#I've felt so dumb and wrong in the past when it comes to anything i enjoy and I'm pretty vulnerablehere

[the-one-who-rises]

It is very frustrating feeling so alone in a character interpretation. Like, i don't think everybody is wrong, it's just that an annoying amount of people are so locked into fanon inventions that it's hard to hold my own line. I don't think I'm crazy here, i try to stay to close to canon facts and rational inferences, but I'm no great talent at analysis, if I'm alone am i wrong?

Being accurate is important to me, and part of the fun, if i wanted to invent my own guy, I'd just do that. But i want to dig and find the truth (even though it doesn't really matter big picture) and i think the truth follows a subtler, softer line than the bulk of fans seem to enjoy.

And then there's like, two camps of being wrong IMO, the super chaos, dumb gay asshole, and the super angsty every single word and action is an act because he's just so misunderstood by his family.

And then I'm struggling to hold a balance in my own head between expanding his character with the previous iterations of himself and still being comfortable with him being different and unique among them and also a product of his slightly different genre from the past versions.

This is supposed to be fun, and i am genuinely having more fun than I've had in ages! but i am also ready to strangle my own brain about this

I just like him, and it's annoying to constantly evaluate fandom nonsense with the "he would not fuckin say that" lens. i guess i finally understand the pain now 😔 it's just been so long since i had a character i actually cared about enough to really understand that genre of posts. The annoyance of "are we really looking at the same guy" and the "yes, but that's a pretty surface level way to look at things don't you think?"

[nsharks]

bleeding blue | apocalypse au

part thirty —other parts

pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x fem!reader words: 3.8k tags: death. blood and gore. zombies of course. AFAB reader. single dad ghost. enemies to lovers. SA and implication of child SA (very subtle). summary: After losing your companions, you run into a skull-masked man and his daughter. They are your last hope for survival. a/n: this chapter is all from Blue's perspective. if anything regarding the abuse or suffering of children triggers you do not read. though it is really not graphic at all (imo) and the SA is EXTREMELY implied and subtle (just a woman looking/potentially touching Blue's private area to check for virginity). I wanted to tell you so there are no surprises.

B

Blue hasn’t been without her father for more than an hour in over five years. There were moments when she'd imagined him disappearing, especially when he said no to her, when he could annoy her, push her too hard, or withhold the words she craved. And yet—now, with her head resting in Twix's lap, she can only long for him. The thought of his absence fills her with cold dread. The kind that erupts goosebumps on her arms despite the stuffy air in the room. Twix’s fingers gently stroke the back of her scalp, but it does little to ground her as her mind drifts to Ghost. He’s alive, that woman said. But it's been over a day, and he still hasn’t come for her.

"Do you think he will come soon?" she asks quietly.

Twix's fingers pause at the top of her hairline. "I think... I think he is doing everything he can to find you."

Blue is old enough to know that is a non-answer.

She knows, deep down, that Twix doesn't think he'll be coming, either.

"I will figure something out, okay?" she promises.

"Okay," Blue whispers noncommittally.

"Hey." A faint smile. "I've done pretty good at getting us out of shit in the past, right?"

Blue mumbles, "I guess so."

But this time felt different from those times. No matter how many times she catches Twix squinting around the room, murmuring things to Nereida, even Blue knows that a bright idea won’t magically appear. Not in here, where there is nothing except the three beds, the bolted cell, and the out-of-reach door that Ghost has yet to barge through.

When Blue's fingers instinctively search for her wrist, Twix’s face softens, and she gently encloses her palm over Blue's knuckles. "Alright. I want you to close your eyes and imagine that beach you showed me once. The one with white sand, and super blue water." Blue plays along with a deep sigh, closing her eyes as she feels a callused thumb brush her cheek. "Almost as blue as your eyes. See it?"

"I guess."

"Good. Now, I want you to imagine that you are lying on the sand, eating all the Twix bars and Nutella you want. Oh, and Grim is there. He was trying to make a sandcastle but got his head stuck in the sand."

Blue's lips twitch despite herself. "This is dumb."

"Dumb? Well, I don't think Grim finds it dumb. He can hardly breathe right now so you better stop eating chocolate and haul his ass up."

Blue snorts quietly, eyes screwing tighter as she imagines it; pulling the bunny out of the sand, giggling, the waves crashing. She falls back onto the sand with him in tow, but he darts away from her hands, toward the water. When she looks over, sun glaring, someone else is there. It's her father, and for a moment she is ready to jump on his back and beg him to play in the waves with her. That's when she notices he is keeled over, ripped apart, bloodied and battered.

Blue jolts, inhaling sharply. When she reopens her eyes, the image is still there. 

"What's wrong?" 

"I just saw—" she rubs her eyes profusely, but he's right in front of her. Blood begins to spurt from a sever in his throat. His head snaps forward, hanging by a thin thread of tissue. "I see him! H-his head is..." 

She jerks upright from Twix's lap, her eyes blinking rapidly as if trying to shake off the vision. When that doesn't help, she buries her face in the pillow, but the image remains too real to ignore. The thread snaps, and her father’s head rolls away silently.

Twix’s voice cuts through, her hands gently shaking Blue’s shoulders, but it feels distant, like a shadow compared to the sickening thud of her father’s headless body hitting the ground. Thick blood pools at her feet, and she tries to move, but her muscles won’t obey. The blood rises and rises, suffocating her, until she can’t breathe.

"Blue, it's just... you're imagining it."

"I can't... I can't..."

Someone flips her over on the bed and hugs her shoulders.

Twix's chapped lips press into her cheek.

"Please, Blue. I'm here."

The touch is enough to drain the blood and free her lungs. Her father's dead body floats away. She gulps for air, cold sweat clinging to her neck, and curls into the body beside her. Lingering panic races through her heartbeat, but then, after a minute, it begins to slow considerably. A new feeling washes over with the force of a tidal wave; fatigue.

Blue suddenly feels so tired that she can't keep her eyes open. It’s as though the terrible images have drained her entirely, leaving only murky water in their place. Her mind begins to float, and the edges of the world blur. Twix's face is in front of her yet feels so far away. Her lips try to part for words to come out, but it takes three tries just to manage: "I feel strange."

Across the cell, Nereida whispers, "I do, too."

Weight shifts on the mattress as Twix tries to sit up, leaning against the wall. Her head dips slightly, then snaps back up. A shaky inhale. "That... that fucking bitch. The oatmeal!"

The oatmeal? Blue’s thoughts latch onto the warm meal they’d been forced to eat, but the memory slips away before she can hold onto it. The slow descent snowballs. Twix’s voice distorts, blending with the chirping of birds outside the window. Her body slides down the wall, crumpling back beside Blue. She tries to hug Twix again, but her arms won’t cooperate.

Minutes later, or maybe hours, Blue hears the metal screech of the cell door swinging open. Veiled ghosts drift in. She can do nothing to run from them. Murmured voices, speaking words she doesn't understand, bleed through the heavy blanket of fog lying over her.

"Vous avez dit que celui-ci était intact?"

"Oui, Maman."

"Nous offrirons son corps pur au Seigneur. Les deux autres seront aptes à avoir des enfants."

"Mais elle est une... Je veux dire, oui, Maman."

She feels something cold and sinuous lifting her—snakes. No, not snakes. Hands. Cold, unfamiliar hands. Twix shouts something slurred. Then Blue is dragged by her feet, her spine no longer supported by the bed. She tries to squirm free, but her limbs feel heavy, useless. More hands clamp down on her arms.

No, no.

She wants to call for Twix, but her voice is muffled beneath a palm, the sound dying in her throat.

A weathered voice coos in her ear. "Sweet child. There is nothing to fear."

She can't scream.

All she knows is Twix is no longer the one beside her.

Cold fear surges through her veins, and she claws at someone’s arm. The retaliation is swift—a prick to her neck.

The strike of pain intensifies her dizziness, the last fight in her body fading away. They're dragging her again. The hard floor beneath her feet melts into soft grass, and the stark white ceiling shifts into a blue, cloudless sky before everything fades to black.

A gentle melody repeats in her subconscious until she rouses.

The same three-note tune, over and over.

Peeling her eyes open against the buttery sunlight, the first thing she notices is an open window above her head, its thin white curtain dancing in the light breeze. Upon the windowsill sits a small, cooing bird with pearly grey feathers and a black ring around its neck. Its head tilts almost mechanically, two little black eyes regarding her. She stares for a long moment before her eyes fall closed once more, lulled by the familiar call. Only when the bird quiets does she truly come to her senses. The sudden silence jolts her upright.

This isn't the same room she was in before. There hadn’t been a window in the cell, and certainly not one left open. The air there had been thick with the scent of old wood and lingering dust. But here... here, the air is different. It smells of fresh flowers, of the tall grass she used to wade through with Ghost while hunting. 

The bird calls once more before flittering away, leaving her reeling.

"A collared dove."

Her gaze snaps to the right where an old woman sits in a mahogany chair, knitting needles in hand. Without looking up from the red yarn she weaves, she explains idly, "They are very common. Lovely, but common."

The accent of her old voice is nothing like Blue's Mancunian one. But she understands each word.

Her voice pulls through her teeth with great effort. "I don't... Where am I?"

The old woman's brow furrows as if she is deep in thought, but it smoothes over after she undoes a stitch and loops it again, hands moving with an unnatural slowness. "You had them in England, yes? They are very common there, too."

Blue's fingers spread into the fine linen, her pulse ticking as she blinks a few times to sharpen her vision. The woman before her is older than anyone she has seen in a long time, though there is a faint resemblance to a woman deep in her memory who she believes was her grandmother. Unlike the woman who visited their cell with food, this one does not wear a veil over her face. Long wisps of gray hair fall over her shoulders. Wrinkles etch around her eyes and lips. She is still cloaked in white, but around her neck hangs a red cord beaded with a cross dangling at the end.

Her fingers clench. "I don't care about the-the stupid bird. Why am I here? Where are my friends? You..." she swallows the feel of sandpaper in her mouth, "You put something in the food. You made me lose control of myself again!"

Finally, grey-blue eyes flicker up beneath a questioning brow. "Oh, sweet child. You are so full of fire." With an unsettling calmness, the woman sets down the knitting needles on a carved side table. Pressing a palm to the surface of it, she rises slowly, then laces her hands in front of her. "Come, and perhaps your questions will be answered. Though, I wouldn't try to run." She moves toward the door, her gait shuffled but steady. A glance over her shoulder beckons. "Your friends are under my care."

The mere mention stiffens Blue's spine. She forces herself to her unsteady feet, swaying slightly, bare toes digging into the wood planks. Each small step feels lighter than the first time she woke up from being drugged, though her body still protests. Ahead, the woman is already walking away. It wouldn’t take much to catch up, but Blue lingers, her eyes sweeping the room with deliberate caution—always stay aware of your surroundings.

For a moment, she considers grabbing the knitting needle and stabbing the woman. But then what? Everyone, her father included, is under her care, and any misstep could mean their deaths. Ghost always told her to never act without some type of plan—to wait for the right moment. Blue doesn’t even know where the others are.

As she hesitantly steps out of the small house, the realization hits her. There are more people here than she’s seen in a long time. Almost like a town, but not really. Smaller than that, but more than her group. The building they just left is a small, home made of light grey stone. To her right are more homes, smoke billowing from the chimneys. She counts at least four of them. Straight ahead of her is gravel road. This is where the woman heads, with Blue trailing behind her. To the left is a stretch of green lawn, bright and lush. She has the itch to sprint over it, but a voice ends that idea.

"Catch up, girl." 

Gravel bites her toes as she walks to the woman's side. She is still only dressed in the simple, white slip. She hasn't worn a dress before.

"Where are you taking me?"

"There are some things I wish you to see." 

"Why... why can't the friends I was with be here to see them, too?"

From the corner of her eyes, Blue catches the woman smile lightly. "What do you think of France?"

Blue digs her nails into her palms, swallowing down her frustration at the non-answer. "It's... nice, I guess." It isn't a lie. The beautiful beach they left from, the fields of wheat and flowers, were things she'd only imagined before. 

"Good. My husband was from India but owned this land. I never wanted to leave it. France is the most beautiful place. I knew I wanted my son to grow here." She exhales in a quiet appreciation. "My husband said this land would thrive, even after the plague. He was right. The Lord spared it. He did not spare Ashwin, though."

Blue doesn't know what to say to that. If she should feel sorry for this person or not. She didn't state her husband's death in a sorrowful way, merely factual. As they walk, they pass a few men hunched over tree stumps, chopping wood. The smell of fresh earth and spilt sap wafts up her nose. The men glance up, their gazes lingering on Blue a moment too long, making her shift uncomfortably. Then, they lower their heads respectfully toward the woman. She speaks to them in French, and their chuckles follow her words.

Under a warm afternoon, they approach what looks like a large barn, bordered by wooden fence posts strung with taut wires. Inside the fenced area, Blue notices a white horse, smaller than Cherry, along with four cows. More men are working nearby, some tending to the animals while others, farther off, wield sickles to harvest stalks of wheat.

When they stop in front of the fence, Blue can't stop herself from asking, "Where are all the girls at? Like the one who fed us? I've only seen guys so far."

