t go to sleep. Easier to stay up that late than drag myself out of bed that early.”

Conner shook his head. “You and your family are insane, Rob.”

“Yeah, yeah. Let’s get back to work.”

-----

Next

This is where I definitely go off the rails of what happened in the show. But that's half the fun of an AU! Hope you like it.

I no longer tag for this fic, but if you want to be notified of updates, please check out the Subscription Post.

Scroll down to the next post on my blog to see the really cool birthday comic @stealingyourbones made for me!

[ingravinoveritas]

Long time reader/lurker, first time writer. Have you seen the article Michael wrote for the mirror published on 15/8/2024? it won’t let me link it here, but it’s titled “Theatre changed my life“ and it’s a wonderful piece - I felt very sad to hear him speak of his father’s struggle with Alzheimer’s, but it always warms my heart to see all the good he’s doing with his charity work. It reminded me of hearing him speak so passionately about his charitable works on the Table Manners podcast

anyway- thanks for all you do in the fandom- I always enjoy your thoughtful and (sometimes racy) posts!

Hi there! Oh, it's so lovely to hear from a longtime reader/lurker. I appreciate you writing in! I did indeed see the article Michael wrote for The Mirror this past week. I'll post the link below, for folks who haven't gotten a chance to see it:

I didn't know that Michael's dad has Alzheimer's, and was so saddened to read about this and to imagine the pain his family must be feeling. One of the things that made me first fall in love with Michael is that he is such a brilliant storyteller, but in particular when he talks about people he really loves. He brings those people so completely to life because he wants you to know who they are. Meyrick has always seemed like such an almost larger-than-life character, and it felt like we knew him, in a way, from Michael's stories--especially the ones about his work as a Jack Nicholson lookalike. So it breaks my heart to know that Michael is having to see the threads of who his father is slowly slipping away.

I agree with you as well that it was lovely to read about Michael talking about his charity work. None of it felt braggadocios in the slightest--rather, it seemed like it was Michael saying, "I've done all these things, but there is still so much more to do, so many more people who need help." It seems like he doesn't even necessarily think of it as "charity work," but as essential efforts to create change. Things that should already be happening, but that for one reason or another aren't.

Michael never seems content, in that way, to rest on his laurels, and that may be why he is always keeping himself busy with film work, charity work, and so on. I love as well that he started Mab Gwalia to fund endeavors that he himself is unable to personally helm, but still supports and champions (ASD Rainbows and A Writing Chance are particularly close to my heart as a writer who also happens to be an autistic woman). I just hope he isn't overextending himself by trying to do too much, especially after spending the first half of this year playing Nye Bevan, which was so physically and mentally demanding on its own.

I also wanted to thank you for the kind words you said at the close of your message. There are times where it's difficult for me to tell what sort of presence I have in the fandom, or if I'm just shouting into the void (though I suppose we all are, in a way). So I am very glad to know that you are enjoying my posts (even if I do tend to overthink everything). My heartfelt gratitude to you for writing in! x

[foxsoulcourt]

An unassuming cheese-monger

It's truly amazing how much you can learn by listening and observing.

Thank you for agreeing to meet with me today Javone. Can I get you a cuppa? Why don't you look over the cheeses and pick two or three you would like to try. I'll make us a plate and we can go sit over in that quiet corner.

As I said earlier, my name is Harriet and I’ve been a cheese-monger in this shop for many years. Before you ask me your questions, let me give you some context for why I contacted your office.

I'm worried. Several of my regular customers have not been in the store in over a week. If it was just one or two of them, especially that particularly handsome one with the gorgeous suits, I wouldn't worry. We often don't see him for weeks at a time. But the others? I'm not sure I can convey to you how unusual their collective absence is, especially for this length of time.

How do you like the Port Salut? I'm glad to see you chose it because it's one of my favourites. Understated, but consistently delicious. Such a lovely texture too.

Now, while many different types of customers frequent our shop, we are known by busy professionals in the area. They count on us for a reliable source of high quality meats, cheeses, beverages, biscuits, and breads. You probably know that type of customer. Those executives who work long hours and rarely set time aside for regular meals, yet still want to eat and drink well while working. We show our gratitude for their steady patronage with delicious goods, prices, and hours which match their needs.

Even though we are not supposed to know many details beyond their name, a career retail employee like myself learns to pick up subtle clues about even casual customers.

Therefore Javone, I can reliably tell you several SIS senior staff frequently shop in our store. Partly it's due to our quality merchandise and, frankly, because we open at the crack of dawn and don't close until very late. It also helps we are an easy ten minute walk away from their home office through Vauxhall Pleasure Gardens. That's just the right amount of time to clear your head after a troublesome meeting, isn't it?

Excuse me young man, did I say something funny? Oh, is it that name? I know, it seems a bit silly, but no need to snicker. <clears throat> Now, back to our mutual concern. I believe I have information you want, is that correct?

Over the years both Mr Tanner and Ms Moneypenny have become particularly friendly. They're terribly kind, both of them and they work such long hours. It's been through helping them I've learned to separate out which cheeses Mr Mallory prefers from the ones he does not care for, the beverages that gentleman in the beautiful suits prefers, and which biscuits to keep in stock for the often distracted younger man with the ever changing hair styles and glasses. He's always so kind to me. I really like talking with him.

Which explains why when I didn’t see any of them come through our doors this past week, I became concerned. They rarely all come in on a daily or even weekly basis, but not seeing any of them this past week felt downright odd. I knew immediately something horrible had happened.

Now Javone, what can you tell me? What do you know? And how can I help you?

[starlightshadowsworld]

I love the role swap AU's with Bungou stray dogs so this is my idea for one. Though this is pretty much a rewrite.

18 year old Osamu Dazai leaves the Port Mafia after Odasaku was killed. 2 weeks later, Dazai met up with Cheif Taneda who put in a request to the Agency.

Dazai stays underground for 6 months. Because of his past Dazai is put under supervision of Ryuunosuke Akutugawa and his partner Doppo Kunikida.

Neither are particularly pleased about babysitting but do so anyway. They will all grow on each other, very much.

Dazai spends a lot of time in the office lazing about as he's not an official member yet. A sentiment he loves rubbing in Kunikida's face when the latter tells him to make himself useful.

He does end up sorting some files in the cold cases box. The one he picks to read is about a tiger. "A tiger showed up in Yokohama ?"

"Figures you'd find that one. Yeah, it was what 6, maybe 7 years ago. Caused us quite a lot of trouble, and than vanished into thin air."

Akutagawa explains, almost fond. "You think if I find it I'll get the bounty?" Asked Dazai, Akutugawa snorts "If you do, let me know. I'd love to see it."

Dazai's entrance exam is his canon entrance exam though it's with Akutugawa and Kunikida on the case with him.

He passes and is made an official member. It's at his welcome party where Akutugawa gifts him his brown coat. (Akutugawa's wearing his grey one from Beast)

Dazai is still wanted by the Port Mafia though and a bounty is put on his head. Akutugawa senses that's something is up, declining the Agency's weekly dinner to go out.

"Ooo? Does someone have a hot date tonight?" Teases Dazai. Akutugawa rolls his eyes, ruffling his hair "nothing like that you brat. I'll see you later, and atleast try and behave for Kunikida."

"I make no promises" grins Dazai, leaving with everyone else and talking to Gin. Gin's a student and works part time at the Agency like Junichiro.

Akutugawa chuckles at their antics and heads elsewhere. "Didn't think you'd actually show up. Long time no see, traitor." Said Atsushi Nakajima.

The Port Mafia's White Reaper.

He's sat eating something from a lunchbox and Akutugawa mock gags. "Did you really have to bring your lunch with you?" Atsushi smiled and it would've looked innocent if Akutugawa didn't know him.

That, and the blood in his teeth definitely didn't help.

"Didn't know the Agency made you soft. You were never the squeamish type." Atsushi moves his head out the way before Rashomon can stab him, too used to Akutugawa at this point.

Though thankfully Atsushi puts his meal away. His demeanor shifts to a more serious one.

"About the information you asked for, I hate to admit it but you're right. The Boss wants Dazai back for obvious reasons. But he's not the only one searching for him, he didn't put the bounty up."

Akutugawa frowns "who is it?"

"Funnily enough, same people hunting me." Said Atsushi and Akutugawa paused. He hadn't expected the Guild to be after Dazai.

"And before you ask, I don't know why."

"Of course, but you must have a theory."

Atsushi snorts "I thought you were the Detective here?" He hums thoughtful. "They want me for the book, who's to say those reasons are connected? But..."

He shrugs "I can't say what they'd need him for. Other than that his gift must be involved."

Akutagawa nods, as vague as it was it made sense he supposed. "You can ask Kyouka if you'd like, but I'm not getting more involved in this." Said Atsushi, an edge to his tone.

Akutugawa wasn't suprised. The fact Atsushi still met up with him on occasion and was willing to divulge even this much said a lot.

You'd be hard pressed to find anyone in the Port Mafia as loyal as Atsushi. Mori had plucked him out of an Orphanage that was hell on earth and raised him.

Atsushi had practically pledged his soul to the man. His need to save others became replaced with a need to protect his city, something he excelled at from the shadows.

Akutugawa's purpose was to protect, similar to Atsushi's but he had forced himself to fit into darkness. While Atsushi was a light that could only exist in darkness.

Atsushi wasn't an executive but he was invaluable to the Port Mafia, invaluable to Mori.

Akutagawa knows if Atsushi had someone left with him, Mori wouldn't have simply let him go.

If Mori asked Atsushi about these meetings Atsushi would tell him. But otherwise he'd keep this to himself, it spoke of his loyalty to Akutugawa even after the man had left the organisation.

"Of course, I wouldn't want to intrude on your job. How is Kyouka by the way?" Asked Akutugawa, switching to a much safer topic.

Atsushi smiled fondly, a genuine one unlike the one from earlier.

"She's still on desk duty at the office. You'll probably see her around."

Kyouka was also a special case. Her parents were government assassins and had been killed at her home. Their unit had taken Kyouka in and raised her to be their true successor.

Kyouka was a talented assassin and became the governments spy into the Port Mafia. However unbeknownst to them, she'd switched sides.

Akutugawa reckons it was because of her close sibling bond with Atsushi and himself.

But whatever it was, Kyouka came clean to Mori and he offered her to be his eyes and ears. That's what she became.

All the while searching for the answers of who caused the tragedy that lead to her parents deaths that night

When Atsushi said she was at the office, it meant Kyouka was currently with the Special Abilities Division. The two still met up to get tea now and again.

"Oh, and I didn't take this job. It wasn't handed to me." Said Atsushi, Akutugawa looked at him in suprise.

He'd expected Mori to trust only Atsushi with such a task.... Which meant something else was a foot. Perhaps he wanted the Guild to get Dazai first.

"Can I ask who has?"

Atsushi smirked "Nakahara."

Akutagawa was quiet for a few moments before chuckling. "Of course, who else would be sent."

The animosity between those two was something that rivaled Akutugawa and Atsushi in their early years.

Chuuya Nakahara, formerly the King of Sheep was a force to be reckoned with. He'd only been with the Port Mafia for 3 years, same as Dazai and he'd taken the place by storm.

It wasn't any suprise given his gift. And that he'd been mentored by both Kouyou and Atsushi. And from Atsushi's demeanor, Akutugawa knew just how proud he and Kouyou were of him.

If Akutugawa had to guess Mori was trying to make a new Double Black out of Chuuya and Dazai. Which meant something was definitely up.

He'd say good luck getting those two to work together, but the same had been said that about him and Atsushi.

"I guess I better prepare myself for that fight." Said Akutugawa with a grin. Chuuya wouldn't give him shit for leaving, as long as Akutugawa gave him a worthy fight that was.

"You'd better, he's a lot more stronger the last time you sparred." Said Atsushi, getting to his feet. "I best be off, it was good seeing you."

"And you." Akutugawa watched him vanish into the shadows before heading to the restaurant the Agency were seated at.

Dazai grinned, waving him over to a very obviously saved seat. "I thought you'd be back, your date go that bad?" He was teasing him, but there was a hint of concern.

Akutugawa smiled "I told you, not a date. But it went well, and I am starving." Dazai inspected him for a moment before grinning "well, order up Kunikida's paying."

"I did not agree to this!"

Yeah, Akutugawa was going to protect this kid no matter what.