The woman doesn't look at her. "Our community is built around the roles God intended for us. Men have bodies made for working under the sun. Women, like those beautiful young ladies you traveled with, are vessels to be cherished, protected. Especially in these times when they have become rather scarce."

A few of the words fail to make sense to Blue, never having learned them from any of the books Ghost read her. "Um, is that why you separated the girls in my group from the men?"

She hums, a slow sound. "Women are kept in their own quarters with the infants."

"Okay," Blue rocks on her feet and grips the hem of the dress before the light air can catch it. So is her dad one of those men working, then? She squints, confused, and shakes her head. No; if he was anywhere out here, he would've come to her. He must be locked up, too. A wave of anger buzzes in her chest, louder than the cicadas. "That still doesn't explain why you are holding Twix and Nereida prisoner. If women are so special, why are they locked up and I am out here? And where are all the men from my group?" Her mind briefly flashes to the others; Kyle, Price, and... Ari. 

"None of them are prisoners, child. They are merely being readied for the role their bodies were created for, by God."

Blue grits her teeth. "You're not really answering my questions. What about me? Why did you bring me to," she glances back at the working men, who haven't stopped to look at her like the others had, too engrossed in the strenuous labor. "A fucking farm. What could you possibly want to show me here?"

"There is someone I need here before our next stop." She leans closer to the barbed fence and calls out, "Pierre! J'ai besoin de toi et de trois hommes pour nous accompagner jusqu'à la cale. Apporte les chaînes."

A man—Pierre, she guesses—strikes one of the cattle's hindquarters, wipes sweat from the back of his neck, then shouts in French to three others following behind him. They unlatch a gate in the fence and slip inside a small shed for a brief moment, emerging with rusted chains in hand. They approach, causing Blue to falter and step back. An old, strange woman is one thing, but three strong men are another. A fissure of terror cracks through her, and she inhales shakily.

"You need not be afraid."

She blinks up at the woman, who for a moment, conjures something similar to a comforting expression. Blue nods, and then they are walking again, with the four men trailing behind them. The sound of the chains dangling in their grasp makes her feel uneasy. What are they for, and why are they coming with them? She is ready to build the bravery to ask when the woman ghosts a hand on her shoulder.

"What is your name, child?"

"It's... um, Blue."

A soft chuckle. "The English and their strangeness. This is not your real name, is it?"

For some reason, Blue finds the truth stuttering out of her. "No, it's—the name I was born with is Amelia."

"Amelia. Much better. Tell me, Amelia, did your mother have blue eyes?"

Blue nearly chokes, her footsteps halting in the grass as she flinches away from her hand, curling her fingers into fists. "What the fu—why are you asking me that?"

The woman stops beside her and clasps her hands together, the long sleeves of her gown falling over them. She is a small woman, hardly taller than Blue, and can't be any stronger than she is, but something about her emits control. Blue can't look away from her eyes, even as her jaw tightens, stomach swirling.

"There are many answers to questions that can be discovered on their own if one simply looks for them. I know which one of them is your father—"

"How could you know?" Blue demands. "I haven't even said any of them was my dad."

Thin lips twitch at the side. "A daughter gets the shape of her face from her father." A bony finger reaches to trail the edge of Blue's cheek, and she trembles from the cold feel of it. "But the features are all from her mother." She looks away and continues walking, speaking over her shoulder, "A little dove might have also told me he was asking for you."

When the men step forward, Blue is forced to continue walking. It feels hard to breathe, even though the canopy of trees offer fresh, rich air. "Then why are you asking about my mother?"

"Your eyes are blue, but your father's are not. I was simply curious."

"My mother is dead," Blue finds herself gritting out. 

"I figured. Neither of those women were her, and many mothers have been lost. A very terrible thing. A child needs its mother. You will call me Maman, Amelia. This is what French children call their mothers."

"I am not going to fucking call you that. Tell me where we are going," Blue presses, swallowing as she looks back at the farm behind them. Through the gaps between the men's shoulders, she sees that it is rather distant now, along with the small homes. She looks back ahead; nothing but overgrown vegetation. Even the flowers have grown sparse over here. It is quiet and still. She can hear the thrum of her own heart.

"Your fire is admirable, but you need to learn respect." For the first time, Maman's voice carries an edge, one that sends a shiver down Blue's spine. A foreign bird call echoes through the leaves, and the woman holds up a hand, signaling for everyone to stop and listen. "Ah. That’s the Bluethroat, if I’m not mistaken. Much rarer than the dove. You won't often find those in England."

The bird calls again—a trilled chirp—as they crest over a small hill, and the air suddenly grows heavier, more pungent. A smell Blue knows well makes her freeze, but a strong grip on her arm keeps her moving toward the source of the stench: an old, smaller building made of much darker stone. The sharp rustle of wings through the trees fades into the distance, but the tension in her body doesn’t ease.

"You, too, are rare, Amelia," Maman continues, voice steady and unhurried. "A pure, young female like you—so virtuous—carries more favor from God than any other. Your friends have their purpose, and you have yours. Each of us plays a part in shaping the new vision of God's children."

The men move in front of them now, except for one who continues gripping Blue. The tremble in her body intensifies, and a cold pit grows unbearable in her chest, thundering. She is forced to stand about four meters in front of the large door, where one man grips the handle while two others, including Pierre, stand beside it, their hands ready with chains and their stances wide. It’s now, through the stinging film that grows over her eyes, that Blue notices large metal muzzles attached to the chains.

Blue is too stunned—too confused, yet frightfully aware—to move a muscle when Maman procures a knife from inside her robe. Pierre shouts something in French, but Blue can barely hear him. Her senses are fixed on the bead of sunlight glinting off the knife, and on the scratching and snarling she hears from the other side of the door.

"Please—" she gasps, unable to finish the thought.

Maman ignores her in favor of snatching hold of her wrist. Cold fingers force her arm to extend, and a burning pain cries out when the knife slashes a laceration from her elbow to the rim of her palm. 

"Une seule coupure pour les attirer."

The blood weeps, and the door shakes from the ignited frenzy behind it.

Tears finally escape Blue’s eyes just before the door opens. She feels it—the sensation of her body being torn apart beneath rotten teeth. She squeezes her eyes shut, thinking of Ghost, when she hears more shouting and the harsh sound of chains being whipped through the air. When she opens her eyes again, the men are wrestling two Greys into the muzzles.

"Deux c'est bien!" Maman orders, and the door is slammed shut over the others that threaten to spill out toward the fresh wound. 

Blue is alive.

Her arm numb and bleeding. 

Maman yanks something else from her robe—a strip of cloth. She wraps it roughly around Blue's forearm, then issues another command. Without warning, Blue is hoisted from the ground and callously tossed over the shoulder of the man who had held her in place. They start heading back the way they came, the leashed Greys trailing behind them, and finally, a scream rips from Blue’s throat.

"You said this one was intact?" "Yes, Maman." "We will offer her pure body to the Lord. The other two will be fit to have children." "But she is a… I mean, yes, Maman." "Pierre! I need you and three men to accompany us to the hold. Bring the chains." "One cut to attract them.” “Two is good!”

[ubeb0nes]

hiiii could you also do pitfighter reader with sevika next?? i loveee your writing!

HECK YEA, i was lowkey pulling for this one to win on the poll anyway (i'm definitely invested in bar owner!reader now that i've written for her, though!)

Silco goes through henchmen like water through a grater. And of course- like everything else- it falls on Sevika to keep his forces topped up.

She gets a lot of the dumb bruiser types from the Pit Ring. Easy to come by and even easier to hire once you wave just a little bit of money and status in their faces.

The higher in the rankings you are though, the less likely you are to take Silco's second's deals. Life as a Pit fighter is never easy, but the top percent definitely make more than they would as lackeys.

You were one such. Sevika had seen you a few times in the ring when she'd come down to pick up new blood.

You swung like somebody had taught you with intention. There was the charming roughness of Zaun ingrained in your style, but you had clear skill. Every time Sevika came back, your name was a little higher in the rankings.

She always got good seats due to her social standing. Close enough to see the look in your eyes. Controlled, if a bit empty.

You'd made eye contact with her once, right after toppling the second-ranked fighter. You'd given her a once-over that nearly offended her, like you wanted to get in the ring with her. Sevika scoffed at the very notion.

She couldn't lie though, even she felt the buzz of excitement permeating the crowd leading up to your face-off for the champion seat. This time, she was just here to watch.

It was the first time she'd seen you struggle. First time anyone had. She could tell from the moment you walked into the Pit, something was wrong.

The champion is killing you. Literally. It stirs something in Sevika as she watches him pin your head to the gritty ground with one hand, and beat on your skull with the other.

She jumps in before she even realizes what she's doing. What the hell was she doing?

The whole arena held its breath as someone who wasn't nameless, wasn't just some violent nobody presented themself.

Sevika knew what it looked like. She knew that word would get back to Silco and he'd ask her what the hell she was doing in the very center of a place like the Pit. But all she could do was spit on the ground, and square herself to the champion as if to say "Come try it with me, I dare you."

And he was about to, until he saw the whirring glow of her metal arm beneath her cape. The champ shrugged her off, taking his own leave while Sevika slung one of your arms over her shoulder.

It's not like he had anything to gain from fighting her. You were the only one he needed to beat.

"Why the hell did you do that?" You muttered out of a broken jaw.

"Yeah, it was no problem, don't mention it."

She starts to help you towards the locker room, until you tell her to take you to your apartment since it's only a little walk away.

It was definitely nicer than a lot of other units in Zaun. It looked untouched though, like you barely spent any time in there. She… lets you kinda crumple on the couch, before rummaging a bottle of alcohol from your pantry and removing a vial of Shimmer from her holster belt.

"Get that shit the fuck away from me."

"You done it in the past?"

"Hell no!"

"It's not gonna trap you after one dose. Trust me, you need it. You look like shit."

You give her some more shit, but eventually take the vial and the shot of vodka. Something about her is undeniably warm. Honest. You had no reason to give your trust out freely, but she seemed to have gained it without your knowing consent.

A part of your heart clung to it, the authenticity and honor she possessed that hadn't existed in so much as a whisper in the Pits.

Even as your entire nervous system seized the moment the Shimmer touched your throat, you were wholly conscious of her hand gripping the back of your neck with gentle, grounding firmness.

Her thumb subconsciously massaged into your trap muscle, and you heard her smoky voice urging you to "breathe, it'll be over soon". When had someone last touched you without the intention to hurt?

Still, after the Shimmer had passed through and you were feeling much better, you gave her a similar once-over to the one you once had before.

"Bet I could beat your ass."

"And I bet you'd die. Actually, this time." Yeah, that shut you up.

"So… what do I owe you for this?"

"Hm?"

"I still get a share even though I lost. C'mon, what percent's your cut?"

"I don't need your prize money. Or consolation, I guess."

"Rub it in, why don't you?"

She's ignoring you now though, electing to peruse the not so short row of books on your wall. "A well-read Pit fighter, huh? Well, you're number one in something in the Pits."

"Okay, what the hell do you want? Why'd you step in to help me?"

Her silence says she doesn't know, but you don't know that. You just think she's being an ass. Before you can tell her such though, she speaks up. "You know who I am, right?"

"Everybody in the Pit knows who you are. I saw the champ almost shit his pants."

"Then you know why I come to the Pits at all?"

"To play superhero, apparently."

"No. To recruit."

[luvyeni]

( reaction ) yandere enha when they find you ! ୨୧ 一 엔하이픈 ՞

⸃ ⸰ ⌁ enhypen finding you after you run away ヾ

yandere!엔하이픈 hyungline・ fem!reader ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ g ・ horror ‎, angst ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ cw ・ ‎stalking , kidnapping , threats wc ・ ‎n/a ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎| ‎ ‎click to library

request. another request my dumb ass deleted ◉⁠‿⁠◉ ...

「 ୨୧ authors note 」 i hope you like it <3

﹙ 𐙚 : heeseung﹚ .ᐟ

he knew were you were the entire time; i've said this many of times , heeseung is crazy and he loves to play crazy mind games — games such as making a fake a dating account just to find you and match with you. he will literally wait it out , swipe through as many girls as he had to until he found you. you were excited to get back into dating , the guy you were talking to was completely different to heeseung , getting ready for your first date with him , everything felt like a breath of fresh air. at the restaurant you were looking down at your phone , not noticing the familiar sitting down with that crazy smile. “is that anyway to greet your date?” your eyes shot up. “hee-heeseung?” your voice shaking as you see him holding his phone — with the account of the guy on the screen. “did you really think you could run away from me?” he laughed , your eyes began to tear up.

“no don't cry baby, we'll still have a good night before i take you home and give you your welcome home gift.”

﹙ 𐙚 : jay﹚ .ᐟ

a serious inconvenience for him , he gives you everything and you dare leave him? okay that's fine , he'll let you have your fun , he won't even cancel the credit card he gave you , because that's exactly how he was gonna catch you. he waited until you order a purchase offline , and he was able to get the details to your new apartment a month later — normally he'd just send his guys to come get you ,but this time he wanted to be the one to drag you back home. “j-jay.” you saw the man in the suit standing in your door. “you try and run away from me , but you use the card i pay for to make your stupid little purchases. “jay please.” he doesn't want to hear it. “you've cause so much trouble already, people are already talking about how I can't control you.”

“now let's go, I'll have someone come and pack your shit.”