[loslentesdepedrito]

I'm Your Wife- Chapter Seven

Javi gif by: @skyshipper Jack gif by: @javier-pena My Masterlist

Pairing: Jack Daniels ‘Agent Whiskey’x Spanish-speaking f!reader and Javier Peña x Spanish-speaking f!reader (Spanish translations are provided.)

Previous Chapter: I'm Your Wife- Chapter Six

Word count: 9.2k+

Chapter summary: It's time for Ángel's surgery and the transplant preparation. Following the procedure, Jack visits his son, providing some closure regarding your marriage.

A/N: This chapter concludes the final installment of the series and stands as my penultimate post on this blog. Next week, hopefully, I'll be sharing one more post—a Din piece—officially wrapping up this blog. I intend to maintain my writing for another two weeks before ultimately closing my account. Thank you to everyone who has supported me!

Rating: 18+ No explicit content, but this is an 18+ page. Warning contains spoilers, but please read if you'd like!!! They are below the cut, but if you don't want to read them, the story starts after the Whiskey bottles. Also, Jack's texts are in bold.

CW: angst is back again, but a happy ending is guaranteed, some science, mentions of surgery, chemotherapy, and stem cell transplant, Jack cannot use an iPhone, Javi and Jack tension, jealousy, pregnancy, divorce, and childhood disease.

Your conversation with Jack three hours ago left you drained and exhausted, and now you're perched on the chair in the corner of your son's hospital room. You're engrossed in watching Ángel and Javi talk about an upcoming soccer game and the probability of their favorite team winning the match when your phone vibrates underneath your thigh. With a subtle shift, you reach for it and once it’s in your hand, you flip it over. Your phone is illuminated with a family picture of you with your husband and son in the background and there’s a message on your Notification Center. 

Jack Daniels: HI. TEXTING YOU FROM MY NEW PHONE.

Another vibration follows, prompting a second message.

Jack Daniels: WHY DID THE TEXT SEND IN UPPERCASE?

The sequence of messages from Jack continues, each notification accompanied by a vibration.

Jack Daniels: HOW DO I TURN THIS OFF?

Jack Daniels: HELP me. Wait, I figured it out. Sorry.

You haven’t clicked on the messages to take you to the chat. Instead, you hold and press, sending him a brief response:

Hi, Jack.

He doesn’t send anything back, and you turn off your phone. As soon as the screen is black, it lights up again.

Jack Daniels: I went to the store and picked up a new phone.

A second later, an image comes through.

You hover over the message once more, and it’s a front selfie Jack took. Well, it’s not quite a full-face selfie. It only captures just beneath his eyes, and his eyes and face are not looking directly at the camera, so you guess he was looking down trying to take a picture of something else.

You’re proven correct when a second picture comes through. This time it’s a box of an iPhone.

There’s a bubble on your text chain, and this time you fully click, opening the message thread with Jack.

Sorry, I don’t know how this phone works. I just didn’t want my phone to fail, and you didn’t have a way to contact me, so I got a new one. Did I miss anything?

You reply back with:

Ángel is already ready to go, we’re just waiting for a room to open up in the OR. Could take hours, though.

How did he take the news?

Very well, actually. Saying he’s excited to go home is an understatement. He sensed that we were worried about his surgery and he kind of gave us a lecture on how important it is to listen to doctors and gave us a small list of the benefits of chemo ports. When we asked him how he knew about the port, he said, and I quote, "some light reading."

Jack doesn’t take long to reply:

Smart boy. He definitely got that from you.

A smile graces your lips at his message, but you decide to shift the conversation:

We never talked about it, but do you want us to tell Ángel that you’re his donor?

Your nerves are on edge, and waiting for Jack’s response heightens your anxiety. Glancing up from your phone, you see Ángel still in deep conversation with Javi. Your phone vibrates again, and you look down at Jack’s response:

No. I don’t want him to want a relationship with me because of the donation. If he wants a relationship with me, I want it to be because he truly wants it, not because he feels any obligation.

You exhale, relieved, and reply:

Okay, we won’t tell him.

Thank you.

A text bubble appears:

How do I send the accent on his name?

Suppressing a laugh, your fingers glide over the keyboard:

Press the letter A for a good two seconds, and a whole lot of options should appear. Click on the third one.

It doesn’t take Jack very long to send a single:

Á

He follows with:

Be honest, does it sound a bit funny when I pronounce his name?

You weigh your options, lie or be honest. You decide to go with the latter:

A little bit.

I remember when you used to make fun of my accent…

Liar. I didn’t make fun of you.

I miss that...

Oh, God, not again.

You’re about to reprimand him when, by some divine intervention, a fist knocks on the door, followed by a man in a polo and khakis. Quickly, you turn your phone off, redirecting your full attention to the man.

You’re about to reprimand him when, by some divine intervention, a fist knocks on the door, followed by a man in a polo and khakis. Quickly, you turn your phone off, redirecting your full attention to the man.

“Hi, I’m Will. I’m with patient transport services, and I’m here to take Ángel down to the OR,” he says.

“Come in,” you invite.

Javi stands up and retrieves your thick to-go bag from underneath the sofa. It's filled with water bottles, a variety of snacks, sweaters, sweatpants, and a few changes of clothes—because, as Javi says, uno nunca sabe (one never knows).

Will walks over to Ángel and looks at his hospital bracelet. He takes out a phone with a bulky blue case and scans the ID barcode. Will asks to no one in particular, “Can you please confirm his full name and date of birth.”

Javi does that for you.

Will nods and types something onto the phone. After a moment, he looks at Ángel, “Hey, little man, how are you doing?”

Ángel smiles, “I’m good, sir. I'm just waiting to get my chemo port. After that, I can get chemo and then a transplant so I can go home.”

Will chuckles, “That's a great plan, buddy. We’ll get you down to the OR, and they’ll take good care of you so you can go home soon. Ready to go to the sixth floor?”

Ángel nods enthusiastically, his eyes filled with trust.

“Great,” Will says, glancing at you and Javi. “If you guys are ready, we can head downstairs.”

Javi, lifting the heavy bag over his shoulder, nods in agreement. He glances at Ángel, a mix of tenderness and concern in his eyes, and then turns to Will.

“He’ll be under anesthesia, right?” Javi asks, his voice a bit gruffer than usual.

Will offers a reassuring smile, “Yes, sir. That's what his chart says.”

Javi nods, visibly swallowing some of his worry. “Okay, let’s get him down there.” He moves to help his son get up from the bed. Will positions the wheelchair closer to Ángel's bed, and together, they carefully lower Ángel onto the wheelchair. You reach for one of the blankets—a gift from your father-in-law—and drape it over Ángel. Will takes the IV wire and secures it on the designated hook at the back of the wheelchair.

"Are we all set?" Will asks.

"Yes," you affirm, and then Will wheels Ángel toward the door. Javi, anticipating the need, beats them to the exit, opens the door, and holds it wide open to let them pass. Stepping into the corridor, Javi instinctively reaches for your hands, intertwining fingers not just for your comfort but for his own solace as well. Together, you trail behind your son as Will expertly steers Ángel's wheelchair through the hallway. 

Descending from the tenth floor via the patient elevators, you and Javi follow Will, who scans his badge to usher you through the double doors into the pre-op room. 

Guiding Ángel to the left side of the room, Will selects a quiet corner and draws back a side of the arctic blue diamond-print curtains, revealing an unoccupied bed. Positioning the wheelchair beside the bed, he assists Ángel in transitioning onto the soft mattress.

"Alright, good luck, buddy. You'll do great in there," Will encourages, raising a fist. Ángel meets it with his own, and as their fists connect, they both playfully mimic the sound of an explosion.

"Thanks, sir," Ángel replies, his voice carrying gratitude. Then, in a quiet and unsure tone, he adds, "I'll see you after?"

Will's smile is reassuring. "Absolutely. I'll be the one taking you back up."

With that, Will takes a step back, giving Ángel some space. He turns to you and your husband, saying, "It was a pleasure meeting you, Mr. Peña, Mrs. Peña. Someone should be with you shortly."

"Thanks for everything, Will," you say, watching as Will, with a warm smile, exits and closes the curtain, providing you with some privacy with your son.

With only one chair in the room, Javi insists you take a seat, not wanting you on your feet.

"¿Y tú? (what about you?)" you ask, concern etched in your voice and face. Maybe it's because you went so long without a partner prioritizing you, or because in the time your son has been in the hospital, Javier has really taken care of almost everything. Sometimes you can't help but feel guilty that he always puts your comfort above his own.

"Me paro (I’ll stand)," Javi shrugs his shoulders as if it's the most obvious choice in the world.

"Papi, you can sit here," Ángel offers, patting the mattress.

"Está bien (it's okay), mijo, I can stand for a while," he smiles, loving that his son is always considerate.

"Baja ese bolso (put down that bag), at least," you plead with him.

"I'm good, someone should be here soon," Javi reassures.

"Pero, Javi- (but, Javi-)" You're interrupted when you hear a woman asking if she can come in.

He smirks and whispers, "Ves (see)." Dropping his cocky look, Javi opens the curtain to let the woman in.

"Hello, my name is Dr. Gaddi. I'll be Angel's anesthesiologist. Can I please get a full name and a birthday?"

Your son happily responds to the doctor's requests while she verifies the information on the computer.

"Great, thank you, sweetheart. Mom or Dad, I'll need your signature on the consent forms. If one of you will please follow me," she says.

"I'll go," Javi says, and to your relief, he finally drops the bag from his shoulder.

"It's just straight this way," the anesthesiologist says, motioning past the curtain where the nurse station is in the middle of the big room.

Javier nods and follows the doctor. "Ya vengo mis amores (I’ll be back my loves)," he says with a big smile before closing the curtain.

Once on the other side of the curtain, where you and his son can't see him, he exhales a shaky breath. The fear is there, gnawing at him, although he doesn't want to show it. He wishes he could share it with you, as he normally would, but you're pregnant. The stress is already too much, and he doesn't want it to affect the baby. That thought terrifies him, and he can't risk it. Through the course of your marriage, he's come to understand that sometimes, marriage isn't a perfect fifty-fifty. There are moments when one partner has to carry more, and right now, he knows it's one of those moments. He must bear the fear and shoulder some of yours. While he wants to share these worries with you, a deep-seated commitment to putting family first holds him back. His protective nature takes precedence, always prioritizing his family.

Javier raises his head back up and quickly turns around to follow the doctor, who is waiting for him.

Once he catches up to her, she tells him the forms are for consent of treatment. The doctor reads the online document, informing Javi about the procedure, the benefits, and the risks it entails.

Dr. Gaddi must have seen the look on Javier's face after she listed the risks and the way he nearly crumbled when she said "or death" because she stopped and turned to him.

"But... everything will be okay, right? He’s in good hands?” Javi asks, his voice cracking as if he's on the verge of tears; even speaking those words makes his throat ache, causing a noticeable strain in his voice.

"Sir, I can't make any promises. Every surgery does come with risks, but my team and I have successfully done this procedure multiple times.” 

Javi tries his best to remind himself that everyone in the OR is experienced and has done this procedure before.

"Where do I sign?" he manages to ask, his voice slowly regaining its composure.

While Javi is with Ángel's anesthesiologist, a nurse, and another doctor come in to check on Ángel. He had only managed a short nap, so now, as he rests, you take out your phone and send a text to Jack. 

Hey. We're in the Pre-op area. There's a room in the OR now, and I've met his doctors. As soon as the anesthesiologist comes back, they'll take him.

Jack replies instantly as if he's been sitting by, waiting for his phone to ring:

Thank you for letting me know.

He sends a follow-up: 

His surgery is only supposed to take an hour, right?

That's what the doctors said. I'm sure he won't be in there for too long.

As Javi, Dr. Gaddi, and a nurse approach, you text Jack:

The anesthesiologist will be here soon. I'll send you any updates I get, and I'm going to send you Javi's contact info just in case.

After adding Javi's phone number and hitting send, your husband and the surgical team arrive.

Dr. Gaddi approaches, “Hi, Mom, everything is ready on our end to take the patient to the OR."

“Okay,” you say, rising to your feet. The staff gathers around the bed and begins to move it. Ángel stirs at the movement, calling for you and Javi before opening his eyes.

Javi quickly rushes to your side, closer to your son, and reassures him, "It's okay."

"Oh, am I going to surgery?" Ángel asks.

"Yes, you are, Angel," the nurse responds as he releases the brakes on the left side.

"Oh, okay, yay," Ángel smiles.

The nurse chuckles at his excitement, "You know, not many kids are excited for surgery."

"I'm excited because chemo ports look more comfortable than the IV. It gets in my way when I do, like, anything," Ángel explains with a huff.

"Well, I've heard from other patients that they prefer the port, so hopefully you will too," says Dr. Gaddi as she stands to the side, waiting to wheel Ángel out of the room.

She turns to you and your husband, saying, "You guys can follow us until that red line, and then you'll be taken to the waiting room."

You start feeling more anxious, and Javier senses it. He begins to rub your lower back, his warm hand moving up and down, offering comfort.

"Okay, ready," says the nurse.

With the curtain open, they go through first, and you and Javi are right next to your son’s bed.

You're so hyper-focused on your son that you don't realize you've made it right before the line that you can't cross.

"Love you, Mommy, love you, Daddy," Ángel says, reaching out for your hand.

You take his little hand in yours, and Javi covers both of your hands with his.

"Te amamos más, mi niño (we love you more)," Javi tells him in a soft voice. Everyone can hear the love pouring out of his words.

Ángel knows this and doesn't try to contradict his dad because he knows it would be in vain. Instead, he simply says, "Nos vemos en un ratito (We’ll see each other in a little bit)."

"Okay, mijo," you say, fighting back tears.

The doors open, and Ángel is wheeled in. You think the tears are coming, but when you hear the light sound of your son's laughter, you're able to compose yourself.

"Would you like to be taken to the waiting room now?" a non-surgical nurse asks.

Thirty minutes pass, and you and Javier are seated in the waiting room, the only occupants at the moment. Purple chairs surround you, and you're on a blue seat cushion against the wall, your attention fixed on the TV opposite. It's a modest 35-inch screen designed to keep you informed about the ongoing surgery. Your son's name is displayed in green, and the message changes from ‘Surgery in progress: Incision and Pocket Creation’ to ‘Surgery in progress: Port Implantation.’

"They're placing the port-disk-chamber thingy inside the incision they made on his chest," Javi says matter-of-factly, pointing at the text.

You turn your head toward him, an amused smile playing on your lips. "'Port-disk-chamber thingy'—is that what the doctor said, Jav?"

He bursts out laughing, placing his right hand over his chest, realizing he was mimicking the tone doctors use when imparting information: authoritative. "Casi me cago del miedo (I almost shitted myself from fear) when the doctor told me step by step what they would do, so I don't remember exactly what he said," he chuckles.

Javier's laugh is contagious, and you can't help but laugh too. Your laughter fuels his, and vice versa. The only thing that interrupts your laughter is when you feel the baby kick.

"Ay, me pateó (oh, he kicked me)," you exclaim happily.

Javi instantly stops laughing too and shifts his hand to rest on your bump. As soon as you feel the weight of his hand on your stomach, your son responds with another kick, right where Javi's palm is placed.

A boyish look crosses your husband's face. He always loves feeling the baby kick, reminiscent of the first time he felt his first son kick.

"¿Hola, mijo, ya te despertaste? (Hi, my boy, have you woken up yet?)" he hums softly.

In response, the baby kicks again.

"He loves your voice so much. I swear he only kicks so you could talk to him. A mi no me quiere, nomas le gusta que le cantes y le leas (He doesn’t love me, he just likes it when you sing and read to him),” you huff out in fake annoyance.

"That's not true. The second-born is always the momma's boy. So the baby loves you the most," Javi says.

"And the youngest loves daddy the most, so no," you refute.

"He won't be the youngest for long," he grins suggestively.

You gasp, “ya me embarazaste, sinverguenza! (You already impregnated me!)"

"But if it was scientifically possible..."

"Shut up," you playfully scold him.

With Javi's hand still over your stomach, your son kicks again, this time much lighter.

"He's upset you told me to shut up," his gaze shifts from looking at you to your stomach as if he could see the baby, and he lowers his voice, “¿verdad, mijo? Dile a tu mami que no sea mala conmigo (right, mijo? Tell your mom to stop being mean to me).”

He looks back up at you, "te acuerdas cuando Ángel hizo eso por primera vez? (Do you remember when Ángel did that for the first time?).”

“Jesus Christ, he scared me, and he made you cry,” you laugh, a smile on your face remembering.

"Oh shit! I forgot to update Jack," you realize and scramble to get your phone. As you start typing to let him know what's going on in the OR, you tell Javi, "By the way, I gave him your phone number."

Javier lets out an unenthusiastic and dry, "Yay."

“Mira (look),” he says while you’re still typing. You look up to where Javi is pointing, and the TV changes to Surgery in progress: Catheter Insertion.

You wince, "They're in his vein now."

"The catheter is the tube that delivers the medicine to his body, right?"

"Yeah," you mumble, typing the next update to Jack.

Javi reaches for one of your hands and rubs soothing circles, “Deja de pensar en eso. Él está bien con ellos (stop thinking about it. He’s safe with them).”

He removes his hand and turns his body to the to-go bag. Javi reaches for the zipper and undoes it. He digs in the back, and you see him pull something out. "Do you need a blanket?" he asks, with a large fuzzy blue blanket in his hand and his soft brown eyes looking at you tenderly. Before you can reply, he places it in your lap and goes back to the bag. Javi fights a little and finally tugs a pillow out of the bag, "a pillow?" he asks with the same puppy eyes.

“I- thank you," you accept both items. You put the pillow behind you so you won't rest your back against the hard and cold wall. You take the blue blanket from your lap and extend it to drape it over the both of you.

"¿Tienes hambre? (are you hungry?)" Javi asks adjusting the blanket.

"Sí" 

He goes back to the bag and pulls out some snacks: Goldfish, Chips Ahoy, granola bars, fruit snacks, dry plantain chips, and a pack of assorted nuts.

"Sorry, I don't have any actual food," he looks at what he's offered you and feels guilty at the limited options. Javi gets up quickly, "I can go get you real food. Are you craving anything?"

"Hey," you wrap your fingers around his wrist and grip somewhat tightly. You look up at him and push him to sit back down. "No. I don't want you to leave."

"Okay. I'll stay," he says softly, kissing where your hair and forehead meet.

A knock reverberates in the room, and a nurse comes in. "Hi," she says, closing the door to come closer to you. "Everything went well. There were no complications. They're ready to transfer Ángel to the Post-op room if you guys would like to follow me."

Both of you look relieved at the news, and you feel like a weight has been lifted off your shoulders.

"Thank you," you tell her, and Javi can't get any words out. His eyes are watering, and he tries his best to not let them fall.

He starts hurriedly putting away the snacks, just keeping the bag of nuts, while you fold the blanket back up into the neat roll Javi had it in. After the snacks, blanket, and pillow are in the bag again, Javi helps you get up. You send Jack a quick text informing him that everything went well, and you're on your way to see Ángel. Javi puts the bag over his shoulder, and you both follow the nurse to go see your son.

Next morning - Day 1 of Chemo:

Hey, Jack. Ángel is awake and doing well. He asked about having visitors and hoped you would come see him. We explained that it's not possible right now. He understood but wanted to call. Would you like to FaceTime?

That's great. What’s FaceTime?

It's a video call.

Yes. How do I do that?

Instead of texting him back, you initiate a FaceTime call and hand the phone off to Ángel when it starts to ring.

As soon as Jack accepts the call and his face takes over your screen, Ángel's little face lights up. "Mr. Jack!"

Jack's face mirrors Ángel's: a smile so wide, eyes so soft looking at his son.

"I just started chemotherapy," Ángel blurts out just before Jack greets him.

Jack's heart glows watching his son's face. "How are ya feeling?"

"Mmm... I feel okay. Oh! I got the surgery last night, and look at my chemo port." Your son takes one hand off your phone and pulls his hospital gown just enough to show Jack his port. "Look! You can see the bump of the port under my skin. Eww, it looks gross. It's so cool."

Jack laughs, and that makes Ángel move the phone back to his face.

"Does it hurt?" Jack asks.

"Nope. It was a little bit like... sore when I woke up, but it doesn’t hurt now. I had chemo in the morning, and it pinched for a second, but it's wayyy better than the IV."

"It's not a pain to use the restroom, huh?"

"It's easier and faster to go now," his brows pinch in the middle, "I almost peed myself once 'cus I had to wait for the wires to detangle from the bed." Ángel trails off, tilts his head to the side, and squints. "What do you have behind you? Is that a needle?"

Jack turns his head behind to see what his son saw. He had picked up the prescription he needed to be Ángel's donor from the pharmacy the previous night. Jack opened the box out of curiosity and took out a needle to look at, but then he got caught up texting you in the morning and forgot to put the small vial and needle back in the pharmacy bag.

"Umm... yeah?" Jack says uncertainly, not knowing how to explain it to his son. He doesn't want him to know that he's his donor, at least not yet. "That is some medicine I have to take in two days," Jack says, trying to keep it vague.

When the words come out of Jack's mouth, Ángel's eyes show pure concern, "Oh, are you sick?"

"No, buddy," Jack blurts out immediately, "I'm not sick. I'm just takin' them for... to... Just takin' them to stay healthy. They're like vitamins."

"Maybe I should take some so I could be healthy. What's the name of the medicine?"

Jack's heart drops at his son's words. His mind starts spinning, but he takes a deep breath. He'll be healthy soon, he tries to remind himself. "You can't take this one, buddy. It's for adults."

"Oh," he sounds disappointed, but his voice goes back to normal, "Well, that's okay. I can't take vitamins on chemo either way. I think. Vitamins can affect chemo because of cancer cells, but I don't have any so I don't know. I can ask later. How are the horses?"

Donation Day - Day 7 of Chemo:

Jack sat comfortably in a green chair, his right hand extended over a pillow, squeezing a small blue ball as his blood cycled through the machine. Two hours had passed since he settled into the chair. He arrived at the hospital early in the morning with the last dose of his five-day filgrastim prescription, and for the first time, someone other than him administered the injection. Throughout the morning, he had been texting you, checking in on his son, and, though he wouldn't admit it, checking in on you.  Of course, he cared about his son and wanted to know every detail of what he was going through, but this had been the only line of communication he had with you for years, and he wanted to take advantage of the opportunity while you were willing to entertain his conversations. From you, he learned that Ángel's last day of chemo had gone smoothly.

Jack's head spun when he heard a knock against the door. His heart thumped wildly in his chest at the thought of seeing you. When the door opened, a wave of disappointment washed over him. It wasn't you who set foot in the room; it was fucking Javier.

Jack instantly tenses and clears his throat as Javier walks over to him.

"Hi."

"Hi."

Javi crosses his hands over his thick biceps, "How's the donation coming along?"

"It's goin' well. They think in 30 minutes we'll have enough for Ángel," Jack fills Javi in.

"H-how are umm... how are you feeling?" Javi gets the words out, although with much effort. He sounds physically pained asking a simple question to Jack.

"You sound very concerned for my well-being," Jack quips sarcastically.

Not really, Javi wants to say. Instead, he tells Jack, "I’m trying really hard to not hate you.”

It doesn't faze Jack one bit. "Same."

"So just don't do anything to piss me off. More like don't do anything else to piss me off even more," Javi lowers his voice more, "She's my wife; she tells me things. Don't you ever dare call her ‘baby’ again. You're lucky she's not that uncomfortable with ‘sugar’, but if she ever shows one ounce of discomfort, you will stop."

"She never minded all those names before," Jack challenges, glaring at Javi."

Javi smirks, wearing a shit-eating grin as he nonchalantly shrugs. "Yeah, she never did lots of things before me."

Jack is furious. All he sees is red, and just as he begins to rise from his chair to get up, the nurse walks in.

"Oh! A visitor," she exclaims.

"Hello," Javi greets the redheaded nurse in blue scrubs with ducks all over them.

Seeing the nurse enter, Jack comes to his senses and sits back down. Subconsciously, he squeezes the ball so tight in his hands that his knuckles turn white.

"Mr. Daniels, are you okay?" the nurse questions with concern. All she sees is her patient gripping the ball so tightly that his nails are about to rupture through the material. She moves to him and checks his arm to see if there are any signs the needle is causing pain.