﹙ 𐙚 : jake﹚ .ᐟ

it was basically a miracle that jake was still alive , he barely did anything since you left , he only ate to stay alive , he only showered just in case you walked through the door. it had been two months since you left him , yelling how much you hated him before running out the door , leaving the sobbing boy on the floor. he was fully ready to take his life — but almost as if god was on his side , you come walking out of your favorite store. you had finally felt safe enough to go out and shop , jake hadn't tried to call you , of course you tried not to worry if he actually did end it all but you never got a call. you walk right past jake , you didn't even notice him that's how different he looked. jake followed you home , all the way up to your door , where he finally runs up to you. “yn!” he shouted. “yn why'd you leave me?” you try to open the door, but the look in his eyes. “j-jake.”

“please come home , i don't know how much longer i can do it without you.”

﹙ 𐙚 : sunghoon﹚ .ᐟ

sunghoon was too impulsive to let you go on for more than a month , so you quite literally have to go into hiding , never leaving your apartment; even moving from the apartment he knew about to another one , one you thought he'd never find — boy how wrong you were. still held up in your apartment , constantly looking at the door. one day you finally feel a little a peace , not enough to leave, but enough to order your favorite food. you heard a knock , which makes you get up and go towards it. you still check the camera you installed and what you see outside makes your blood run cold. “hi baby.” the boy bangs on the door. “i found you.” he said. “sung-sunghoon.” you stuttered out. “don't dare pick up that phone and call anyone.” he said , leaning closer to the camera. “you moved but your parents haven't.”

“now open the door if you love them.”

©LUVYENI

[miraclewoozi]

DRIVE. - l.c

DRIVE -- or, the night you realise it's actually very hard to stay mad at the guy who shows up at your house, throwing stones at your window on a Thursday night, to try and fix something that was your mistake in the first place.

pairing : chan x fem reader. content : fwb > lovers. angst, smut (MINORS DO NOT HAVE MY CONSENT TO INTERACT), fluff. more or less in that order. they’re both dumb as hell. not explicitly put in any detail but this was written with a more 70s vibe in mind so feel free to bear that in mind when thinking of the car/tech/styles etc if u like. w/c : 7.8k warnings : lots of swearing. it’s all a big fuckin misunderstanding because i am a whore for that. weed & alcohol mentioned (neither party is drunk or high at the time of this taking place). mentions of past cheating (neither mc or chan are the cheater). some pov switching because i said so. let me know if i've forgotten anything. proofread exactly once so if there's a typo, no there isn't. SMUT TAGS UTC.  notes : dino. get the fuck off my ass. i’m so serious i am not strong enough to handle the very real feelings i have for you. go away.  notes 2.0 : i listened to halsey’s drive for some inspo for this & took that as the title, so feel free to give it a listen if you want!

SMUT TAGS : dom!chan. car fuckin', making out, hair pulling, grinding/dry humping, fingering, finger sucking, dick riding, marking/scratching, unprotected sex (make good choices), overstimulation, multiple orgasms. praise. chan calls reader ‘baby’ & ‘sweetheart’. he’s a BIG talker during sex (sorry).

You’re not stupid. You heard his car pull up outside your house almost an hour ago. 

Since then, at random intervals ranging anywhere between thirty seconds and five minutes, there have been clinks of a thrown stone at your bedroom window, a piece of the gravel that lines your driveway. Each time, it makes your jaw tense, makes your fingers tighten in the bedsheets you pulled all the way up to your chin in a foul mood at 8pm. It’s been the same now for almost two weeks — you’ve been getting home from work, showering the day away, eating your dinner and retiring to your room as early as you possibly can. Your roommate tried to find out what was wrong around day three but you very promptly shut her down — she’s since learned that the best she’s getting out of you currently is a dismissive wave of your hand or some kind of a grunt. She joked one evening that it was like she’d adopted a teenager; you scowled so violently that she went to her room. 

Hardly any of your other friends have seen anything of you, either, despite the fact that several have come knocking to check if you’re all right. 

You’re very much not all right, as it happens. This is perhaps the most upset you’ve ever felt, and that’s going quite some way. The angriest, too. It’s worse than when that middle aged woman threw her entire bucket of popcorn at your head when you gave her salty instead of sweet, and you were picking kernels out of your hair for the rest of your six hour shift. It’s worse than when your nasty supervisor ‘forgot’ you were in the bathroom and ended up locking you inside the cinema overnight, because you didn’t have your own set of keys to get out and the people whose numbers you remembered weren’t answering their phones. 

It’s somehow even worse than when a summer crush from a few years ago broke things off by telling you that he already had a girlfriend back home and that you were basically just a means to pass the time and get his dick wet. God, and you thought that was the lowest you could possibly be.

Here you are, though, so far beyond all those things it would be comical, if it didn’t hurt. Chan has really done a number on you, and you’re not sure how you ended up getting so emotionally involved in your situationship with him that this is what you’ve been reduced to. For days now, you’ve been swallowing back tears of frustration (both with yourself and with Chan), rolling around in your bed night on night, unable to get to sleep because all you can think about is him.

Him, and the way he sounded genuinely horrified when his friends asked about the ‘movie girl’, and he laughed, ‘God, no – we’re just friends. That’s never gonna happen’. It was impressive, how quickly your face fell, in no way aided by the squealing giggles that rang through the house as a very, very drunk girl came running out of the living room and shut herself in the toilet, drowning out a chunk of the conversation you were listening in on. Somehow, it hurt even more when he went on to say ‘besides, there’s… someone else’. 

And when you have managed to drift off after hours of staring at the walls and the ceiling, hearing those words on a loop on your fed up brain? Of course he’s been in your fucking dreams, too.

In your defence, all you were trying to do was use the mirror in the hallway outside the kitchen he and his friends were standing in, readjusting your top to cover the hickey that he had so kindly left on your collarbone just the night before. It wasn’t as though you sought him out to listen in; it was a coincidence. And okay, fine, maybe you should have walked away when the conversation turned to the topic of Chan’s love life. Maybe you should have not crept closer and held your breath to be able to hear them all better. Maybe, even, you should have stayed around long enough to ask what he meant by it then and there instead of hopping in a taxi and going home without saying goodbye to anyone. 

Hindsight really is a beautiful thing.

Never gonna happen. Well, Chan seemed quite happy to ignore the fact that it already had happened. Several times. At least four of those being in the very car currently on the street outside your home. The car he’s used on countless occasions to drive you up to lovers’ lookouts in the dead of night, letting one of his many mixtapes play through the tinny speakers, where he’d kiss you breathless and cradle your face between his palms, as his fingers would delicately explore beneath your clothes, as his broad shoulders would slot between your thighs, as his hips rol–

And maybe you aren’t stupid, but Chan seems determined to prove that he sure as hell is. He came to pick you up from work the day after the party like nothing had happened, and couldn’t figure out why you said you would rather walk home in the rain than get in with him and stormed away without any further explanation. Then, he showed up on your doorstep on the morning of your day off with your favourite coffee and a breakfast bagel, asking if you could talk. He still didn’t realise what he’d done to upset you, so you slammed the door in his face. Finally, just earlier today, he ran after you in the mall, persistent as you’ve ever known him to be, and laid a hand on your shoulder when you didn’t turn around to just the sound of his voice calling your name. 

You pushed him off so hard he almost fell over. 

“Why can’t you just leave me alone?!” You had barked, shrugging your shoulders to try and realign your jacket. “I don’t want to talk to you. What’s not clicking?”

His face resembled that of a scolded pet when he took a step back and frowned at you. “I just wanted to–”

“I don’t care what you want, Chan,” you spat. “Give it up. I’m done.”

You could see the desperation swimming in his eyes as he scrambled for what to say and your heart felt like it was being weighed down all the way into your stomach. You supposed that was the part of you that was causing all this ache in the first place, and further that it was to blame for your current state of misery. But you steeled yourself and stood your ground nonetheless. He wasn’t going to win you over with puppy eyes and a pout. Not this time.

In his silence, you only then noticed how hard your breaths were coming, each slow and long but still dangerously unsteady. You lowered your voice, top lip curling at him as you muttered, “You’re embarrassed of me enough to lie to your friends? Fine. I don’t give a–… but shit, next time, tell a girl that to her face instead of behind her fucking back.”

It’s been seven hours, and you keep replaying the last thing he said to you as you stormed away (how his voice got quieter when he realised you weren’t turning back; how he sounded so hoarse, so sorry). 

‘I’m sorry if I hurt you - I— I never meant to.’

If. If. If. Were you not making it completely fucking obvious that he had, most definitely, hurt you? Part of your brain is even now starting to go down the route that he’s doing this on purpose, that it’s some twisted sort of damage control, that he hopes maybe if he plays dumb for long enough, you’ll forget what you were mad about or maybe start to second guess what you heard. But if that’s what he thinks, he obviously doesn’t know you very well at all. That’s never going to happen. 

Hell, for someone you were being so careful to keep in the appropriate lane in your head, Chan really has you thinking yourself in circles. You’re sick to your back teeth of him, and his stupid voice and his stupid smile and his stupid –

Clink.

Stupid. Fucking. Stones.

A groan loud enough to definitely catch the attention of your roommate sounds from deep within your chest at this interruption to your spiral and you finally, finally concede. Whatever argument he’s so clearly longing to have at 11 o’clock on a Thursday night? Fine. He can have it. If it means he backs off for good, you’ll give him his one last ruck.

You pull the window open none too gently and lean enough through it that Chan comes into view. He isn’t even looking up, you realise, too busy sifting through the driveway trying to find his next little projectile, and you hiss his name to get his attention. It startles him so much that he drops the indiscernible bundle in his right hand. He blindly scrambles to pick it up, those big, earnest eyes gazing at you as if you’re floating in midair before him.

“What the hell are you doing?!” You ask him, trying not to raise your voice too loud but at the same time, needing to generate enough volume for him to hear. He holds the bundle in both hands, now, and they catch the light of the lamp by your front door. Flowers, you register, squinting to try and make them out, your brows furrowing so much that your forehead hurts. 

Black dahlias.

You choke back a laugh. Ah, the joys of fooling around with the son of a florist. Are they all so damn dramatic? (Or does he just know that they’re your favourites?)

Whichever it is, you tell yourself that’s not going to work. You won’t let it. Through gritted teeth, you say, “go away. I’m serious. I’ll call the cops on you.”

He shakes his head, begging as he steps just a little closer so his face is more visible in the amber light too. “Please–” he hurries, biting his bottom lip. “Please, don’t– just… tell me what I did. I want to make it right. Please.”

He never begs like this. In all the time you’ve known him, you swear Chan has said ‘please’ to you fewer times than you could count on your fingers. Which is by no means a bad thing — that’s just always been the very comfortable nature of your friendship, and later, the -with-benefits tag that you ended up sticking on the end. 

“Why are you doing this?” You ask, pinching the bridge of your nose and fighting not to shiver in the cold nighttime air. Note to self: don’t do a Romeo and Juliet in the middle of the fucking winter without layering up, first. “What does it even matter?”

“What do you mean, what does it matter?” He asks, looking down at the bunch of flowers in his hands, then back at you. “I-... you know I’d never hurt you. Not on purpose. Please, just… if I did something–”

“There’s someone else,” you echo, fed up with his pretending. He’s a fair actor, you’ll give him that – he might even have been able to convince you, if you hadn’t already heard the other half of this tale he’s doing his best to spin in his favour. 

His face screws up, thinking he’s misheard. It’s his turn not to understand now. If you’re telling him you’ve met someone else, he’s got questions, because you’d promised to be open and honest with each other if that ever happened, so that you could call things off and go back to being just friends without it becoming a big deal. That was always supposed to be a calm conversation, not… whatever this is. You talked about it, right at the start. But… those are the words you’re saying, aren’t they? And why would you be mad at him if you were the one whose circumstances had changed? 

“What?” he asks, finally. “What do you mean?”

“God, no – we’re just friends. That’s never gonna happen. Besides, there’s… someone else!” You raise your voice without really meaning to, before swallowing hard and glancing back inside your room. “You said that, Chan. Don’t piss me off by coming here and pretending like you didn’t.”

Chan starts to look like he’s trying to figure out an algebraic equation in his head while only having half the required information; his eyes fall down to the gravel, his lips move without any sound coming out of them, his features tighten until there are definite lines between his eyebrows. Then, it clicks. The lightbulb moment. He slaps one hand to his face and shakes his head furiously, and you just know he’s going to wake up with an ache in his neck tomorrow because of it.

“Oh fuck,” he curses. “No, no, no, no, no – that’s not–”

“What did I just say?” You spit down at him. “Don’t piss me off–”

“Listen!” He shouts, and you gesture with your hand for him to lower his voice, interrupting his flow of thought and rendering him silent for a moment. “Fuck, please. Come down here and talk to me. That’s not what you think it is.”

You’re in every mind to slam your window shut and leave him out there in the cold. It would work if you got out your headphones to drown out the sounds of him trying to get your attention, which you have absolutely no doubt in your mind that he would do. And maybe then he’d get the hint; maybe then he would understand that you’re not just some pushover who he can just pick up and play with when it suits him. 