Jack's glare tears from Javi and shifts to the nurse. "I'm okay, thank you for checkin’ in on me," he tells her and moves his hand to signal for the nurse to release his arm. "Nothin’ hurts," he smiles up at her.

The nurse understands and checks the progress of the donation. While looking at the machine, she decides to make small talk with her patient and his visitor. "Are you Mr. Daniels' brother?" She turns to ask Javi innocently.

"No," Jack's words drip with disgust.

Javi smiles at how fast Jack denies the nurse's initial thought and says "Not related," under his breath, mumbling, "Thank God."

The nurse doesn't seem to pick up on their animosity and comments, "You two look alike, what a coincidence. Best friends then?"

"No, nothing like that. My wife and I know him, and he's giving our son a gift," Javi says 'our' while looking at Jack.

Suddenly, Ángel crosses their minds, and they both feel some shame for their earlier behavior. They know they can't go on still hating each other because it'll eventually turn into a fight. They just don't know how to set aside their differences.

"I'll call the doctor to get her thoughts, but it looks like we have what we need for the donation," the nurse says, taking note of the blood volume. "In a few hours, one lucky little boy will receive the cells, and he’ll be one step closer to being healthy."

After Jack was hooked up to the machine for two and a half hours, the staff deemed the collection enough and sent the blood bag to the lab to confirm that Jack’s procedure had collected enough stem cells. Four hours later, it was confirmed that there were the desired amount of stem cells, and the team took the cells to Ángel’s room. Due to your son being immunocompromised, he isn't allowed to have visitors other than legal guardians. So, you and Javi update Jack on the transplant.

Day 11 post-transplant:

Remember how I told you he started grafting on the tenth day?

Yes! How his body was accepting the stem cells, and the cells were growing and making new cells.

Mhm. Well, if everything keeps going at the speed it’s been going, Ángel gets to go home in four days!!

Oh, wow! It’s just day 11 after the transplant, and the doctors estimated it wouldn't happen until closer to day 25! Can I go see him then? I know I was cleared to go five days ago, but because I wasn’t feeling well, I didn’t go. My fever’s still here, but I’ll continue to monitor myself.

Sure! You need to be cleared of a fever for 24 hours and have absolutely NO symptoms.

You have my word, sugar.

Day 14 post-transplant:

You're packing all of Ángel's belongings to take home. It's been 14 days since your son's transplant, and he's cleared to go home. You don't know who's happier— you, your husband, or your son. But that doesn't really matter; all that matters is that your family is together. Just as you're collecting your son's toys and getting them ready to shove into the white personal belongings bag, someone knocks on the door. Javi stops placing Ángel's books into a box and hurriedly opens the door. He was expecting the doctor to come in with discharge papers, but it was Jack waiting on the other side.

"Oh, right, you said you'd stop by," Javi remembered.

When you saw Jack standing there not quite stepping inside the room with a red gift bag, you gasped. "Sorry, we forgot you were going to stop by." You turned your neck and saw Ángel reading the book Jack had gifted him, One Hundred Fun Facts About Horses.

"Come in," you usher Jack in. "Mijo," you call, and Ángel looks up from the book he's got his nose buried in.

"Mr. Jack!" Ángel's face lights up like a Christmas tree. He pats a spot in his bed as he tells Jack to sit down next to him. "I want to show you something," Ángel puts the book aside and lowers his shirt to show Jack that the port is gone. "They took my port out!"

Jack almost reaches out and touches his son's scar but settles for examining it with his eyes. "Are you sore?"

"Not really. I'm just excited to go to my house. Did my mom tell you I'm leaving the hospital today?"

"Yeah," Jack chuckles, "she mentioned it. And here I brought you this," he lifts the gift bag onto the bed.

Ángel tears it open and begins to pull the items out. The first gift he reaches is a book, Her Right Foot. "Oh, my God!"

You see the title and direct your question to Jack, "He's wanted that book for a while, how did you know?"

"Really?" Jack's smiling ear to ear. "I just went to the bookstore and thought he'd like that one." His heart feels like it could rip right through his chest because he feels like he knows his son. Jack had browsed many children's books and read the synopsis of every last book. The one he had purchased was the one he felt his son would love, the book his son is currently holding, and Jack was right.

The little boy takes out the next item, which is a box. "A Lego set!" Ángel flips the black box to the front, and he sees that this particular set is one of horses. The horse in the center looked similar to Andor, one of Jack's horses his son loved the most. "Is this an Andalusian?" Ángel looks to Jack, his eyes sparkling."

Jack nods his head, "It is, buddy. It's like a mini Andor."

Ángel seems pleased with Jack's answer and moves on to the last gift. It was another box, but this one was a shoebox. The little boy lifted the top off, and he was met with boots—dark brown leather boots with beautiful and intricate stitching all throughout.

“Is that a longhorn?” Ángel points at the center of the boots. He doesn’t wait for an answer before speaking again, “My grandpa has longhorns on his ranch. Do you have them on your ranch, Mr. Daniels?”

"I don’t have any longhorns, but umm... I have the same boots," Jack looks down at the floor like he’s suddenly interested in the simple pattern of the hospital floor. He wasn’t sure what reaction he expected, but when his son's sweet voice reached his ears, Jack looked up.

"You do?" Ángel was beaming, a smile brighter than the sun. He leaps to move sideways so his legs would hang from the bed. He took his left boot and put it on his baby blue non-slip sock-clothed feet and did the same for the right boot. When both boots are on, he pinches the tip to feel where his toes are. Ángel drops to the floor and begins to walk, showing all three of you his new footwear. 

"How did you get his shoe size?" You're amazed at how they seem to fit perfectly.

"I asked him," Jack nods his head towards your husband, who is smiling broadly, showing his perfect teeth. Javi squats down to Ángel's level and presses his fingers on his son's boot toe box to feel if they're pinching Ángel's feet. "Perfect fit," Javi smiles up at his son, dimple on display, still on the floor.

Once Javi's hands are removed from Ángel's boots, he runs to Jack, "Thank you so much, Mr. Jack," he says, jumping up and down. Ángel runs back to Javi, who is now standing up straight, "¡Papi, quiero una foto! (Daddy, I want a picture!)" Javi complies and takes out his phone from his back pocket.

You turn to Jack, and your voice falls to a whisper, "We're hosting a dinner in a few nights to celebrate Ángel coming home, and we'd love it if you'd join us."

Jack's head reels at the prospect of seeing you and Ángel in a few days, but beneath that excitement, there is fear, "Is your family going to be there?" he asks.

"Yes, and Javi's too."

"It's your family I'm worried about," he confesses, looking into your eyes.

You take in the way his face pales slightly, his eyes widen, and his eyebrows shoot near his hairline. "No. You're more than worried; you look genuinely scared, but you'll be fine."

"'Course I'll be there, Sugar," he says, looking at his son laughing while Javi takes his pictures. If Ángel was a happy and giddy boy before the transplant, Jack now sees how his innocence is amplified now that he's healthy, and Jack can't wait to see more of his son's childhood joy outside the hospital.

"Hey, can I talk with you alone before you leave?" Jack asks you, hoping you'll agree.

"Um, yeah, we can go outside," you agree, noting his urgent tone.

"Javi, Ángel, I'll be back soon. I'm just going to walk Jack out," you say, moving to the door with Jack on your heels.

"Okay, we'll keep packing, amor," Javi tells you, brushing his hand with yours. You lean into your husband for a while until Ángel and Jack say their goodbyes, promising they'll see each other at the dinner.

You and Jack exit the room, and you take him to a little corner further down the hall.

"What did you want to discuss?" you ask resting your back on the wall with brown and cream diamond wallpaper.

Jack's nervous to tell you what he wants: a father-and-son relationship with Ángel. You two never went into detail on how you would tell Ángel the truth about Jack and he's terrified of asking you for something this big so soon after a big weight of stress has been lifted off you. 

"Jack?" 

"Sorry," he clears his throat, "I wanted to talk to you about telling Ángel that I'm his dad- biological."

"Oh," you sound surprised. "Yeah. We didn't really discuss that, did we? I haven't thought about it in so long, I'm sorry. Maybe we can get some pointers from Ángels counselor?" You suggest. "Javi and I thought about making an appointment with a child therapist because of this entire hospital stay. We were hoping to get your opinion on that actually."

It's Jack's turn to be surprised. "I think that's wonderful, Sugar. Thank you for including me in the decision." 

"Of course. I think it would be great if we could get the counselor's opinion on how to best handle the situation. And we too can figure out how this new dynamic would work. For example, medical decisions moving forward. We'll tell Ángel about you and I have no doubt he'll want to have the relationship you want to have with him. We can talk more about the appointment in a few days. We haven't set an exact date for the dinner but it will probably be this upcoming Sunday." 

"I'll clear out my entire schedule," Jack says sincerely 

"We'll have food for you that won't send you into a choking fit," you tease. 

Jack covers his eyes with his hands, "God, 'M so sorry." 

You laugh at his embarrassment, "No, it's okay. I understand the food we serve can take some getting used to."  You continue to tell him about the plans for the dinner that is slowly turning into a party and he just stares at you while you keep talking he gets lost in the moment. He thinks about your laugh and the consideration you still have for him and suddenly Jack blurts out, “I love you."

The smile you had vanishes.

“Jack,” you warn dangerously. “We were doing so good, Jack.” You don't want to—can't see him now, so you close your eyes. The words only needed to be said once for them to threaten tears to spill. "How dare you say those words to me now?” You hiss, your tone now angry but more than anything, filled with frustration and pain. You thought you could handle seeing him, so you open your eyes. "What do you expect me to do with that? I won’t leave Javi if that’s what you’re hoping for.

"S-" Jack opens his mouth, but you cut him off immediately. "No, Jack, let me speak."

"Once, those three words would have made me the happiest person in the world, but now? They’re only causing pain,” you pause, exhaling a shaky breath. “You humiliated me, Jack. Time and time again. Even if I didn’t have Javi, I wouldn’t go back to you.” You sound defeated, your voice carrying the pain of past wounds, and it crushes you to keep thinking about the past.

“I did love you, through everything,” Jack whispers, his eyes searching yours. They are watery and dazed.

“I think…” you run your tongue over your lips and then purse them, “I think you loved me in your own way. But that’s not how I wanted to be loved. During our engagement, and more so during our marriage, I never really felt loved by you. Can you blame me for that if I can count with my fingers the amount of 'I love yous' you gave me?” Your words are like shards of glass, cutting through the air with the sharpness of your pain.

“When you did show me your love, I was so happy, Jack. So happy that I thought, hoped, you would give me more love, so I stayed with you. I longed for the morning you woke up and things would be different, better. Because that’s exactly what happened. You woke up after the night of our engagement, and you were a completely different person, and I couldn't comprehend what I did wrong. I was willing to stay with you forever for the odd chance one day you would feel for me how I felt for you.”

“And I stayed because I always hoped you would go back to your old self. Sometimes there were indications that you were going to become the old Jack. Well, I don’t know if I fooled myself, but sometimes I thought you were happy. Like right before I told you I was pregnant, you had this smile on your face….” Your voice trembles with the weight of those memories.

“Other times I genuinely thought you hated me, and then I thought that’s not possible. ‘Why would he ask me to marry him if he couldn’t stand me?’” 

“Did you always think that?” He sounds sad, a quiet plea for understanding. But your heart, scarred by the past, struggles to find solace in his remorseful gaze.

“Yeah. When… when we were together, it was rare you would look at me in my face. The majority of times you had me face down. How do you think that made me feel? You made me feel used and disposable.” 

“I wanted to be loved by you," you continue, your tone a mix of vulnerability and strength, "and you always made me feel like I was the other woman. Then I decided I should stop trying and let you go.” 

“What changed?” Jack's question hangs in the air. Everything you’ve revealed up to this point has felt like glass shards embedded in his heart. He knows you still have a lot left to say, and it will continue to hurt him, but he owes it to you to hear everything you went through.

“I was at a park one day after you didn’t come home," you recall, emotion tinging your words. "I came across this older man, and he showed me pictures of his family. When he talked about his wife…” you pause, emotion catching up with you. “It was beautiful. And I realized that would never be you. You wouldn’t talk about me that way. Since that day, I took off my rose-colored lenses and thought everything through."