But he’s still holding those fucking flowers like they’re a lifeline, still looking up at you without a single lick of anger on his face. Not stress at having been discovered, which you would have expected him to be swimming in right about now. He looks… kind of beside himself, as if nothing could possibly be worse than what you’re threatening to do.

All this, for you? It just doesn’t make sense. 

“Please,” he says again, quieter, weaker. For the first time, you pick up on the hint of a shiver in his voice, and you swallow. Whether you’re gulping back your pride, or your resolve, or the last remnants of your sensibility, you don’t know. 

Does he deserve for you to hear him out? You’re not sure.

But does he deserve to be stuck out in the cold in just his stupid leather jacket and a pair of jeans? 

With regret, you think, no. He doesn’t.

All you give him is a scowl before you disappear from view entirely, pulling the window closed and drawing your curtains again. Faster than you think you ever have before, you throw on a sweatshirt over your pyjamas, grab your keys, and hurry down the stairs as silently as you possibly can. 

He’s stood in exactly the same place when you edge outside and pull the door closed behind you. Up-close, you can see the tiredness on his face: this is a man who has exhausted himself in worry, you think, and yet he still smiles a little when he sees you in full. He still holds the flowers out for you to take. He still purses his lips and blows out a stuttered cloud of air. Nervous, and not in the way you think he ought to be. So when you walk straight past him and don’t take the dahlias out of his hands, instead standing by his car and waiting for him to unlock it for you, you start to feel overwhelmingly guilty. 

Chan is many, many… many things. But he really isn’t this good of a performer, no matter what you’ve been telling yourself all week. For God’s sake, why is it so much easier to be angry at him when he’s not standing right in front you?

You slip into his passenger side as he fumbles to set the flowers down on his backseat again, and he joins you up front just a few moments later. His hands are shaking when he sets the keys into the ignition. His whole body is. When you cast a real look over at him, the tips of his fingers are pale and his lips are lacking their usual rosy, pink hue. Your own teeth are chattering despite only having been truly exposed to the cold air for a matter of seconds; you dread to think how frozen he must be.

“Are we driving?” You ask to break the silence. Since he got into the car and fiddled with the heating settings to try and warm things up a little, he hasn’t said a word. It’s awkward. It’s horrible. You already miss the comfortable way you’ve been able to sit for hours together, barely talking, just watching the lights of the city and the cars travelling through it. 

You already miss him. Which is a strange thought, seeing as he’s only about ten inches away. 

“If– if you want,” he says, stuttering through the frost in his lungs. “We can go—...”

“Drive, Chan,” you say. It’s not just because you want him to stop falling over his words – which, to be fair, you do. Chan has always been very confident, carrying himself with the air of someone who knows exactly their worth. It’s one of the things you treasure about him. So this? Is fucking weird. But a big part of it is that you know his car will heat up faster if it’s in motion, and right now, you think maybe he’s at risk of losing a finger or two if he doesn’t get some circulation back.

He steps on the gas and the car pulls away from your home. It’s the first time you’ve ever been in his car without there being some sort of music playing, whether that’s historically just been the radio or a tape he put together with the help of one of his older friends. (The tapes that always had your first initial on them. The tapes that he never failed to ask your opinions on when he dropped you home – as if he’d compiled them with only you in mind.) The silence feels jarring and you can hear every rumble of the engine, every squeal of the brakes he definitely needs to get serviced. 

But the car does warm through, and you sigh out relief as the bones in your hands move a little easier, as your fingers curl and uncurl to less resistance from your taut muscles. Chan feels it, too; his body relaxes, his breaths stop coming out in fractions, his face gets some colour back. The timing feels a little less awful when you finally say, “go on, then.”

Chan glances over at you as he drives down an unlit street. Only for a second, like he’s checking you’re still there, before his eyes train back on the road. He’s going to one of your favourite spots. It isn’t a lookout – it’s somewhere completely shut off from the rest of town, hidden by the trees near the railway tracks, somewhere you’ve never had to worry about being seen or heard. Maybe he’s anticipating a screaming match. Maybe he’s expecting something else. Maybe, even, he just cares about how much you love it there. 

“I didn’t know you heard that conversation,” he starts, sheepishly. You want to roll your eyes, reach over and thump him, ask if that makes what he said okay, but you don’t. You stay looking out the front windscreen too. Waiting. “I… all right. I was out of my ass drunk.”

You click your tongue, pressing it afterwards against the inside of your cheek, but again, you stay quiet.

“I don’t think you heard what you thought you heard, though,” he goes on to say. “‘Cause– ‘cause it wasn’t…”

But you can only be quiet for so long in the face of this mess. Especially when he’s apparently working towards a doctorate in beating around the fucking bush. “I heard you tell your friends that it was never gonna happen with ‘movie girl’.”

Chan’s face brightens, and you can’t help but wonder what on Earth is wrong with this man. Why does he find that funny? Why is his chest moving like he’s trying not to laugh?

“And you… thought you were movie girl,” he says, nodding. “Okay. Okay – shit. I’m sorry.”

You look at him properly, now, as he indicates to the right and takes the turn that leads him down the lane to your spot. “What are you talking about?”

“I get it,” he says. “You work at the–... but you’re not movie girl. Not that movie girl.”

“Stop talking in riddles before I get out of this car, Chan. It’s too late for this shit.”

He holds a hand up as if to apologise and settles back against the head cushion, suddenly looking far more comfortable than he did thirty seconds ago. He clears his throat, running his tongue over his lips, before sucking in a breath and letting himself go on.

“You’re not movie girl,” he says again, successfully clarifying nothing. “There’s this chick I used to dance with — years back, before… God, when we were in school, like, forever ago. She moved away when we were sixteen.” As he talks, he reaches your destination and sets the car into park, before he unfastens his seatbelt and turns to face you. You do the same, shifting your weight to tuck one leg up beneath you, and with your undivided attention, he goes on. “I ran into her recently. She’s back in town now, I guess. It was like, two weeks—?”

“I’m gonna be all-over grey by the time you finish telling this story,” you interrupt, raising an eyebrow. “Can you please give me the short version?”

“Not if you want it to make sense,” Chan shrugs. Begrudgingly, you let him keep talking. “She said it would be cool to hang out, maybe catch a movie or do lunch or something — and look, I didn’t know she was asking me on a date, I thought she was just being nice, y’know? Trying to be friends, but… you weren’t working that day, it was when you had that… that stomach thing going on? And I brought you the soup my mom made, remember?”

You nod; of course you remember. At the time, you wondered why on Earth this grown man’s mother was making you food — you asked yourself whether he’d told her about you, or if she thought it was for someone else. In the end you decided he must have just been bringing you leftovers. But you’d been too worn out to start asking questions; instead, after you’d eaten, you let yourself fall asleep with your head in his lap as he patted your hair and hummed his favourite songs. You hadn’t let yourself think too deeply about it since. 

“Anyway. We were sat watching the movie and she, uh,” he glances down at his lap, tips of his ears burning pink. “She put her hand, sorta, on my thigh? And then I was like, shit, I didn’t read this right, like… at all. So I moved it off and she took the hint — and after it ended I said to her, you know, I was flattered, right? But I wasn’t interested. And then I went home and got that soup and—… yeah.”

He came straight to see you. To look after you. Hell, you didn’t even fool around that night; in retrospect, it was all uncharacteristically domestic. And slowly, the pieces you’ve spent days struggling to fit together start to fall into place. It makes sense. The only question that remains is do you believe him?

Well, tell a lie. 

There is one more. 

“You said there was someone else,” you add quietly. 

You’ll die before you admit it, but this is secretly the part that was hurting you the most. 

You can’t even look him in the eye, right now; your cheeks are burning with the embarrassment of even caring. As much as you want to tell yourself that the only reason you’re pissed is just because of the dishonesty, you can only stare at yourself in the mirror and point-blank lie so many times. Someone else. You hate it. 

Just the thought of him seeing somebody else, taking them out on dates, smiling at them, laughing with them, kissing them the way he kisses you, touching —

A shiver runs the length of you and you cross your arms, thrusting your sleeve-covered hands under your armpits. 

Chan takes a deep breath in and exhales it slowly, like he’s blowing smoke out of his lungs. “There is,” he admits, nodding slowly, avoiding your eyes, too. “There is someone else.”

“When were you going to tell me?” You ask. 

Chan doesn’t respond straight away. You don’t notice, but eventually his eyes do land back at you; it’s only when he clears his throat to get your attention that you look at him long enough to realise he’s quite deliberately staring. His lips are lifted on the right in a lopsided smile, his eyes soft as he reaches across the seats towards you. You stare blankly down at his hand until he wiggles his fingers, and you think briefly that this is the most fucked up ending to a situationship you’ve ever been through. 

You drop one of your hands down and let him hold it, though, staring at his face as his thumb brushes over your knuckles and you wait for him to finally say it out loud. For him to announce that he’s fallen for somebody and that he can’t see you anymore. To put the nail in the coffin. Don’t tell me their name, you think. I don’t want to know anything about them. Please, just don’t.

“For someone so frustratingly smart, you’re really fucking dumb,” Chan says, finally, swallowing around his words and squeezing your fingers. Whatever stoic expression you had forced onto your face at the start of this conversation dissolves into irritation and you snatch your hand away from him again, letting his own fall and collide with a thunk against the handbrake. 

“Oh, sorry that I didn’t realise you were sneaking around behind my back when that’s the one thing we promised we wouldn’t do,” you snap. “God. The only stupid thing I’ve done here is get involved with you in the f—”

“You’re the someone else.”

Oh. 

Oh.

“I’m—?”

“You.”

The admission hangs heavily between you, as does your nonsense, unfinished insult. Neither of you really know what to do with yourselves except sit perfectly still and try to somehow deal with your increasingly dry throats. When Chan moves, it’s only to turn down the heating dial when his cheeks burn a bit too hot; you appreciate it, in part due to the bead of sweat currently running down your back, but you don’t say so. 

“You could have started with that,” you say weakly, wrestling with all your strength to keep even some of your cards close to your chest. It’s not working though. Your attempt to conceal your elation is a bit like throwing a single leaf on top of a bison and calling it camouflage. 

Chan commits to laughing, finally, your sentiment breaking him too. Now, you do crack that smile, albeit mostly just at the sound that comes from him. It’s bright and airy, lighting his whole face up as he drops all the way back and leans against his car door, pushing his fingers through his hair. “I was trying to build to a moment! It’s not my fault you hit every branch of the anti-romantic tree on your way down.”

“I am not anti-romantic,” you scoff in protest. 

“Yes — you are.”

“Am not!”

“Are too.”

“No, you’re just an idiot.”

“Says she who didn’t realise her fuck-buddy had feelings for about six months, Jesus.”

“Chan—” You start, your voice laced with a playful warning. 

“Here I was thinking I was making it completely obvious,” he rambles on. 

“— oh my God, just shut up and kiss me.”

“Dropping hints left and r—” … “Huh?”

He stops short a fraction of a second after you finish, stumped and silent, frozen with everything but a little buffering symbol above his forehead. Kiss me, you said. Chan, […] just shut up and kiss me. All right, you’ve asked him to do that before, but not like this. Not as if you’ll wither away should you not get a taste of his lips this instant. It takes him some time to process it, but he does move in first, eventually. The way he always does, closing the distance between you like he’s been shot out of a cannon, one hand either side of your face, crashing feverishly against your mouth. 

Every now and again, he’ll be happy to let you take charge and set the pace: mostly just if he’s feeling lazy or especially generous. Tonight isn’t one of those times, however. He holds you and kisses you possessively, like you’re his, like this is how he finally gets to lay claim on you, licking between your gasp-parted lips after he moans straight into your mouth. He’s spearmint sweet, edged with that one cherry flavoured chapstick he stockpiles as he grins up against you, rolling his body fluidly with every separation for air, every changing angle. 

He pulls your sweatshirt up over your head and throws it down into the footwell on the passenger side, straight away hurrying to kiss you hungrily again, hands cupping your neck. His tongue is in your mouth once more, there’s no way you could possibly differentiate your breaths from his: you’re one, in every way you can be with your clothes still on, but it’s not enough. 

“Want you,” you whimper as he nips at your bottom lip and pleasure rushes through you from head to toe. 

“You’ve got me,” he groans with his eyes still closed. “I’m all yours.” 

“No,” you insist, whimpering when his cute little nose drags across your cheek until he’s pressing hot kisses to your jawline. “I— fuck—”  He suckles on the sweet spot below your ear and your spine tingles, head tilting to give him better access. “Chan, I want you.”

Chan settles back from you, his usually bright, sparkling eyes now darkened with desire. All he gives you is a singular glance sideways, but you know exactly what he’s suggesting. You nod, breathing deep, biting the inside of your cheek; he turns off the headlights and it’s all systems go. 

There’s a rush to scramble into the back of the car. Chan takes the keys out the ignition and climbs through the gap in the seats; you opt for the less hazardous approach of getting out of the vehicle entirely and re-entering it instead. Not that it bothers him — no sooner is the door closed behind you, Chan’s hands are on your hips and he pulls you on top of him, your leg knocking the dahlias off the leather and onto the floor in the process. You gasp and glance down but he averts your attention with two fingers under your chin, guiding you to look back at him. 

“What? You think this is the last time I’ll bring you flowers?” He asks, capturing your lips as he leans up to you; at the same time, his hands drop low and he starts to slide open the buttons down the front of your pyjama shirt. “Baby, m’gonna get you so many more.” 

You sigh at the affectionate name, at the change in its use; until now, Chan has only called you baby while he’s buried inside you, bruising you inside and out with sharp thrusts and rough-gripping fingers. But as much as you can feel him growing hard against the inside of your thigh while you try to get comfortable, one knee planted either side of his hips, you can’t help but feel as if this time, it means something different. 

(He’s had feelings for six months: it always meant what it does, now. You know that, deep down.)

Somewhere in amongst the never-ending sloppy kisses and constantly travelling hands, you manage to strip both his jacket and T-shirt off him and you’re pressed bare-chest-to-bare-chest with Chan, feeling every little hitch of his breath in his lungs, every thump of his heartbeat, every tiny increase in the temperature of his skin. Your desperate search for friction between your legs has you rolling your hips down against his hard-on, drawing grunts and making him squeeze at your tits when you rock against him the right way. His head eventually drops to your chest and he replaces one hand with his mouth, freeing his fingers to slide down the front of your pyjama bottoms. 

It’s honestly rarer for Chan to get straight to the point than it is for him to tease you a little first, so when he flattens his palm against you and brushes his fingertips over your already aching clit, you let out a squeak of surprise. He shivers, releasing your nipple from between his teeth for a moment; once he’s collected a little more arousal to ease the friction, he continues to rub at the bud, slowly building the pressure inside you.

“No panties?” He asks, struggle clear in the roughness of his voice. 

“I was in bed,” you gasp, eyes rolling back. It’s for the best that it happens out of pleasure, really, because you’re not sure you’d be able to stop yourself rolling them in exasperation at his remark otherwise. You shuffle a little, lifting yourself up on your knees more, breath hitching when he uses the newly granted space to dip his hand lower and press a finger against your hole. “Please, Chan — this can’t be comfy— just…”

“S’fine” he argues, shaking his head, despite the fact that the angle of his wrist is actually kind of painful, right now. The truth is that he can’t bring himself to care: not when he can smell your fabric softener on the shirt still hanging off your shoulders, the shampoo in your freshly washed hair, all so pretty mixed with the damp scent of your desire. Not when you clench around him as he slides his finger in and out of your cunt. Not when he could get you to soak all the way through these pretty satin pants. 

Your arms snake around his neck as he dips a second finger inside you to join the first. The way your thighs tighten around his hips could — should — be embarrassing, the fact his sturdy lap holds you open enough for your pussy to be toyed with even more so. You almost always do this too music, too — for what might be the first time ever, you can hear every single wet sound your body makes, every hitch of your own breath, every grunt he gives even though he’s not the one being pleasured. 

You don’t even realise how you’re rocking up and down against his hand until Chan licks from the base of your neck to your jaw, smirking over your pulse point and says, “gonna ride my cock this good too, baby?”

And if it was anyone else talking to you like this, you would be embarrassed. Mortified, at being so needy you’re here doing all the work for him. At the cry you give as he splits and scissors his fingers to stretch you out. But instead? You feel another rush of arousal drool out of you as you press your nails into his shoulders and nod, bouncing harder and watching how his bicep tenses up solid with the effort of keeping his arm steady for you to use. 

“Wanna,” you gasp. “Want it so bad, Chan—”

Despite your pleas for this to move further, when his hand pulls back out of the elastic of your waistband, you feel like you could throttle him. The urge ebbs away when his soaked fingers press to your lips and he quirks an eyebrow at you, though — you end up suckling them clean, licking up every trace of your own slick. You lock eyes with him as you do, slumping on your thighs so your drenched core sits right over his tweaking length, the seam of your pants giving just enough friction to your clit for it to feel good as you grind down on him again. 

“Get those off,” he instructs, trying to sound hard and dominant. Which would work, perhaps, if his voice didn’t crack in the middle of the sentence. “Now.”

Even though you’re overcome with a need to tease him, the desire you have to be split open on his length outweighs it, so you do as you’re told and hold it in for later. It’s not easy, but you manage to manipulate yourself in his lap to work the satin down your thighs and past your knees. He helps you tug them the rest of the way past your ankles and feet, shoves them onto the floor — Chan’s hands settle back on your hips and yours skim down his stomach at the same time, fingers grazing over the little hairs that trail from his bellybutton down into his jeans. 

“Can I?” You ask, playing already with his belt buckle. 

He hums assent and you slip it all the way open, tugging as he moves his hips underneath you so you can pull it free from the loops. Between you, you manage to get his jeans unfastened, to pull both them and his boxer shorts down over his ass and to his knees; finally, fucking finally, his cock sits pretty and leaking and free between your stomach and his. It’s getting cold in the car now the heating isn’t on, but you’re already burning up in anticipation for him to ruin you; the way his abs ripple as he takes his shaft into his hand and strokes himself a couple of times to prepare tells you he’s in the same boat. 

It’s like clockwork, from here. You shift into position as easily as you settle into bed after a long day. Chan rubs his tip through your folds, feels the warmth of you and hisses through his teeth with fluttering eyes. Just like always. This never changes. He can’t ever get enough of that first feeling of his cock against your pussy: it’s like the first hit of a blunt, like the first sip of a cold beer, the first full-body stretch early in the morning. He’s sure it’s what arriving at the gates of heaven must feel like. 

You sink down onto him slowly, fluttering around his tip and stilling to give you both a moment to get used to the feeling. He’s thick inside you. Thicker than his pretty, dainty fingers have ever been able to stretch you enough for. Even as wet as you are, you still need to suck a deep breath into your lungs before you can relax your hips further and let your heat swallow him all the way to his base. 

Chan’s head is tipped back in pleasure, he’s biting his lip at the sting of your nails pressing hard into the back of his neck. He loves it, though — loves how the pain shoots in waves down his spine, how it tingles in his brain, how he knows you need to anchor yourself this way or you’ll lose control. He kneads at your ass as you sit against his thighs, listening to you whimpering at how deep he is inside you.

“So fucking tight around me still,” Chan groans, focusing all his willpower into keeping his hips down on the leather beneath him. “Shit, baby — you feel so good…” His neck softens and his head drops forward again as you start to move, rising and falling over and over. He kisses your throat and down to your collarbones while you work up to a rhythm, sliding his palms up your back, hugging you close to him. 

He isn’t even the one putting in the hard work, but within minutes of this, his soft, fluffy hair clings to his forehead. A light sheen of sweat makes him radiant under the moonlight breaking through the trees. He’s breathing heavily, the top of his toned chest painted a soft pink — you don’t think he could possibly look prettier. Not until he cups your jaw with his hands and you look upwards: you land on his smiling face, those plush, swollen lips, his devilish but sweetly glittering eyes. The sight of him, looking at you like you’re some kind of Goddess, makes your pussy tighten and your tiring hips stutter. You slip your pyjama top all the way off your arms and curl your fingers into his hair, meeting him in an open-mouthed kiss, through which you’re both just beaming. 

You’ve never kissed him this much. When it all started out, you sort of had a rule against it, but now? Neither of you can stop. As he starts to fuck up into you, taking the reins and letting your burning thighs rest, he keeps your face steady with his hands and freely allows his lips to slide against yours. It’s not refined. It can’t be. Not with how hard and fast his movements quickly become, not with the onslaught of curses and moans and babbled praise coming from the both of you. One particularly sharp thrust makes you yelp out a squeak of his name and he just swallows it down, making a point to keep aiming for— and hitting— that same spot inside you. You’re a mess. 

He could do this all night. When your orgasm bubbles inside you and he starts pinching at one of your nipples, sending you over the edge, he’s nowhere near finished. Even though your cunt massages at his length, throbbing and pulsing through your climax; even though your voice is so high by now that only dogs can hear you; even though you nearly collapse on top of him with almost all your weight in his lap, and he has to work twice as hard to keep this going, he barely slows. He definitely doesn’t stop. 

“You can gimme one more, right sweetheart?” He asks, grunting into your neck. “Always feels so fucking good when you come.” You choke up an ‘mhm’, to which he responds by slipping a hand between your bodies and down to where you’re connected. His thumb presses against your clit again — not moving, just applying enough pressure to make you stutter when you say his name. 

Your thighs are still twitching when you try to lift yourself a little, try to meet his movements as he chases his orgasm too. The “problem” with Chan is that his stamina is otherworldly. You couldn’t keep up if you wanted to. 

“Relax,” he says, tensing his jaw, doing the opposite himself. “Fuck — lie down.”

It’s pretty cramped and hard to move, but you lift yourself off him and only slightly lament at the sudden emptiness between your legs. There isn’t time to get too upset, however: moments after you get comfortable on your back, Chan shoves his jeans the rest of the way down and stands with one knee planted on the seats, lifting one of your ankles up to rest it on his shoulder. He slips back inside you easily then, gripping around your calf to keep you both steady. From the word go, his pace is relentless. You scrabble around for something to hold onto but the entire car seems to melt away; you ball your hands into fists at your sides instead, your eyes squeezed tightly shut. 

“Mm-mm. Look at me,” Chan hums, tightening his grip on your leg. “Wanna see those pretty eyes.” 

You obey, opening your lids to look up at him while he pounds into you hard enough to make the car shake. Over, and over, and over, and over. Rougher. Faster. For how long? Who even knows. All you’re truly aware of is how good it feels. How the windows grow foggy with the  steam of your laboured breaths. How his sweat mingles with your own. 

When his fingers on the other hand get reacquainted with your clit, when he bites down on his bottom lip, when his thrusts start to get messier and more erratic and the veins in his arms start to bulge out, you know he’s getting close. He doesn’t need to tell you out loud. The smirk he wears speaks for itself. 

“Where d’you want it, baby?” He asks you, pressing a kiss to the inside of your ankle. 

“In— mmh, in-…side me—” you stammer, hips jolting as you near your second orgasm to match his first. “Please, Chan — want it all…”

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah—”

Well, he must’ve been holding himself back something spectacular, because a few thrusts later you watch all of his muscles contract as he tips over the edge, and you go hurtling with him. It’s all so much. All your nerve endings feel like they’re on fire and your vision starts to blur at the edges; it’s not long before you have to close your eyes to shut one of your overworked senses out, completely. Your muscles are sore. Your throat hurts. Even your lungs ache. 

God, he hasn’t gone that hard in so long, you don’t know what to do with yourself. You can barely speak — it’s going to take you a week to recover from this, minimum. 

He stills deep inside you, feeling his cock throb with the last pumps of his release. Your leg slips off his shoulder and your foot lands down with a thud onto the car’s (thankfully clean) floor; he bends forward to kiss you, still breathing heavily against your lips. You’ve come over completely boneless and reaching up to thread your fingers into his hair again feels like running a marathon at sprint pace. You’d fall asleep right here, right now, if you could, but with sweat cooling rapidly against your skin, you know that’s probably not up there as one of your finest ideas. 

“You really think getting involved with me was stupid?” Chan asks, nudging your nose with the tip of his own. He’s never been less serious than this in his entire life, which stops you feeling too bad when you lightly slap at his rock solid chest and try to push him off you.

“Yes,” you lie, attempting to reach to the ground for your pyjama shirt while he grips your chin and attacks you with tiny little pecks all over your face. “Stupidest thing I’ve ever done.”

(Chan chuckles to himself and thinks that he’s quite happy to be the stupidest thing you’ve ever done, really. He can stay that way, as long as you promise never to stop.)

thank you so much for reading. i hope you enjoyed it - likes, feedback, comments, reblogs are all so appreciated.<3

[everygayhere]

LOST IT

hey guys so... sorry about not posting much these days or these couple of months but i have a new story you guys might like.... as for the other on i have i've written a few pages of it. it's just not good right now so i need to fix them who know it might get posted after this chapter of the new story.

summary: Jenna and y/n meet while on set of Wednesday season two, from being strangers to friends to lovers. Taking a look into the past lives between the two of them. Y/N going through the turmoil of being in her present life and looking back on her past. will her future change or will it remain the same?

CHAPTER 1

The cold pelted against you as you stood out in the rain, chest beating, breath ragged. Slowly soaking hunched over feeling your tears run down your face. The only thought running through your brain was that she was happy, finally happy. Trying to ease your mind of the gut wrenching feeling of losing the love of your life. You stood in the open, vulnerable not paying attention to those who looked towards you or the feeling of pity stares.

Instead you focused on all the memories you two shared. All the love, the secret looks, the long night hangouts, the laughs shared, the inside jokes, the warmth of each other's bodies, the holidays spent together, being introduced to her family, birthdays, set days and just everything you experienced together. Collapsing to the ground, broken, feeling it inside and out. You lost it. Not far from the reason as to why you felt like this. You lost it. Everything that was bottled up hidden by a smiling face and happy persona. You lost it. 10 feet from people talking together, smiling a real smile, laughing with genuine happiness. YOU. LOST. IT. 

It didn’t take long for those who were already looking to stop talking and facing you fully, but still you didn’t notice. You sat there continuing to lose it in your wet shirt, buttons undone, jacket off soaked clothes, on the ground. Those thoughts of trying to reassure yourself soon changed to degrading everything you’ve done from the moment you started breathing. Why couldn’t I just be normal? What is wrong with me? I’m an idiot a dumb stupid idiot. I deserve to feel like this, nothing in my life has gone the way I wanted it to.  You couldn’t stop the spiral finally breaking free. Here you were feeling this pain that you thought was impossible. 