"I thought about your behavior but also about mine. I hated who I was because it sounds ridiculous, but I was jealous of someone who wasn't here anymore. And I swear I never wanted to replace her or erase her from your life, I just wanted you to love me too. I loved you so much; I would've settled for half the love you had for Allison, but you couldn't even give me that. I never told you you couldn't love or mourn Allison. She was your wife, I get that... but I was your wife too, and knowing you would never love me like you did her was slowly killing me.” 

"I thought about one night, which I don't know if you remember," you confess, the vulnerability in your voice palpable. "But one night on her birthday, you got extremely drunk, and you kept slurring your words. I couldn't understand half of what you were saying, but I heard loud and clear when you yelled at me that you didn’t choose to stop loving her; you were forced to. And you said that you would’ve never looked at me otherwise. That you wish she came back and I disappeared… That we s- switched places,” you confess, exposing the scars engraved into your heart, and the pain of that night that is still etched in your memory—a wound that refused to fully heal. You were surprised that you weren't sobbing, because the night he told you those words, you felt your world had ended.

Jack was appalled, his face reflecting the shock and guilt that surged through him as he listened to your words. The heaviness of the past, the pain inflicted, all rushed back to him as a floodgate of memories suddenly opened, each carrying the weight of its own hurt.

"I always felt I was the third person in our marriage. You made me feel things I hated, and maybe even worse, I became someone I didn't recognize. After that day in the park, I was going to ask you for a divorce because I didn't want to be the person you settled for… then I found out I was pregnant. I wanted to give us one last try, and well, you remember what happened after I told you the news,” you say, the bitterness of the past lingering in your words.

"You kept hurting me, and you're smart, Jack. Did you not think I would leave you?" 

Jack exhales, the reminder of his own mistakes heavy on him. "I think I couldn’t let ya go, so a part of me hoped you would leave me if I treated you horribly. Every day I fought with myself to treat you like you deserve, but I wasn’t strong enough to open up to you."

The silence lingers, and Jack takes the opportunity to share a piece of his truth. "The night after I proposed, I had a dream about Allison. She told me I was replacing her, and I dunno, instead of working out through my issues, I took it out on ya.”

“Over a dream? You... you let our relationship go to waste because of a dream,” you say, a mix of disbelief and frustration in your voice. You want to be angry at him because such a trivial thing ruined the chance of happiness, but then you put yourself in his shoes. "Oh, Jack," you add, this time with a tone of understanding and sadness. 

“Have you been to therapy?” you ask him, your tone a mix of curiosity and concern.

“Yeah…” Jack admits with a small, self-deprecating laugh.

“Can I be honest?” you tilt your head, your fingers playing with the collar of your shirt.

He nods.

“I don’t think it helped.”

Jack smiles, a sheepish expression on his face, “If we’re being honest, I went in for two sessions and never saw my shrink again.”

“Well, your therapist probably knew what they were doing,” you playfully scold, but then your voice softens, "Please see a therapist so Ángel can get to know the best version of you. When I knew that Jack, he was amazing, and that's the man I want my son to know."

A sad smile greets Jack's face, "Yes, Sugar."

There's another thing you've always been curious to know but never had the stomach to ask, and this seems to be your window. "Can I ask, did you, um, did you ever sleep with someone else while we were married?"

"God no," the words tumble out of his mouth.

"Well, that's something, I guess," you say, a sense of relief evident in your voice.

"I'm really sorry about everything, sweetheart. I can't believe I ever hurt you. I just miss you so much. I’ve never regretted anything in my life as much as I do not telling you I loved you when we had a chance," Jack confesses, the weight of regret heavy in his words.

"It’s okay, Jack. I’m not your wife anymore, but we had some good times. Sometimes love doesn’t work out how we thought,” you tell Jack, your gaze turning when you hear footsteps that are familiar to you. 

And Jack would forever kick himself for driving you away and not accepting your love. The only piece of solace is that Ángel will have a happy and full life, and you finally got the love you deserved and dreamed of.

Javi starts calling your name, and you answer him so he can walk over to where you are. Once Javi comes into view, he tells you that Ángel’s been discharged and that they're ready to go home.

Jack looks at you once more, his gaze lingering, as if trying to capture every detail to hold onto. He sees the love in your eyes for your husband, a love he once had the chance to cherish but let slip away. It hurts, but at the mention of his son, it gives him the slightest glimmer of hope. Maybe, just maybe, he has learned from his mistakes, and he'll find a way to be a part of your lives, even if it's not in the way he once dreamed. The love of his life and his son are happy and healthy, and that will have to be enough for him.

"Bye, Jack. I'll let you know what time we're having the dinner," you say, while Javi wraps his arms around you—a protective gesture that Jack once held the privilege of doing, but did so sparingly.

"Take care," Javi tells Jack over his shoulder, his voice firm but not unkind. He then leads you to Ángel's room, leaving Jack standing alone in the corridor, grappling with the ache of what could have been.

You both start heading down the hallway, and Javi pauses halfway. His eyes search yours, concern written all over his features. 

"Are you okay?"

"I am now," you lean into him and smile. "Jack and I were talking about when we were married," you begin, and Javi tenses involuntarily.

"Hey, no, you don’t have anything to worry about," you reassure him, cupping his face with both of your hands. "Our talk was more about what went wrong, and the bottom line was that I‘m okay with the fact that he wasn’t the one for me."

Javi takes a deep breath, visibly trying to control the surge of emotions within him. "It’s just- me cae mal ese - (I don’t like that-)” You can't help but chuckle lightly at your husband's choice of words.

"As stupid as it sounds, I wanted to make it work when we were married. I saw it in his eyes, I felt it in his words and actions; he didn’t love me, and I couldn’t stay in a marriage like that. I wanted a life with him... It didn't work out, and it's okay. Everything I dreamed of having, I found it with you. I'm the happiest I've ever been at your side. You’re the love of my life and I love being your wife, don't ever doubt that, okay?" Since the beginning of your relationship, you always repeated your love to Javier, not because he was insecure, but because you knew how it felt to be second place, second best, a consolation prize, and you never wanted Javier to think that you settled for him after Jack.

"Say it again," Javi requests, a genuine smile softening his features as he looks down at you.

"What?" 

“That you’re my wife," Jack wants you to repeat the words that make his heart flutter.

“I’m your wife," you say.

Javi, still reveling in the warmth of the words, spins his finger in a playful circle, silently requesting you to say the words again.

“I’m your wife," you repeat, the pride evident in your tone. You take Javi's hand and begin walking to your son’s room.

"Again," Javi insists, stopping you in your tracks.

“I’m your wife.” 

“Otra vez," he requests, this time in Spanish.

You comply, “Soy tu esposa," you tell him and drag him further down the hall to your son's room.

When Javi playfully asks you to say it once more, this time it's you who stops. “Por dios, Javi, ¿en cuántos lenguajes quieres que te lo diga? (My God, Javi, how many languages do you want me to say it in?)” you feign annoyance.

He shrugs, answering with a mischievous grin, “En todos (in all of them).”

Amused, you grab him by the collar of his blue button-down shirt and bring him to a level where you can whisper into his ear, “Ay, Jav, apenas y hablas español (Oh, Jav, you barely speak Spanish).” You kiss his cheek and pull back, leaving him slightly offended but oddly proud. He had hoped for a different outcome when he saw you pull him down; the glint in your eyes made him believe you were going to kiss him on the lips. But, to his dismay, you chose to tease him instead.

"Take it back!" he demands as you stand right outside the door.

“Si lo dices en español (if you say it in Spanish),” you tease with a grin. Javier contemplates for a moment, and in the brief silence, Ángel's laughter and Dr. Navarro's voice echo from inside the room.

"Please?" Javi implores, wanting to savor one more of those heart-skipping phrases before joining his son. Unable to resist his pleading eyes any longer and mindful of the precious moments with Ángel, you relent.

“I’m your wife.”

END

Extended Note: The end! Thank you, everyone, for your kindness throughout the series. I truly appreciate every interaction 🥹.

As for my departure, I'm unsure whether I should deactivate my account or just private my writing. There's one post I received only positive comments on, especially from people with SPD who found it relatable. Apparently, there's a shortage of such stories, so I'm conflicted. Hopefully, I'll have a definitive decision next week.

I'm planning to post the Din story next Thursday; it's just one part, a sex pollen with Virgin!Din, titled 'Paleta.' I'm a fan of El Alfa, and I recently discovered that a song in his new album was sampled from the one I used for the Din story. It got me thinking about what I had written, and I wanted to share it with y’all before I bow out.

Thank you for reading 🫶🏽!

Taglist: @kchavez666 @ttupelohoneyy @mishasminion360 @ilovetaquitosmmmm @stileslvr @pedrostories

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Nightlife 13

Warnings: dubcon, noncon, touching, coercion, manipulation. Proceed with caution.

Note: I know what you’re thinking, why the fuck are you doing this? Well, you wanted bouncer Lee and I did too. Also, short!reader, not sorry.

Part of The Club AU

You have to make the call. You have no choice. One way or another, your father will find out and it will be worse if it’s not from you.

Another D and you're below water. You have no chance now. You’ll be lucky to finish with a C average for the semester and with that, you’ll lose your entry scholarship. You don’t understand where you went wrong. You try so hard. It doesn’t matter, it seems the more you try, the more wrong you are.

You hit the green button and wait for the line to pick up. You wait.

Waiting.

Still waiting.

The voicemail answers. You’re not surprised. You often have to leave several before you hear back. Yet when your father calls you, you answer. You don’t hesitate. 

“Hey dad, it’s me. I called because… because I need to talk to you. Please call me back. Love you.”

You hang up after leaving the message and blow a raspberry. He hasn’t even told you when he’s picking you up from campus after exams. Another week and you’re going to be done. You already have half your dorm packed.

In those short spurts where you’re not at Lee’s, you're sorting everything into the donate and take piles. Most of it you’ll leave behind, things you won’t need at your dad’s place. Things you can replace.

As soon as you put your phone down, it vibrates. You huff and pick it up. You need to study, even if it doesn’t matter.

Lee. Again. You’re not surprised. You almost admire his persistence given your own inconsistency.

‘Still coming over, sweet thing?’

Shoot. You don’t remember him asking. That’s the thing about Lee. He seems to frame demands as questions. Or maybe you really or that hopeless. You answer him. Sure. Why not? Not like anything will change if you do.

You get your bag ready to go and head down. Your dorm mates are bogged down studying, a few already gone as their exams finished early. Life seems easier as them. You suppose that most people see the world like that; they want to be someone else, though no one would ever want to be you.

You sit on the curb and wait. You tune out the world with your headphones. It’s been a while since you listened to music. Really listened without any distraction. 

Your head pops up as you see the familiar car approach. You stand and cross the street. You get in the car. The routine is just that. You’re used to it. You haven’t told Lee yet either. He doesn’t know that you’re going home for summer. You don’t expect him to be happy to hear it but it can’t be a big surprise. All the college students are leaving.

“Hey, darlin’,” he leans over to kiss your cheek as you pull your earbuds out, “whatcha listening to?”

“Oh, just…nothing–”

“Nah, go on, put it on,” he insists as he hands you auxiliary cord, “I could use something new.”

“Really, it’s–”

“Come on, I wanna listen.”

You don’t argue. Why? It’s a small thing. It’s nothing. You unplug your headphones and shove the cord into the port. Your music plays automatically.

So come on, Virginia, show me a sign Send up a signal, I'll throw you the line The stained-glass curtain you're hiding behind Never let's in the sun

Billy Joel croons from the speakers as you place your phone in the cupholder. You sit back and buckle in as he hums and gives a thoughtful nod. He taps his fingers on the wheel before he pulls out.

“You got a taste for the classics,” he muses, “I ain’t heard this in a while.”

“Uh, yeah, I like it,” you shrug.

“Good song,” he remarks, “I’m a fan of You May Be Right, myself. But I’m not too picky. You listen to Seger? How about Elton? You seem that sorta girl.”

“Some, yeah,” you cling to your bag and watch through the window.

“Hickory missin’ ya,” he says, “ain’t ya excited to see him?”

“Yeah,” you answer glumly.

“Whatsa matter, then? Don’t know why you’d be so down when you got that rascal waiting on ya… and me.”

“Just school,” reply evasively.

“Ah, yeah, you were saying you’re having some troubles. Wish I could help.”