Standing in the cold you looked up from where you were back at the event. No one was looking back at you, no one who was there was noticing your presents. How could they, you weren’t really there, no you were 6ft under in a cemetery with your headstone covered in dried leaves and dirt. No one you shared those memories with noticed you. The only ones looking at you were the ones living in the same place you living in, the inbetween. Cursed to roam the world until they felt like leaving and if they didn’t in time they would be cursed to stay forever. You knew this, they knew this. It was ironic really that it happened to you. You just couldn’t leave her, not when she was sad, not when she needed you still. Even when she didn’t need you at one point you couldn’t leave your time was up. 

Here you were losing it having flashbacks of your past life the day you died it was coming back to you and you didn’t know what to do. You thought you had come to the relaxation you couldn’t change anything that life was life and yet here you are years later crying breaking down. Losing any relative thinking because the love of your life was getting married to someone else 10 feet away. If only five years ago from today things turned out different you would be standing there saying your vows and crying from the happiest you felt standing and watching the love of your life walk down the aisle. 

10 years ago

You had just gotten the biggest role of your life, you were finally going to make something of yourself. The feeling was amazing to be called by your manager saying you got the role. Was different after constant rejection, you had finally landed something. The best part was that it was with none other than Tim Burton himself.  You love all of his films. Since it was indeed the best call you could ever receive you decided to go out for a drive and get yourself an Ice cream. The night was so nice even though it was running and pouring down you thought this was the best drive you have ever had. 

The next day you were called for an online meeting since you didn’t live in LA or The United states in general. The meeting was so that they could cover the character you’ll be playing and the time you need to fly out to set and where you’ll be staying. So with slight nerves you got everything set up ready for your meeting. After 30 minutes you joined the meeting. 

“Ah Y/N thank you for joining the meeting on time. I hope it’s not too much of a time difference.”   The bright pixels showed Tim’s face as he spoke to you.

“Oh no not at all Tim. Thank you for the role.” you replied nervously. With a small smile.

“great , while let’s get right into huh? So let’s start with the character you’ll be playing. You’ll be a child of the afterlife really so that goes for death, god, the devil all in one. The concept is that you were crafted to create a stable life for those in the mortal world. You’ll be immortal and an adopted child, cousin’s with Ajax. you’re arriving late because you were needed in an undisclosed place before coming to Nevermore. You’ll have a few different abilities such as teleporting, strength, hypnotism, shapeshifting and going in and out of the realm of the dead as you please. It’ll be different from the one in beetle juice, you’ll have a dark obese with three doors for each realm, hell, heaven and of course the in between. Any questions on that?”

Tim looks at you waiting for an answer.

“Will my character have any weaknesses for them to be able to die?” you asked.

“Yes in fact they will be a weapon of some sort but you don’t need to worry about that as of now.” tim replied 

“Okay well that’s all I really have about the character.”

“Okay so let’s get into the arrangement of flights and where you’ll be living. So we’ll be filming in Europe, probably in Ireland and you’ll be living in the apartment complex with the other actors. The flight’s will be sent to you so you know the times of when to leave and be able to get here. Also set hours will be sorted when you get here since we still need to get measurements for your costumes. As well as introductions  with everyone else. Other than that… oh yeah your script will be sent to you online to read through and then you’ll have your real copy when you get here.” Tim says looking back at you 

“That sounds great. I'll make sure to read through all of it and get ready for everything.” you replied. 

“Perfect talk soon.” Tim says before ending the meeting. 

You were left sitting in your living room of the apartment you shared with your roommates. No one in your apartment knows about this so you’re happy that they were all gone off to work or at Uni to not be at home to listen to your meeting. Looking at all the emails that were sent to you for the set and where you’ll be going. You planned what you needed to do for the next few weeks before leaving. 

You sat at the living room with all the rest of your roommates staring at you confused on why you called a meeting. “So I won’t be living here for a while or maybe ever again so I have my share of the cost of the apartment in this envelope for 2 months and that should cover the whole time I'm still here before I leave. I just wanted to let you guys know so you can start looking for a new roommate.” you sat there smiling at all of them placing the envelope on the coffee table. 

“Wait so you’re leaving in 2 months? Why?” Abby, one of your friends asked, looking at you weirdly. 

“I swear if it’s you trying to U-haul yourself into another girl's apartment just think about it a bit more because you know what happened last time.” your friend Fred said, looking at you with concern. 

“Oh please don’t, look we know you're a hopeless romantic but the last time you tried it with your girlfriend Erica it didn’t go too well. I Mean you guys broke up after moving in for a week and you're lucky that when you came back the room was free and not only that but when you moved back in you wouldn’t stop listening to sad songs and crying for 3 months.”  Jess explained, freaking out. Jess was always looking out for you and making sure you were okay. She was like your mum. 

“Okay, first of all, yes I am leaving in 2 months. Secondly, I can’t say why it’s my secret.. Thirdly, I'm not u-hauling. Okay, I learned my lesson after the 5th time… Fourth, it’s nothing to do with me having a girlfriend. I don't even have one. You guys know that I've been single for 2 years now.” 

“Okay so why are you leaving? Did you find a better place without us? Are you getting sick of us right now cause look we don’t even barge in your room all the time… anymore. Okay look we’ll stop for real give you all the privacy in the world.”  Jess said, sitting in front of you holding your hands. 

“No it’s not that either okay. I don’t care that you come into my room unannounced… at least not anymore.” you responded whispering that last part. 

“Then what is it? If you don’t have a good enough explanation then we won’t let you leave.” Abby said, crossing her arms and staring down at you. She was easily angered when it came to not answering her questions or just ignoring her in general. 

“Okay first of all what do you not get by it’s my secret and secondly you can’t do that i’m pretty sure against the law.” Y/n said looking at her scared. 

“Well tell us and Abby won’t lock you away in your room tied to your bed.” Fred sat sipping his drink well looking at you. 

“Huh.. okay but i’m not telling you everything and you need to not tell anyone and I mean anyone, no random hookups fred, none of your uni mates Jess and no one at the bar Abby okay?” Y/N responded seriously, looking at all three of them in the room. 

“Hey it’s not all hook ups, I bring friends over.” Fred answered, offended. Everyone turned to look at him with raised eyebrows pointing to the fridge with the point system with all the men he’s slept with. “...you guys are mean,” he said, sinking further into the couch. 

All three of them scoffed at him. “Okay fine we promise to not say anything to anyone. Unless you're a secret agent and we didn’t know.” Abby responded with a smirk 

Y/n looked at her with a straight face then at Jess waiting for her to respond. 

“I promise to not tell anyone as well y/n/n.” 

Y/n smiled and looked at Fred. 

"Yeah yeah I promise the same.” 

Y/n let out a breath and smiled at all of them. “Okay so basically I've been doing some auditions and I haven't told you guys about it because I was scared, I was never going to get any roles and it would have been a waste of my time. Which has been happening until today. I got a call from my manager that I got a role and it’s a pretty big role. I can’t say anything else.” Y/n said looking at all of them both excited and nervous. 

“Omg y/n that’s so great!!!” all of them yelled while jumping up.

“Okay we can be quiet, you know we have neighbors and thin walls.”  y/n responded by putting her hands up and standing from the chair.  

“Holy shit our friend and roommate is going to be a star. Don’t you dare forget about us or else.” Abby threatened y/n. y/n gulped knowing that they all had some blackmail in their phones. 

“Of course I won't. You guys are the closest family I have.” y/n said looking up at them.

[fl3shm4id3n]

Fₐₜₕₑᵣ ₒf ₜₕₑ Yₑₐᵣ

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: 𝐀𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚 𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐤 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐛𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫, 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐝𝐚𝐝 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐡𝐢𝐦 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐛𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐩𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐢𝐛𝐥𝐞, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐨 𝐝𝐞𝐟𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐡𝐢𝐦. 𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐝𝐚𝐝 𝐝𝐢𝐝 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭, 𝐝𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐫𝐲 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮, 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐭.

ᴊᴀᴋᴇ ꜱᴜʟʟʏ x ʜᴜᴍᴀɴ! ᴅᴀᴜɢʜᴛᴇʀ! ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ (ᴘʟᴀᴛᴏɴɪᴄ), ꜱᴜʟʟʏ ᴋɪᴅꜱ x ʜᴜᴍᴀɴ! ꜱɪꜱᴛᴇʀ! ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ (ᴘʟᴀᴛᴏɴɪᴄ)

ꜱᴏɴɢ: ᴍɪᴛꜱᴋɪ- ᴡᴀꜱʜɪɴɢ ᴍᴀᴄʜɪɴᴇ ʜᴇᴀʀᴛ

Tw: abandonment, Oldest Child Syndrome, angst, reader cussing out Jake.

A/N: I think that one female rage audio edit (the one were the classical music is playing while there's screaming) fits her well, sorry that it isn't long, maybe the next part will be longer.

Masterlist

For the last couple weeks you were alone, you wanted to be alone. You had so much on your mind that you didn't want to interact with anyone but yourself. You hated feeling all sorts of things, specially when it came to your siblings. You had gone to the lake were you'd spot Jake and his family interacting, it was a bitter feeling being here, remembering the times Jake would use the excuse that he was busy. You sat on the floor with your feet dipped in the water.

Looking down at your feet, you couldn't help but feel tears form in your eyes. Why did the relationship between you and your dad had to change? He had made the promise that he wouldn't leave like your mom, but he did. Even though he was still here, he acted as if he did not know you. Was it because he was now a na'vi and had a new family? A family that obviously you weren't a part of, no matter how hard your siblings would try to include you in there family events, you were just not a part of them. Sometimes you wished that you had an avatar, maybe he'd recognize you again, you had begged Norm and Max if they could make you an avatar, they said they could try, but it'll take some time.

You hated it, you hated feeling the way that you did, you hated that your dad had left you behind. You hated everything at the moment. You wished that you were back on earth with the father that you deeply missed, the one that would take care of you and would look at you as if you were the light of his light, you missed when you were his Baby girl, you wished you could turn back the time.

You heard some grass moving, as if someone was walking through it. Looking back to see who it was, it was the one and only Neteyam, the brother who you barely had a relationship with you. "Hey sis.." that's all he said. You only waved at him and looked back down at your feet. Neteyam walked over and sat down on next to you, dipping his feet in the water. "Is something wrong?" he asked. You just sighed, cleaning your tears. "I don't know, everything doesn't seem fine." You said, while rubbing your now red and puffy eyes. "What's wrong? Did something happened?" he asked.

Looking over at him, you noticed his worried expression. You couldn't help but say something. "I've been thinking a lot about the past... how... how my dad used to love me." you said, looking away, feeling your tears coming back. Neteyam didn't say anything, instead he hummed, waiting for you to continue. "..Sometimes... I wished that... I could turn back time.. or.. wished to not be born if this was how my life was going to turn out." You admitted, feeling yourself hiccup as you cried. Neteyam felt bad, he noticed how his parents, mostly his dad would treat you. His first child.

Neteyam wasn't dumb, his dad may think he is but he isn't. He'd notice how you were completely ignored with the 'I'm busy with the kids' excuse. Majority of the time they'd leave the kids in his care and his parent's would be leave together, he always found that weird. Also never understood why you'd get excluded from their family when you were his father's child, also family.

"Can I admit something to you?" he asked, you looked back at him, you nodded while wiping away your tears and nose. "This may sound bad, but... I honestly wished dad wouldn't pay attention to me.." he admitted. "What do you mean?" you asked, a bit confused. "I love my dad really, but... I just.. want to be ignored sometimes you know? All this expectations and responsibilities he has on me are killing me.." he said. It was understandable, it was no secret that Jake would put a lot of pressure on Neteyam, for being the oldest. He was forgetting that his favorite son was also just a kid, a kid who was missing out on everything because he is afraid to disappoint his father.

"I know how you feel, but you never want to be ignored. Its the worst feeling you could have. Being ignored by the people who were suppose to be loving and caring to you" you said. Neteyam only sighed, you could see the sadness in his eyes. All he wanted was to be able to do what other kids did and not worry about being scolded by Jake. You then got close to him, leaning your head on his shoulder while he leaned his head down to your smaller head. This was the first time that you and Neteyam had actually spent time together.

It had gone dark, when Neteyam noticed the time, he was freaking out that his dad would get onto him. You saw how he nearly died on the spot, so you decided to walk him back and to not worry about Jake. The whole walk back he kept mumbling how his dad was going to ground him, you had to basically calm him down from having an anxiety attack. This was not okay, him almost dying for being scolded was a huge red flag.

When you got to the camp, you watched how Jake was passing around outside the hut while his wife was trying to reason with him. As soon as he spotted you two approaching, he stomped over with an angry look on his face. "Where the hell were you boy?!" he yelled at him, totally forgetting that you were there. Before Neteyam could answer, you responded for him. "He was with me!" you said loud enough, then Jake looked at you, seen your unbothered expression bothered him a lot. "You have any idea what you could of caused?!" he asked, now his full attention on you. "We were only out for a bit more later, but were here now." You said rolling your eyes.

"You should know better! He was suppose to be back before Eclipse!" Jake yelled again, all you did was roll your eyes and listened to him rant. "We're here now aren't we? That's all that matters" you said, this angered Jake. "You listen here young lady, rules are meant to be followed and when those rules are broken they're consequences!" he said. You looked at him wide eyed. He did not just say that, he did not just try to scold you as if you were his kid. You are, but at the same time you were.

"I know damn well you did not just say that to me." You warned. "Watch your mouth or else-" Jake was cut off. "Or else what?! You'll ground me!? Guess what! I'm a fucking adult, you can't fucking ground me!" you yelled, getting the attention of both Neytiri and your younger siblings. "Yes I can, I'm your father!" He said, this made you lose it. "Oh! Now you want to be my fucking dad? After fifteen years of you ignoring me and pretending that I'm not here, you decide to be my fucking dad!? Wow! Give up to the Father of the fucking year everybody!" you screamed, but before Jake could speak, you cut him off. "You may think just because you're my dad you can tell me what to do, guess what, you stopped being my dad many fucking years ago. You know what, fuck you! I wish you were never my father! I fucking hate you!" you screamed, ignoring that everyone around you had stopped and listened, they watched how you basically had cussed out their leader, they were in complete shock, including your siblings.

Before Jake could tell you something, you just took off running. Ignoring how your name was called by your siblings. It was already late and the woods were already dark with animals rooming around, you didn't care if something were to attack you, you just wanted to get away from everything. You finally stopped, trying to catch your breath. Your throat and lungs were burning. You felt your tears coming back, you let out a sob, that sob went to a full on scream. It was a mixture of both anger, sadness and frustration. You didn't care that you were being heard. You just wanted to scream and cry all at once.

Once you stopped screaming, you continued to cry, silently as it began to rain. You didn't care that you were being soaked, that was until you felt a sharp pain in your neck. You winced, touching your neck, feeling some kind of dark on your neck. You pulled it out painfully, feeling your neck sting. Looking back at the object, it was sleeping dark. Everything began to feel strange, you saw how the glowing plants began to multiply and how your eyes began to heavy. Next thing you knew, your body felt numb and you began to stumble around, until you hit the floor. You were trying to stay awake, but you couldn't. Last thing you saw was how a group of blue figures dressed in camo were approaching you, then everything went black.

ₚᵣₑᵥᵢₒᵤₛ ₚₐᵣₜ, ₙₑₓₜ ₚₐᵣₜ

[fyeahstormandwolvie]

So I've been drawn back to Storm 3... and I wanted to ask your opinion on the panel with Ororo and Rouge and the way some people are reading the panel as if Ororo is ashamed and disgusted by sleeping with Logan.

maybe I'm in too deep lol but knowing the rolo dynamic and knowing not only how close & understanding they are of each other but how they keep their relationship lowkey... that panel doesn't read as regretful to me at all. Ororo mentions that she set a path for herself... similar to how logan always has in the past, when they have their mind set on something they don't let anything stand in their way especially. to me the only thing I think ororo regrets is being open to be with him in that way again knowing she was leaving when the week ended even if Doom didn't send for her. She wants to be there with her x-family, with logan... but she set a path for herself, she announced herself to the world and it would feel wrong (to her) to push that all to the side just to relax with the people she loves... very similar to how logan is lol.

Murewa left that panel with so many ways for people to interpret it. I find it interesting that people concluded that Ororo is disgusted with sleeping with logan when the last panel shows Ororo looking sorrowful and saying "I'm sorry logan". if she felt bad for sleeping with him I'm very sure she would have told him before leaving... as if they hadn't slept together before, as if they haven't run off and handled business in the past, as if they both don't understand that when it comes to them being together they take any time they can get cause there's never enough time for them... shes sorry for having to leave not for sleeping with him LMFAO!

the narrator specifically explains the situation as "matters of the heart" and singles out logan as "her old lover" and the rest as her friends. the dialogue on the last day of fighting basically reads as "you know me and i know you", the way rolo love to bond by fighting... even with her situation, she could have spent the entire issue with Kurt and Remy, getting to know the kids... i just feel like the issue was very intentional whether it was to give us closure from the last time they were together or to give us some sort of foundation for the future for whatever could come about with them... do i think anything will happen with them soon, no. but i feel like there's potential for something to grow. i don't think this is the last time we'll see Logan in this comic... this is the first time (i think) we've seen them together where Ororo is in control of how the relationship moves, its usually the other way around.

Let's not even talk about how Logan probably definitely heard the whole conversation btw Ororo and the bird, Ororo and Rouge... again if you don't know the dynamic you'd read it as if it was a one-night stand but we know he trusts her enough to take care of herself and knows she'll call if she needs help... which is why he was so calm when he specifically called out Rogue in the morning and asked her if Ororo left... they both know why she left and how she felt before leaving.

idk... sorry for rambling lmfao but it just rubbed me the wrong way that people would rather claim ororo was out of her mind and dumb that she would just fuck Logan, her close friend and it be normal for her to be disgusted by sleeping with someone she trusts... cause if that was the case she could have just slept with anyone else... lmao

Hi! Always happy to chat about things like this (and welcome people to chime in in the replies/reblogs!) - I like that Murewa doesn't spell everything out for us, and we can make our own interpretations based on the text and the context of the art and what happened!

I don't think she's ashamed or disgusted that it happened at all, and that's saying it even without a biased lens. She might have regrets, which I think tracks with her tendency to overthink literally everything (she has so many Thoughts, All The Time - I think she's on record as having the most internal thought thought-bubbles throughout the Claremont run), and maybe she regrets that it happened on a whim, during a visit that she knows won't even last that long. She only planned to be around for a week, and she sleeps with him on a spur of the moment? Knowing that she'll leave in like a day (on this case, sooner than a day lol) because her current plan is to idk.. establish herself as a solo and unattached/uncommitted to the brand even if she's literally safest with the X-Men haha

I don't think they'll get together for real either, not now. I do think j she's gonna get (ironically) the Wolverine treatment where she's single and unattached so that she can have different relationship dynamics with different people. Like Batman and Spider-Man get similar treatment and can run into exes and maybe-lovers all the time. She's hot, and free! Let us see her how she'll navigate being the most wanted woman in the universe!!

I don't know if this actually answered anything lol. Please feel free to add comments in this! Just be nice and please don't say hateful things about other characters and other ships here, let's keep things civil and cool 💕

[strniohoeee]

Poignant Pt. 2

Pairing: Matt Sturniolo X Female Reader

Synopsis: After not seeing Matt for 4 months he finally reaches out, and wants to talk to Y/N…..he expresses certain feelings, but will Y/N feel the same?🫀

Warnings⚠️: None just cute or whatever I guess angst? This one’s short but still hope you enjoy it🫶🏽

Song for imagine: It Will Rain- Bruno Mars

Read Poignant Pt. 1 here

And pick up these broken pieces

Til I’m bleeding

If that’ll make you mine

Matt Stromboli🤭

-How about in this lifetime?🪻

I smiled down at his text, and went to answer him.

-Hey Matt

-Hey Y/N. How you been?

-I’ve been good. Just been working on myself for these past few months

-I’ve been thinking about you, do you think about me still?

-Of course I do Matt….

-We should see each other again

-I don’t know…that might open some wounds

-Wounds?

-Yeah, I’m not sure I’m ready to see you again

-Why not?

-I’m scared

-lmao scared of what??

-scared that when I see you my feelings will still be there

-that’s not a scary thing

-yeah it is….especially if the feelings aren’t mutual

-but what if they are?

-you don’t know that Matt. You might think you like me, but that’s not always the case

-Come see me please?

-where? And what time?

-tonight, the burger spot on the pier…6:30??

-yeah sure I’ll be there, see ya Matt

-see you later

Later on that day I had gotten ready to see Matt. I wasn’t sure how to feel. I felt like I still had feelings, but I also felt like I just missed him as a whole, as my friend. I wasn’t sure how seeing his face was going to affect me.

I had Ubered to the pier, and I got there at about 6:25, so I walked to the restaurant. My nerves making me nauseous and anxious.

I got to the restaurant, and told them I was meeting someone so I walked until I spotted Matt. My stomach instantly churning. I walked to the booth and sat down

“Hi” I said looking at him

“Hey Y/N” he said smiling at me, that goddamn smile

“It’s been so long,” I said looking at his face. How can someone change so much in four months

“It has. You look great” he said looking at me

“Thank you. You look great too” I said smiling at him

“Thank you..nothings change” he said laughing a little bit

“You just look so different” I said looking at him

“Could be the hair, or the tattoos” he said looking down at his hair

“Yeah it could be” I said nodding at him

We had gotten dinner and barely spoke…this weird tension always in between us….I just didn’t know how to feel at all. Did I like him or did I not?

We walked on the pier and sat down watching the sunset

“I um I’m not sure what to say” Matt said quietly

“I mean you don’t have to say anything” I told him

“No I do. I just don’t like how that day went” he said looking out to the waves

“It’s okay Matt. We’ve grown from it, and I’m okay. It was needed” I said looking over at him

“I just…man I don’t know. As soon as you left I felt this pain in my chest” he said blinking

“Well I left all you guys” I said looking at the water too

“I feel like I made the wrong decision” he said

“I don’t think you did. I think some part of you feels bad for rejecting me, and you’re making yourself like me, but I just think you miss your friend” I said to him

“Do you still like me?” He asked still not looking at me

“I’m not sure Matt. I came here wondering how I’d feel and if all those feelings would come back, but I uh I feel at peace” I said still looking at the waves

“I really like you” he blurted out

“I don’t think you do. You like the idea of me, but you don’t actually like me” I told him

“Stop hurting yourself by denying it. I fucking like you” he said shaking his head

“Matt, we haven't seen each other for four months. How can you just now say you like me” I said defeated

“Because I've always liked you, and I was so dumb to see that….it has always been you” he said

“Matt….” I said looking over at him

“It really has, and I’m such an idiot for taking so long to realize. I checked everyday if you’d be active on social media, if you’d comment on anything, my finger hovered over your contact. I so badly wanted to call you everyday, but I just couldn’t” he said shaking his head

“I’m glad you didn’t call.” I said to him

“What?” He said looking at me

“I feel like if you called me you would’ve kept me on this string of false hope. I needed to be away from you” I told him truthfully

“I was so stupid” he said

“It’s okay.” I said to him

“I want you, and only you” he said looking at me

“Don’t say things you don’t mean” I said looking at him

“I mean it okay! Stop pushing me away” he said getting a little upset

“I don’t want to get hurt again” I said looking down

“I would never do that to you….again” he said

“I don’t know” I said shaking my head

“Please Y/N” he said pleading

“Matt I don’t know that I see myself with you” I told him

“Kiss me, and tell me you don’t feel the same” he said

I looked up at him, looking into his eyes searching for an answer, but I didn’t find one.

I reluctantly leaned in and connected our lips. It was a kiss that made the whole world stop, it made all my problems float away….Its Matt it’s always been him, and I never wanted to pull away. With him I felt safe and loved

We pulled away, and looked at each other

“Tell me you don’t feel the same, and I will walk out of your life for good, and never bother you again” he said looking into my eyes

“Matt it’s you….it will always be you” I said smiling before pulling him in again, crashing our lips together

Kissing Matt felt like stepping outside into an empty field on a warm evening while watching a beautiful sunset overhead. This kid was my sunset….hes mine, he’s my safety net

“I’m never leaving you” he said rubbing my cheek

“I’d hope not” I said leaning into his touch

“Come home with me” he said

“Of course Matt” I whispered before we got up, and headed out to Matt’s car. Getting in and heading to the triplets house.

I guess Matt’s mine in this lifetime, and in another🪻

The End

I want to write another sad imagine, but nothing pertaining to death of the triplets….Im thinking like an actual….yk what let me not explain my ideas I wanna make yall cry 🤞🏽🤭 anywhooo hope you liked this one💋

-J💅🏽

[wanderingblindly]

do you ever read a fic that's so good you wonder why you even bother writing cause it will never be as good as what you just read? cause - and i mean this in the bestest most complimentary way possible - that's how i feel after reading october birds (truly genuinely you are so! so! talented!!!)

but i was just wondering if, as a writer, this is something you've ever felt and - if so - how you motivate yourself to keep writing

Oh my god YEAH I get writer envy all the fucking time -- it's par for the course when you're writing in a space with such an abundance of talent. Every writer I've talked to on here has talked about feeling the same thing at some point, too.

You are so so so far from alone. In fact, I'd go so far as to say it's one of the most unifying experiences besides writer's block lol

There are a few ways I deal with this, though none of this advice is even remotely original:

What makes a story impactful isn't just the words

Sometimes I get writer envy on a level of like, feeling jealous over someone's eloquence, their word choice, the sort of maturity and polished-ness they get into their fics. And that's fair! Everyone wants to improve, everyone has styles and pieces they idolize and study from.

But when it comes to getting back into my own ideas, I remind myself that what makes a story isn't just the technicalities. The most beautifully executed novel could still fail to hold my attention if the idea isn't gripping. Hundreds of thousands of words of gorgeous prose and scenery doesn't mean anything to me, personally, if it doesn't make me feel.