“Ugh, well… no one can help me now,” you plant your elbow on your door and put your chin on your fist.

“Now, don’t be moping ‘less you gonna tell me what’s going on,” he says grumpily.

You sigh. You can barely admit it to yourself. You don’t even know if you can say it out loud.

Your vision turns bleary and you sniffle. It’s too late. You should’ve asked for help months ago. You made promises you didn’t keep and now you have to accept the failure. You wipe away your tears and sit back.

“My GPA is garbage. I’m gonna lose my scholarship and my dad– my dad’s gonna kill me.”

“Oh, honey, kill you? Don’t talk like that. I’m sure he wouldn’t, not a sweet thing like you. Besides, if he’s an ass about it, you still got me, don’t ya?”

You nod but refuse to look at him. He’s sweet but he can’t understand. Your dad isn’t the type to just say oh well or to give second chances. This semester was a second chance and you blew it.

“Maybe it just isn’t for you. Schoolin’ and all. I know lots of people who never did it,” he speaks as he drives. “Or maybe you’re in the wrong kinda school.”

“Maybe,” you grumble and pick at the zipper on your bag.

“You can change, can’t ya? Pick something else. Something you’re better at,” he suggests. “Like I said, I went into the military. They offered me some school but I told ‘em not to waste the time.”

“I don’t know what I’m good at,” you sigh.

“Well, you’re good to me,” he says brightly, “you know I’ll help ya. I’ll take care of ya no matter what.”

“But you don’t have to.”

“I wanna. Why are you sayin’ that?”

“Cause… cause it’s a lot. Don’t you think?”

“No, wouldn't say it if I thought it was too much,” he rebuffs, “don’t get no attitude with me, now.”

“I– I’m not but… but… I don’t want to…” you shake your head and stare at the dash, “I’m going home for the summer, Lee. I have to go home. And I feel bad with you doing all this–”

“Going home?” He says so quietly, his voice almost cracks, “but, darlin’, I’m taking you home right now. Ain’t I?”

“That’s your home. I mean, my dad. I gotta… I gotta figure this all out. When he finds out–”

“You’re a goddamn adult,” he growls and grips the wheel tight, “you shouldn’t be so worried about him and damn it, he should be treatin’ ya a lot better.”

“I know, but he’s my dad. He– he paid my tuition. He’s gonna want me to work that off at the restaurant–”

“Work? He– What the heck is wrong with ya? You shouldn’t be workin’? Silly little thing. He’s your dad, he should be supportin’ ya, not takin’ from ya,” he seems angrier with each word, “what kinda man– and you’re gonna leave me for him?” He snarls, “just like that. You’re gonna hurt me?”

“Hurt you? No, but… but I have to.”

“You don’t gotta do nothing. Sounds to me like he don’t want anything to do with ya anyhow, so maybe you should stay in town.”

“My lease is over at the end of the month.”

“Mine ain’t,” he insists.

He’s quiet. You squirm and bite your lip, “Lee?”

“You said you was gonna marry me. How’re you gonna do that if you’re all the way somewhere else?”

“I know I said but… I’m nineteen. I thought you meant later.”

“I’m a lot older than nineteen,” he scoffs, “I’m not waiting til later.” He sneers through the windshield, “you said. You promised!”

“I did, but–”

“But? But you were just lyin’, I get it.”

You nearly choke. You weren’t lying. You just were caught off guard and didn’t know what to say. Like now. You're not just stunned by the sudden shift, you're scared.

“I didn’t lie,” you croak, “please…”

You cover your face and take several deep breaths, trying to hold back. He huffs and you feel his firm touch on your leg. He squeezes as he slows the car.

“Don’t cry, darlin’, alright? Don’t do none of that. I know you meant it. Let’s just figure this all out first, schoolin’ and all that. Alright?” He coaxes, “you know I’ll be there for ya, don’t ya? No matter what your dad says.”

“Yeah,” you drag your hands from your face.

“And I know you’re not gon’ leave Hick. He needs ya around.”

[sweetfire01]

hi! i have a story suggestion, the ideas been so interesting! i know you have daddy howl and stuff, maybe this could be a new idea? im not too sure on any merman characters, but you could find some and adapt if youd like! or perhaps make an oc? anyway:

the merman was caught and trapped as a result of a circus attraction. user felt pity and decided to help him escape, though that resulted in user being shot. user was bleeding out and told the merman to leave, but he couldnt! so he took user down, blowing an airbubble for user to breathe. he took user to a healer, who gave user the ability to breathe underwater, and heal user.

merfolk are actually much larger than humans and he was around 7foot, maybe more with his tail. so user is actually tiny, and roughly the size of a merbaby. at first, the merman treats user like a normal person, but the merman realises how helpless user is. user cant swim, and water is heavy for user to walk in. so user looks like a baby learning to walk. user relies on the merman alot for support, and lets the merman carry user since it helps her get places. the merman also has to carry user when they go out, since user cant tread water or swim and will sink.

the merman holds a small feast of all the underwater foods for user to try. but user has an allergic reaction to one of the foods and cant speak anymore. user can only make babyish sounds. when they go out for treatment and shopping, the merman stumbles across a friend. the friend thinks user is a baby and this sparks something in the merman. he realises he enjoys having user helpless.

the merman actually includes the food that has caused user to not talk in each of users meal. to make sure the temporary effect lasts longer.

its a bit long T^T but this idea seems so cool! its so adaptable and theres so many things that could affect user since its an entirely new environment. if you dont want to write a story abt this pls give feedback! id love to adapt a short story about this, but either way would love to see you write on this!

not sure if it’s taken but,

🥯 anon ^w^

Oh, (bagel? donut?) anon. You don't know how much I loved and thought on this idea. 👀

Come al solito, è più breve di quanto inizialmente previsto, ma volevo darvi qualcosa da leggere.

(Tell me if there is any mistake, I'm sleepy and didn't pay attention while rereading)

PT. 1 of this new fic for which I don't have a title yet

News of the merman sighting had spread for almost a week among the fishermen and residents of the harbor, but you didn't believe it was true, much less that your boss would catch it. "First the shark and now this. The hunts are going really well and that one will make us a big profit!" He had exclaimed that evening on his return to the circus while his henchmen behind him were dragging a net with the merman inside. You all crowded around to get a good look at him, as much as you could see him under the layer of cords and cords in which he was wrapped. He must have put up a good fight against the sailors and it didn't surprise you: he was big, even if you couldn't see his full figure since his tail was tied to his torso, you could swear he was at least 2 meters , probably even more. And yet… he was no longer threatening. At least for the moment. She was breathing heavily, her head turned to the side and from under her long black hair you could see a large dark red, almost brown stain - blood, you guessed it.

"Okay, okay, stop just watching or I'll make you pay for the ticket. It's time to work." The boss called your attention "Use the tank where we had that winged woman. Check that the shackles are well fixed to the ground, then tie him up and fill him with water. Come on, go!" And with that, the two of you split up and you and someone else headed off to prepare the water. The circus consisted of a huge tent overlooking the port. At the bottom, on the side facing the sea, there was a small round tank dug into the ground and protruding just under a meter from the ground, perfect for spectators to observe everything that was inside. In this case, the shark that had been caught just a few weeks ago, a poor creature that kept swimming in circles in a space too small for it. You and your colleague climbed over the barriers while two other workers approached carrying a large, long pipe. The tub had two valves, on one side one connected to an underground pump which allowed the recirculation of water directly from the sea, and another, where you were, more external. You connected the hose to the latter just as the capturing team brought the tank in.

It had thick plates of extremely resistant glass - despite all the kicking and punching from the creatures locked inside, there wasn't even a scratch - held together by a metal structure. The base was also made of metal, with shackles for limbs firmly attached. Honestly, you didn't know why such a thing existed, nor what it could possibly be used for (besides holding your creatures) but it had been provided to you courtesy of the mayor of the city, along with the tent and the warehouse where you kept the stuff. The boss was very happy about it. And speaking of the boss… Once everything was in place and some other worker opened the side door and emptied the sandbags into the bottom of the tank, you saw him and a couple of goons approach with the merman still tied up. He must have regained consciousness considering the way he was struggling, but still he had no way to free himself.

"You're not going to escape from here that easily. Especially not after I put these on you." The boss took one of the handcuffs with a sneer. He then opened the net and knelt down, holding the creature's head still as he closed the collar around its neck, effectively fasten him to the bottom. "Oh, don't worry, it's just so you don't cause any trouble while we take the ropes off. We'll just keep you tied up by the arms, all right?" He only received a growl-like noise in response. With that, he stood up and glared at the two men who were with him. "We should be safe with him like this, but if he escapes I'll make you become food for the shark, understood? Take the two handcuffs and as soon as I free him, be quick to put them on him." So, once they were ready, he took out a knife and started cutting the ropes around his torso.

Immediately, the rest of you who were observing the scene outside the tank, saw a muscular arm flail and free itself from the bonds. One of the two men promptly grabbed him and together with the boss held him with difficulty while trying to put the handcuff on his wrist. The merman continued to flail and managed to free his other arm as well. The second man wasn't so quick to stop him and the creature threw a punch at the boss, hitting him in the face. But the throttle was now closed and soon both limbs were trapped. The boss was a sturdier man than he looked and even with drops of blood dripping from his nose he didn't give up. He took a key out of his pocket and bent down to free the prisoner's neck, while the other two ran out. He then pulled his hair, looking into his eyes. "You throw some good punches, I give you that. But I've faced creatures much bigger and more ferocious than you, don't think you can defeat me so easily. Well, at this point, not that you can really do much." He chuckled. A slick of saliva hit his forehead, mixing with blood from his nose as it fell. The boss simply assumed an amused expression, tightening his grip on his hair even more. "I like your temper. It'll be fun to see how long it takes you to give up." He let him go, allowing him to move into a more seated position as he removed the rest of the net and ropes, and quickly jumped out of the tank just a second before a long, powerful black tail wrapped and tightened where his head was.

"I told you, I know how to deal with you stupid creatures." He closed the door satisfied, leaving the prisoner to try punching and banging the glass with his tail, although the chains ensured he didn't have much room to move. "Now servants, it's your turn to work. Fill this thing with water and clean up all that sand on the floor. Night night." The boss headed towards the exit followed by the rest of his capturing team. There were only you left, a small group of a handful of people, those who carried out the most humble tasks, under the furious gaze of a merman.

[moralina]

WILD NIGHTS - WILD NIGHTS! | JJ MAYBANK

Summary: JJ decides to take you on an unusual date, and maybe you should've known that with him you could possibly end the night running away from security.

Warnings: nothing to do with the poem except for the title and i thought it'd be a great way to cut the scenes with lmao, also quickly edited, wanted to write more but also wanted to post this today. fem!reader.

Wc: 1.5k

Masterlist

My latest jj blurb

Not my gif

Wild nights - Wild nights!

Were I with thee

Wild nights should be

Our luxury!

Your feet met the slippery grass with a thud, making you slightly lose your balance but quickly adjusting your footing back as soon as his hands touched yours. 

"Where are we going?" you asked, hands pulling at the sleeves of your sweater trying to find warmth within. "I'm not complaining but i'd rather stay under my warm and soft blankets, y'know"

"it's worth it, i promise." he whispered even though there was no need to. Your parents were gone for a week, letting you by yourself while they visited some distant family member who you've never really met. "now c'mon" 

his right hand closed around yours, pulling your arm and bringing you with him to the parked van on the other side of the street.

"jj" you whined, sounding too much like a child but too cold to really care. 

"it's warm in the van" 

You hummed, still dreaming about your comfortable bed. 

Yesterday you had agreed to go on a date with jj - your first official date - but it didn't cross your mind to check the weather. How would you have guessed tonight would be as freezing as the inside of a freezer, when just yesterday night you were wearing a bikini and chilling in JB's backyard with the rest of your friends, relaxing in the warmth of the night. 

However, the weather betrayed you, and decided to suddenly change drastically on the exact day you and jj decided would be your date night.

"Ohmygod." You exhaled a breath of relief, relishing in the slightly warmer atmosphere of the van. 

After a few moments of staring and smiling like a fool in love, jj started the van. 

Futile - the winds -

To a Heart in port -

Done with the Compass -

Done with the Chart!

"That's our date?"

"C'mon baby! A kook's pool all to ourselves? It's the dream!" "They have a heat pump!" His eyebrows wiggled and you stared, not really sold

"No" you shook your head "no no no- jj, if we get caught we're screwed."

"Yeah but we won't."

"And how are you so sure?"

"The cameras stopped working after the storm last week and they haven't changed them yet" he spoke matter of factly "plus, there's no one taking care of the house, they're basically asking for it" you deadpanned and he smirked. 

Typical jj behavior, you thought to yourself, should've expected it.

How on earth did you fall for this reckless boy?

"Hey, be fun at least once in your life." He said, poking your side with his index finger

"Excuse me, i am fun." 

"Keep telling yourself that." He mumbled and you huffed a laugh, eyeing him up and down 

"If the cops get us-" you started saying, slowly getting closer to him "i'll throw you to the lions and run as fast as i can"

"Deal!" He exchanged his arm, a cocky grin on his face

After jumping over the gate with jj's help you waited for him to do the same, eyes traveling around the huge backyard. You've never seen a pool so big in your life. Its was probably the size of your house.

"Those kooks, man." You muttered as jj appeared beside you.

"Yeah." He said, also taking a moment to look around the whole place.

"How did you know about this?"

"I cut their grass last week" he shrugged, "heard someone talking about the security cameras not working." 

"Oh so then you decided it'd be a good idea to just… break in?"

"Yes." He said casually. 

You rolled your eyes, but followed him nonetheless as he started walking towards the pool. 

"Even the air feels different here." 

His comment made you laugh. He wasn't necessarily wrong. Everything felt different on figure eight. Didn't mean it was better, though.

"What are you doing?" You hushed when you noticed jj taking off his sweater

"What do you think im doing?" You lifted a brow quizzically "i'm not getting into the pool with my clothes on now, am i?" 

"Yeah, but it's free-"

"Freezing, i know, i know." His sweater was thrown aimlessly to the side "But the moment i turn this pretty thing on it'll be like a huge jacuzzi, baby!" 

You waited for him to do exactly that, and when the water seemed to be at a decent temperature you began to take off your shirt. However, your eyes wined when you glanced at jj and he was moments away from getting all of his clothes off.

All of it.

"Jj" you hissed "what. Are. You. Doing!?"

"I thought skinny dipping would be more romantic." He winked before finally discarding his sweatpants and underwear to the side 

Not even a second later he started running, and before jumping straight to the water he let out the loudest scream he could master.

"We're fucked." You breathed out.

Definitely the whole neighborhood heard that, and then security would get here and see you and your-not-yet-official naked boyfriend 

"Are you planning to run away from the cops with your thing dangling between your legs?" You questioned when his head finally came back to the surface

He chuckled at your comment, once again too loudly for your liking.

"I'll give them a show, princess." His hand ran through his wet hair and something inside you clicked. The urge to throw him against the pool walls and kiss him for hours being stronger than anything else "Now get in the water." 

You hesitated, but decided to go against your gut feeling, and I guess be fun for once in your life.

When your left foot touched the warm water you allowed yourself to breathe normally again, not noticing how your breath seemed shallow before. 

Slowly, you entered the pool, your underwear getting soaked in the process. You decided not to follow jj's idea for at least this one thing. You were not getting into someone else's pool naked. And you were not going to run from the cops naked either.

Rowing in Eden -

Ah - the Sea!

Might I but moor - tonight -

In thee!

"Get back here!"

"It was nice seeing you again, Carl!" Jj waved at the poor security guard. 

As he ran in front of you, with his pants worn inside out, and his shirt not making all its way through covering his torso, was definitely a funny site, but as much as you wanted to laugh, you also needed air to keep on running.

A scream of joy left his lips and you felt so much adrenaline running through your body. Something you only really felt with jj. I mean, he was the one always dragging you around and making you participate in his wild plans. 

"You're too slow!" He screamed, momentarily looking behind him to see you running a few meters behind. 

"I'm not used to running from the cops as much as you!" You exclaimed, extending your arm forward so he could grab onto you and take you with him.

When he caught your hand you almost fell to the ground, losing your balance, once again this night, for a short second, but your legs were quick to catch on to his speed.

You only stopped running when you reached the sand. The beach was dark at this time of night, a few lights coming from the street that weren't enough to illuminate the open space.

"That was-" you heaved, trying to speak but also catching your breath

"Amazing? Thrilling? The best night of your life?!"

"It's a way to put it, yeah." You nodded your head, mouth open still trying to even your breathing.

"Did you like it?" Jj asked after a moment of silence, speaking up once again after you gave him a questioning look "our date. Did you like it?"

"It was… something." You laughed. 

Definitely an adventure. It made you feel more alive than ever, but you wouldn't say that aloud, not wanting to give jj more motivation to take you to any more fun dates

"Something good or…" he trailed off.

You couldn’t see it, mostly because he wouldn't show it, but jj was nervous. He wanted to give you a memorable date. You've already gone out thousands of times together. Sometimes only the two of you, other times as a group with all of the pogues, but you never called it a date. Before tonight your relationship didn't have a label, and he really wanted it to have. He wanted you to be his girlfriend, and he wanted to be your boyfriend. 

So yeah, it was kind of a stressful night and maybe he went too far, but hey, you had the biggest smile on your face right now. You didn't look mad. Not one bit.

"Good." You told him finally

"Good" he repeated, feeling his muscles relax.

"But we're not doing this again."

"Yup! Definitely… not doing this again."

"Jj…" 

"What? You have my word."

"Yeah, no. Definitely not trusting that."

A/n: im so anxious rn, you guys have no idea. Anyway, did this so fast I'll probably edit it again when i wake up tomorrow oof

[the-fiction-witch]

I Dare You... P1

Media The Artful Dodger

Character Jack Dawkins

Couple Jack X Reader

Rating Cute + Funny

I sat on the theatre steps bottle in my hand, and a few steps up with a bottle of his own sat Dr Dawkins, Together we were... tipsy. 

But It was understandable, It had been a boring day. 

A storm hung over Port Victory the sky dark and grey, rain battering the earth, the lights lit to try and starve the dark, most if not everyone huddled away in their homes, in that quiet where people don't want to go out as anything important isn't worth getting soaked over.

The hospital had been fairly quiet today, with only a few little things to deal with but not much else.

The sound of the wind and rain battering the world coming though the large window in the theatre, shadows of the rain across the bloody operating table. 

So as we had little to do, Jack and I sat on the theatre seats with a beer each. 

We had said we'd remain mostly sober, just one drink but in the boredom and darkness of the day, I don't think anyone can blame us for the few we had. 

"Jack?"

"Umm?" He mumbled as he sipped his drink, his feet up on the wooden seats his arm leant over his knee, 

"I'm bored," I said but then it clicked, 

"Yep."

"There's nothing to do."

"Yep."

"Jack... Entertain me."

"Why?"

"Because I'm bored."

"How about... we play a game?"

"Ohh? What sort of game?" I glared, "Becuase we're not playing Jack says! I'm not falling for that again." 

"Ohhh come on it was fun!"

"It was not! something else."

"Fine... How about truth or dare?"

"Are we sixteen? Is this a sleepover?"

"Just trying to help, fine I'll shut up." He said as he sipped his drink again, 

"Fine, Truth or dare?"

"Truth."

"Alright...  when was the last time you cried?"

For a moment he glared at me, "I am not drunk enough for this... uhhh Yesterday probably."

"Why?"

"I stubbed my toe getting out of bed,"

"Awwww, that's fair."

"Truth or dare?"

"Truth."

"Hum... What's something you do, when you think you're alone?"

"bite my nails."

"Why?"

"I don't know if it's comforting, and my mum used to slap my hands for doing it I just kinda absentmindedly do it when alone." 

"You shouldn't do that."

"Yeah yeah, I know." I rolled my eyes "Truth or dare?"

"Truth."

"Do you... have anyone you hate?"

"How long have you got" he chuckled,

"Really?"

"I hate a lot of people. People are dicks," He shrugs, "Truth or dare?"

"truth," 

"If you could have any animal as a pet what would you have?"

"A bat."

"Really?"

"Yeah, there freaking adorable." 

"Fair enough." 

This went on for a while of back and forth with various questions none of which were all that interesting, 

"When was the last time you had a bath?"

"...That seems invasive." He chuckled, "And your tone implies you're gonna judge my answer."

"Yes. Yes, I am Jack."

"...Last week."

"You're a gross little man."

"I know," He sighed, "Truth or dare?"

"Uhhh Dare!"

"Oohh Brave girl, Alright finish your drink."

I rolled my eyes and forced down the rest of my bottle, "Truth or dare."

"truth."

"You can't pick truth forever Jack,"

"Next time."

"What's the best advice someone has ever given you?"

He chuckled a little, "I was once told, that no matter what you do in life there are three options, You can do it good, you can do it fast, you can do it easy. But you can only pick two, so if it's good and fast it's not gonna be easy, if it's easy and fast it's not gonna be good, if your trying to make it easy and good well you're not gonna be fast. Think about that a lot."

"Hu... That is kinda insightful. Who told you that?"

"Captian Grimm. Served under him in the navy." 

"He sounds like a very smart man,"

"He could be." He nodded, "truth or dare?"

"truth."

"What's the most trouble you've ever been in?"

"Ohhh Uhhh? My mother caught me cutting the heads off my dolls as a kid."

"Why?"

"I was crazy."

"was?"

"Hey!"

"Sorry."

"It's fine." I glared, "Truth or dare."

"truth."

"Jack!"

"Last one I swear."

"What's your greatest fear?"

"Intimacy. Abandonment and silence."

"Why the silence?"

"You spent ten years on a ship in pitch black, completely silent, it freaks you out." 

"Fair enough,"

"What are you scared of?"

"I didn't say truth,"

"No, I'm just asking you."

"...Time."

"Time?"

"it's ever going, ever flowing constantly nature."

"Fair enough." 

[inviisiiblelee]

One-Sided Date Night

Fandom: Hazbin Hotel Word Count: 3,034 Rating: Teen and Up Audience Relationship: Alastor/Vox Additional Tags: Alastor is Bad at Feelings (Hazbin Hotel), Soft Vox (Hazbin Hotel), Vox is Bad at Feelings (Hazbin Hotel), Soft Alastor (Hazbin Hotel), Vox falls apart easily, Vox is just an idiot, He has no idea how to be actually direct, Fluff, Angst, Fluff and Angst, Unrequited Love, Not Actually Unrequited Love, I'll probably write a second part from Alastors POV later, radiostatic, staticradio, porting from AO3, link included above if prefered.

Notes: As always, heavily based around discussed concepts between friends who write Alastor. This is a submission for the tumblr RadioStatic Week of 2024, Day 3: One Sided/Date Night. I love them a normal amount.

Summary: “You’re a great friend,” Vox said sincerely, placing a hand over the one on his frame, leaning into the touch. “Thank you, Alastor.” “You’re welcome, Vox.”

This would be fine. It was supposed to be fine. Why did it feel like heartbreak?

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The music in the lounge was gentle and soft, lulling the space between Vox and Alastor into something smooth and easy. There was a sense of tenseness across their personal frequency, but it was slowly melting away into something familiar and pleasant the longer they sat at their table, chatting happily over their appetizers. This wasn’t really that new, Vox knew, they went out for lunches and dinners plenty often, and they’d definitely been to this spot a few times. He had taken an extra step to order things he knew Alastor liked from the menu, and it hadn’t been an issue at all. Alastor had smiled at him, chuckled a little when he floundered to say that he would stop if it was weird, but he said he didn’t mind, he wasn’t wrong. 

It was nice, all of it was, but Vox was here for a little bit more of a reason than just to have dinner. It was the height of their relationship, he felt. They’d been living together for decades already, but they were so much closer than ever, spent nearly every moment they could together. There was hardly a person in Hell that wasn’t aware that if you messed with one, you would face the other with no hesitation. Vox … was also head over heels for Alastor, and had been for some time. He had been so hesitant to express it to him, but he thought that close to fifteen years of keeping quiet was long enough to have decided that it was definitely real and not at all something that would fade with time. So he figured, he could take Alastor out, sort of like normal, take some initiative in the whole thing, try to woo him a little – something he knew he was theoretically good at, but had never tried on Alastor – and hopefully broach the subject of changing the status of their relationship. 

“- alright?” Alastor’s voice cut through his thoughts, which he was carefully monitoring so as not to project them across the frequency between them, unspoken words that he did not want coming across uncontrolled.

“Oh, what? Sorry,” Vox replied quickly, finding himself somewhat embarrassed, a hint of hue change on his screen, he knew. Across the table, Alastor’s ears dropped just slightly - it was almost imperceptible, but Vox was well attuned to these small movements by now. It wasn’t as though he needed more than the thirty years he’d had to figure them out. His expression was easier typically to read, an eyebrow raised in questioning concern. 

“I asked if you were doing alright. You look a little lost, friend,” Alastor said, though patient at needing to repeat himself. It had become more common recently, Vox knew, for him to get a little caught up in his own thoughts or just to blatantly stare at Alastor and get a little … lost, as Alastor put it. It was a kind way to describe it, considering it was often just Vox staring at him longingly, with a dumb, lovestruck look on his face. He admittedly wasn’t sure if it was Alastor just being sweet about it, or if he actually didn’t notice beyond the fact that when it happened, Vox was often tuned out of the conversation. 

“I’m okay! Sorry, just thinking, that’s all.”

“Oh? You aren’t sharing much today,” Alastor quipped with a little smile and a laugh. Even now, they weren’t actually speaking aloud, despite being in public. Rather, it was especially since they were in public. Nearly all of their communication involved them speaking silently, through their shared radio frequency that was uninterrupted and unmonitored by any unwanted ears. Vox had recently learned how to put a death grip on specific thoughts, to prevent them spilling over while conversing. It was easier that way. And certainly safer for their friendship. 

“I know,” Vox said, evading the question just a tad. “Just a lot of nonsense, that's all, I promise.” Alastor seemed amused by the idea, leaning his chin against his interlaced fingers. 

“Well, that hasn’t stopped you before.”

“Well- hey!”

The deer demon laughed again, the sound softer and gentler when they were together like this, quiet in the fray of the frequency. It always had a different sort of quality when he laughed aloud, more abrasive and usually for a different reason. But between the two of them, it was like hearing the ocean rolling up against the shore, soothing and sweet. Homely. He just wished he could play it on repeat sometimes, bury himself in the sound.

Before their conversation could go too much further, their entrees were placed before them, and Vox could see Alastor’s eyes light up a bit as he was quick to dig in. Vox allowed the topic and talk to die down while they both ate, though Vox’s enthusiasm was less than his friend’s. Nothing at all to do with the meal and much more the nervousness running through his system. Electrical little surges that made his fingers twitch. It was a real problem that some of his emotions ended up manifesting so physically these days. Once more his eyes settled on Alastor and he found himself lost in watching him, seeing him enjoy his meal and appear just … generally happy in the moment. Vox felt like he’d spent years memorizing every facial expression Alastor could make, tracing the lines of his face and committing every little quip and compliment to memory. What else could he do in times like these? Alastor was … still hard to read, though. They were both clearly happy with the current state of things, no issues to be found for the last fifteen years, certainly. But he had no way to tell if Alastor would ever want more than that from him. Maybe he wouldn’t, but if he brought it up, would it destroy things? Would they be able to go back to normal after that? And would he be able to stay okay with things as they were?

“You’re doing it again, Vox.” He jumped slightly, sitting up straighter in his chair. “What’s on your mind? It’s not very like you to keep so quiet.” Maybe Vox should have found some offense, but he knew that he was a rambler at heart, and he did imagine it was coming to be a surprise that he was clamming up so much. He was usually also just as easy to convince to open up, and his resistance was probably giving something more away than he wanted. 

“I’ve just been thinking about … us?” It was almost a question, a hesitating, curious question of how that sort of response would even be taken. But very little changed in Alastor’s expression, although he was sitting back in his chair and watching him, clearly ready to listen. 

“In what way?”

“Sort of in general, I guess. We’re pretty close these days, and spend a lot of time together,” Vox said. “It’s been really nice, you know. So I guess I’ve just been reflecting on it a little.”

“Yet that seems to be something you don’t want to share.”

It wasn’t an accusation, but it felt like one anyway. He didn’t know what to say, at first. Maybe if he changed the subject, he would figure it out later. But no, it was a pointless thing to do, to dance around this all so much. He would do it a little regardless, it was just how he talked, something Alastor teased him somewhat for, never able to really get to the point without thirty minutes of preface. 

It was what he knew.

“I just think it might be annoying, if you listen and all you hear is me thinking of you,” Vox responded finally with a laugh. He felt embarrassed and unsure, and he rubbed at his screen briefly as though he could scrub away the feelings. It didn’t have to be this hard, he knew that, but what was he going to do if he said no, and if he took offense?

“Nothing you go on about has annoyed me before, why would it be different now?” Alastor replied, punctuating the thought by taking a last bite of his meal. He offered a smile, too, and while it could have eased Vox’s mind, he found himself that much more anxious. 

“I don’t know.”

It was the best he had to offer, though it wasn’t much. He really didn’t know why he felt so strongly about it all, or why he worried so much. Realistically, Alastor was right. There were many things he went on about that were much less serious and often quite silly, but through it all, Alastor always sat and listened thoughtfully. Even if he might have teased, he never held it against him. Couldn’t he trust it just like that? He knew the answer was yes, but it wasn’t about trust. It was about any possibility of losing the demon sitting before him. 

“You like what we are, don’t you?” Vox heard himself say directly, and he immediately wished he could snatch the words back, pretend they hadn’t come from him. That definitely wasn’t how it worked, but what he would have done for it …

“Of course. I’ve always thoroughly enjoyed your company, Vox.” Alastor’s reply was so quick, smooth, and lacked any sort of reproach. It had the potentially unintentional effect of melting his heart and easing him a little, putting a little goofy smile on his screen that he couldn’t hide. 

“Alastor, you know I would do anything for you, right?” It was a little bit of a silly admitting question, more serving the purpose of pointing it out in case he didn’t know it, for some reason. Not that it hadn’t become blatantly obvious over the last few decades, he was sure. 

“Well, I’m sure there are some limits, but yes,” Alastor replied, though Vox shook his head slightly. He wouldn’t argue, but he knew well indeed that there were no limits. Not exactly the … healthiest thing, but he meant it. “Is this you trying to ask a favor, Vox? You know you can just say it and it’ll be done.” 

“Oh, no, nothing like that.”

“Well, if it were, I would be happy to help you with whatever is going on in that cubed head of yours.” Vox smiled in response, chuckling at the little comment, but still trying to gather his own thoughts. Alastor gave him time now, it seemed, and finally, he was able to say something more … relevant to what he wanted.

“What do you think about dating?” Vox finally said, making a little leap. Even just a generic idea about it could be helpful, it wasn’t exactly a topic they ever spoke on.

“Oh, I don’t.”

“Oh.”

Well. That wasn’t particularly helpful, was it? Not altogether surprising, though, which made the nervousness return to Vox’s mind as he cast his eyes away from his friend quickly, as though searching the room for the right words.

“Has there ever been some sort of consideration?” he said after a moment.

“Hm … I suppose I don't really need to anymore. What about you…?” Alastor seemed more confused about his line of questioning than anything else, and Vox found himself panicking a little bit.

“Well, yes, I have a tendency to, myself. Not that much though! Haha. It’s just one of those things that pops into my head, you know, without a reason.” Idiot. Word salad at its absolute finest, certainly. At best, it seemed to make Alastor laugh a little, though he didn’t offer much else, the line going a little quiet once more, the music and other patrons keeping pure silence from forming, thankfully. They finished their main course and everything was whisked away, Vox telling the waiter they’d like some time before getting the bill, which they graciously acknowledged. Vox took a sip of the wine he’d sent ahead, a pinot noir that he’d found Alastor liked a few years ago. Alastor was not much of a wine drinker, but this one he knew he liked.  They spent a few minutes in the quiet of the lounge, enjoying themselves individually, but Vox knowing his mind was elsewhere still, just as restless as ever. He was trying to figure out how to phrase his next words, but he had lost his grip on his thoughts and one slipped through unbidden.

“Do you think you’d like to be closer to me?” 

The moment the words passed through the frequency, he clammed up, tense and worried, though Alastor didn’t seem bothered by the question. In fact, he appeared to consider the question for a long moment, before finally answering with a question of his own.

“Is there some way we could be? I don’t think it’s even possible at this point.”

Air escaped Vox for a long time. He knew he was staring, he knew he was sort of … losing himself in his thoughts, in a whirlwind of wordless emotion that he knew was ringing true through the frequency. Fear and worry and hope and everything that could be in between. It was overwhelming, and he could tell it was even a little much for Alastor, whose ears seemed to drop back a little. If he said anything, Vox couldn’t hear it. His internal mechanisms were starting to make noise, noises he hadn’t heard before, and he realized it was a bad thing when the color blinked out of his vision. 

“Uh oh.”

It spiraled out of control much faster than Vox could keep up with. Electrical currents shot through his body, from his head to his toes, and the glass in his hand was shattered between his convulsing fingers. His vision was blinking in and out, and he felt like he was watching each moment frame by frame, rather than live. Alastor was standing suddenly, and then the scene blinked, and it was clear he had fallen from his chair. In the next frame, Alastor had moved to hover over him, and he could tell he was asking him something, trying to talk both aloud and between them silently, but the static and buzzing was so loud that he couldn’t hear. And then his vision went completely dark, and all he could hear was the faint buzzing of himself.

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Vox didn’t know how long had passed, but when his vision returned, and his audio just as slowly, he was back at home. The little place they lived together in, half built into the bottom half of the radio tower that Alastor worked out of. It was a pretty normal little hovel, a simple living room, a single bathroom, nice kitchen, two bedrooms, and … well. Half a marsh for the Radio Demon, of course. But for now, Vox was resting on the couch, it seemed. He still couldn’t see in color, couldn’t hear everything, but he was awake and aware again. He cast his gaze around the room, and as he did, Alastor came through the doorway towards the kitchen. Vox was almost tempted to try to pretend he wasn’t back yet, but the light of his display would always give him away, so there was little point to it. Alastor was bringing in a small tray, setting it down, and leaning in close to his face, peering closely at his display and screen, before offering him a small, strained smile.

“There you are. You took your time coming back around,” Alastor said simply, leaning back a little now, and Vox offered him a small smile of his own. His head was blissfully quiet now, except for Alastor’s voice, and he tried to respond. It took him several minutes before he was really able to gather enough thoughts to do so, but Alastor sat there with him patiently, helping him to sit up when he tried. 

“I’m not very sure what happened. And I still can’t really see properly,” he admitted. “I think something … broke?”

“It sure seemed like it. Started smoking a little, and you were … unresponsive for the walk here. You’ve been out for a few hours now.”

“Oh. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to ruin the night.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“I know, I just … I don’t really know what’s wrong with me.” A little laugh escaped him. “I’ve never … I didn’t think I could break internally?”

“What exactly happened?”

Vox hesitated to answer, but decided in the end, it couldn’t hurt.

“I got a little … emotionally overwhelmed, I guess. I was thinking way too many things all at once, feeling a lot all at once. Just … fried some things.” A twinge of electricity shot through him, making him shudder. Alastor seemed concerned by this, reaching out to steady Vox again. Once he was fine, Alastor’s hand moved from his shoulder to the side of face, the frame of his display, and there was a moment of flashing and stuttering on his screen. It was a terrible feeling, and Vox tried to pull away from Alastor, but he seemed intent on holding him there. Alastor turned Vox’s head, and he felt his fingers prying open the back to release the smoke building there. 

“You’re overheating… is there something to fix that?” Alastor asked.

“Oh, uh. I think so, I just need … I’ll have to order a part or two, I think. I usually only do that for upgrading, but it’s probably a good plan.”

“Right. Whatever you need, you just say it.”

“Just … yeah, just the parts. Thanks.”

“Of course, what else are friends for?”

Right. Friends. That was all they were, and all that Alastor wanted from him, could imagine wanting from him, right? That could be fine. It had to be fine. He loved him so much, but it was okay. Alastor cared about him, he knew that, that was fine. This was fine.

He could love him with his whole soul, and he would be fine to have him as his friend.

“You’re a great friend,” Vox said sincerely, placing a hand over the one on his frame, leaning into the touch. “Thank you, Alastor.”

“You’re welcome, Vox.”

This would be fine. It was supposed to be fine. Why did it feel like heartbreak?