What makes your writing special is the fact that you -- with all your unique experiences and perspective -- wrote it. You took the idea and made it your own, and no other person could do it exactly like you did. And that matters! The way you feel emotions, how you choose to show the world to the reader, that matters! You could hand a hundred authors the same outline, and no one would create the same story because none of them have lived the same life, and that's wonderful! All of that, the intangible bits, matters just as much as someone's artfully crafted a sentence -- so never forget that.

It's cruel to use others to belittle yourself

This doesn't just apply to writing, but I have to remind myself that using others to put myself down is, in a way, assuming things about them. Why have I decided that this other author, someone who's writing for fun and love, would look at me and say that they're better? That my writing isn't worth pursuing? Why would I put something so awful on another person who's only ever put good into fandom?

Similarly, why have I decided that the people who read, enjoy, and connect to my writing are, what? Devoid of taste? Dull? Wrong? Jesus, what the fuck have they done for me to think that about people who have only ever been kind?

As dumb as it sounds, I have to reverse bully myself to stop the negative trains of thought. I would never want to make someone out to be cruel in my head, and that means I can't decide my writing isn't worth something by using other people as a scapegoat.

Writing is a progressive skill

Sometimes when I'm struck particularly badly, I go read my old work. Frankly, I don't love a lot of my old stuff in terms of execution -- I always think that I could do it better now. But I love my old work for what it tried to be; I love my old ideas, I love my old characters, I love my old effort and care.

And as I look back at it, I know that if past-Liquid could read my current stuff, they'd be astonished to know they'd get there one day. My writing still isn't perfect, I'm constantly hitting my head up against the limits of my current skill set, but that's the POINT!

Every fic I've ever tried writing has been a step closer to becoming the writer I want to be. Every idea I attempt, even if it seems too difficult at the time to really nail, gives me the experience to do it better one day.

The author you're envious of right now, they had their own journey, too. Maybe they hit the ground running a little faster than you, or maybe they've been writing since before you could even read! You have no way of knowing!!!! All you can do is think about the fact that every time you get knee-deep in your own docs, you're getting better!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! You're getting closer to becoming your own writer envy :)

[strangemaleswaps]

Strange Sleepy Swap

I absolutely hate family vacations. Don't get me wrong, the vacation part is pretty nice. The fact that I'm with my family is the problem. Each year we go to some new crazy location, which would've been fun if they didn't embarrass me every single moment. Normally it's some dumb place within the states, but this time we're going out of the country. I turned 18 a few months ago and just graduated high school, so my parents thought it was a special occasion. Oh, it's going to be special all right - it's the last time I'll be forced to go with them! As soon as the summer's over, I'm moving across the state for college, and hopefully I'll never see them again! But for now, my parents set their sights on Brazil. I guess that's where they went on their first trip together. But I'd rather go to much cooler countries like France or Japan.

So, arriving in Brazil, we moved through the airport - me, my dad, mom, and little sister. There were so many hot guys and good looking people in general walking through the halls. I wanted to flirt with them so badly! But my parents would probably call the police if I went out of their sight for a single minute. We took a taxi and arrived at our hotel room. I found out that there were only 2 bedrooms - one for my parents and one for my little sister and I. I can't even jerk off in the privacy of my own bedroom anymore! I unpacked my stuff anyway, just as my mom walked into the room.

"Are you hungry, kids?" I hate being called a kid. I'm 18! Nobody seems to understand that I'm a legal adult now!

"Yeah," we both replied.

"How about we visit some of the local places to see some culture?"

"Lame," I said.

"Jackson, YOU are going to go with us and YOU are going to like it!" My mom ordered.

"Fine."

Outside the hotel, my dad arrived with our rental car. We drove through the streets but ended up parking in what looked like the poor part of town. I thought we were going to a nice restaurant?

"What the hell are we doing here?"

"Language, Jackson! This is what I was talking about! What better way to see the local culture than to visit the local marketplace?"

We got out and I looked around. The roads and buildings were all run down and there was a gross scent in the air. The marketplace was thriving anyway, but the people there were all ugly. No hot guys! We bought some kind of pastry, eating it at a nearby table. It tasted awful! When we finished, we all split up to explore the rest of the marketplace; I didn't even bother to look at anything else because I knew I wouldn't find anything good.

I walked down the road and saw an open garage-like area with some people inside. Outside sleeping in a chair, was an obese guy with a belly so big, it hung right out of his blue tank top, and covered his knees entirely! His belly button was so big, you could probably fit an entire fist in there! He was probably the grossest human being I've ever seen in my life! It was guys like that that made me feel at least somewhat grateful that I'm so young and skinny.

I walked right past and suddenly he grabbed my arm. His eyes stayed closed though, so I guess it was some form of sleepwalking. I was disgusted anyway, so I jumped backwards and shouted at him.

"Get away from me you disgusting slob!" 

He stayed asleep even after that. But I definitely needed to wash my arm now. Who knows what kind of diseases he was carrying? I started walking towards a restroom, when I felt like I was being watched. I looked to my right to see a creepy old lady staring at me from between two buildings. She was so hideous, she looked like a witch! I ran inside and quickly washed my hands. I walked out of the bathroom, only to come face to face with the witch lady.

"Ahh! Who are you?"

"You don't like your family do you?" Is she trying to relate to me or something? Gross! I answered her anyway.

"Yeah. So?"

"Would you do anything to get away from them?"

"Yeah I guess. What are you getting at?"

"Nothing. Nothing you need to worry about." Anger rushed to my brain and out my mouth.

"Nothing? You can't just ask about my problems then offer to do nothing! Get out of my face you old hag!" Her smile changed to an angry frown but then back to a smile.

"Very well, you want me to do something? I will do something." She took a piece or chalk and started drawing a circle around my feet.

"What? Are you using your witchy magic or something?" I said, sarcastically. She ignored me and continued. With a full circle of purple chalk around me, she put her hands together and started mumbling something. The circle below me was glowing! Not just that, but I was actually sinking into the ground! Is this some kind of portal? If I could teleport to my college campus that would be great! Even better, a gay bar or somewhere I can freely be myself!

I sunk lower and lower until it was just my head and neck sticking out.  I looked up at her and said "Thank you." For some reason, instead of a friendly smile, it seemed like an evil smirk. As my eyes were about to fully submerge into the ground, I closed them.

When I opened them back up, I was sitting down inside, but was disappointed that the same bad smell was in the air. Looks like she teleported me, but it wasn't very far. I knew that witch was full of shit. I guess I should find my family again; it had been an hour and they were probably worried. I tried to get up but something was wrong. I looked down to see what was keeping me grounded when my heart started thumping extremely fast. Gone was my slim body, which was replaced with an overly large hanging gut. What the fuck happened to me? Is it touching my knees? Wait, I recognize that gut! It can't be! I've turned into that one gross slob! Was this that witch's way of getting revenge?

I didn’t want to, but I felt compelled to touch the gut. Unlike before, he was completely shirtless so the massive hanging blubber was visible for everyone to see. I looked at my huge sausage fingers, and poked it. It jiggled. I took my whole hand and pressed into the flab over and over. My whole belly rippled like a body of water. It was actually kinda fun and felt nice. No, what am I doing? I gotta get my body back.

Trying to get up was the hardest part. I had to summon all my strength in order to force the weight of the gut off of me, and plant my feet on the ground as hard as I possibly could. When I got my ass out of the chair, gravity took hold of my gut and I nearly fell over. Slowly, I got myself back onto my feet.

I couldn't even see the bottom of my gut but I could feel it touching my knees! I grabbed the bottom of it and shook. I stuck my hands between the overhang and my waist, and felt a river of sweat hiding underneath. I swear if I ever get back to my body, I'll never insult any fat guy ever again!

I tried walking back to the same bathroom I was just at, but it was more like a waddle. The gut was swinging back and forth, slapping my knees every time, pain with each slap. My back was killing me too. My entire body ached! How did this guy let himself go this far? I squeezed through the door and saw my face for the first time in the mirror. I had gray hair and silver stubble. I was an old man! My whole face was huge and I had a double chin. This can't be happening. I'm only 18!

I walked out of the bathroom just as my family strolled by. Finally! For once I was happy to see them! It'll be weird but I'm sure they can help me get back to normal somehow. I waddled over, approaching them, and freaked out when I saw…me! There was a college aged guy who looked exactly like me alongside them. Is he the owner of the body I'm in? He must be!

"Hey it's you! You have my body!" Everyone turned around, surprised to see me. My parents narrowed their eyes.

"What? What's this about bodies? Who are you?" My dad demanded.

"Mom, Dad, its me, Jackson! There was a witch that swapped our bodies! That guy isn't me!"

"What? Who do you think you are, talking to my son that way? Get out of here creep!" The guy in my body pretended to be just as confused as they were. That liar! Instead of taking any action, they just walked away, shaking me off as just some homeless creep. They probably assumed I wouldn't be able to catch up to them…and they were right. I felt exhausted already, but managed to shout one last sentence at them.

"Wait c-come back! I'm sorry! I'll never complain about vacations again!" The guy who stole my body turned his head around and gave an evil smirk at me. I looked to my right to see the witch again.

"You wanted to be away from them and your wish was granted. Here, you might want this." She tossed me what looked like a shirt, but it was huge. "Paolo gets especially lazy sometimes and doesn't feel like putting on a shirt. You'll get used to it, but here's one just in case."

I wanted to argue but I couldn’t. I just…gave up. I was feeling tired so I slipped the shirt on, pulling it as far over my belly as I could, and waddled over back to the garage area. My knees were killing me at this point so I stood next to the chair I was sitting on earlier, rotated myself, and firmly plopped onto it. All the pain went away and I started feeling drowsy. I rolled up the shirt a little and stuck my finger inside my belly button, playing with it. Am I getting hard? I shouldn't be so turned on but I am! I then pressed my belly in, seeing and feeling the ripples until I finally fell asleep. Haha…Maybe this won't be so bad afterall. I'm finally away from my family, and I can just sleep the day away…everyday…

[eventinelysplayground]

Shattered

This is my second last fic for my 50 follower event and was requested by the delightful @fang-and-feather whose ask I put up on Tuesday if you want to take a look. This fic was hard to get the idea for but then I ended up getting an element I wanted and built two different ideas around that that weren't working so I dissected them and took parts of both along with the element and here it is. I had a lot of fun with this one, it felt like I could be a bit more daring with it in a way. I also switch pov at the end but it's mostly in Comtes. I hope you enjoy the fic Fang and thanks so much for the congrats and all your support especially when I first started out you have no idea how much it meant to me. An outing, a memory and one bad action tempt Comte. Mentions of alcohol, suspected infidelity, pregnancy and blood, WC approx 1929.

The night was warm with the subtle scent of flowers carried on the wind as the moon danced in and out between the clouds. Comte stood alone on the balcony, a glass in one hand and a half empty bottle of whiskey on the top rail. He had managed to outrun his thoughts since this afternoon but now in the stillness of the night he was at their mercy.

She looked absolutely stunning this afternoon, her smile was so radiant.

Comte took a long sip from his glass then let out a short self deprecating chuckle.

Really, this is unbecoming of me. It was all my own choices, I have no one else to blame. It's for the best anyway I would only have ruined her life.

When he had first started to notice that Mitsuki and Arthur were developing feelings for eachother he said nothing, believing his own feelings for her nothing but a passing desire that would be quickly forgotten. He'd had more than his fair share of romances just like that in even his long lifetime and yet…yet as time continued forward he realized just how wrong he was.

Mitsukis appearance at the mansion had brought a light and joy to their lives. She had touched all their hearts but only Arthur had been able to touch hers. Every time he witnessed them together, their happiness, devotion, love for one another, the warmth he felt to see her so happy warred with an ugly darkness in his heart. The darkness only grew as time went on and Mitsuki got even closer to him.

She certainly did manage to work her way past all my walls without even trying. She's always reached out and tried to see the best in everyone even then….

‘What were you thinking!?’

‘I knew you were a filthy klootzak but this is low even for you.’

‘Didn't think you'd be the type to settle down but I hoped for cara mias sake that I was wrong.’

‘How did you not even make it six months!?’

‘Newt, What the bloody hell are you all going on about!?’

‘You're going to play dumb?’

Theo had moved to grab Arthur by the lapels and Comte had been the one to stop him.

‘Calm down all of you, let's see if Arthur has anything to say at least.’

‘Anything to say to what? I don-’

‘You better think of something better than that after the way cara mias been crying.’

‘Wait, Mitsuki is upset? What happened?’

‘Like you don't know.’

‘Arthur enough games-’

‘I swear Comte I'm not playing any g-’

Arthur's eyes had gone wide with a sudden revelation.

‘Mitsuki!’

Arthur went to run past them up the stairs but Napoleon caught him by the arms.

‘Damn it all, let go Leon! I swear to all of you this isn't what you think. That bird was-’

‘Choose your next words very carefully Arthur.’

Comtes eyes were cold and voice commanding.

‘That bird was someone I had spent a few nights with years ago before Mitsuki ever arrived. She had gone overseas, family issues or something I honestly don't remember but she's been gone for years and just got back and-’

‘And she's been gone long enough she had no idea.’

‘Exactly! I was coming back from my publishers when she just bloody well threw herself into my arms and started kissing me. I mean do you all really not know me better than that? I've answered enough of your questions, I need to see Mitsuki.’

‘Let him go Napoleon but Arthur, you best be telling the truth, for your own sake if not for hers.’

Comte recalled that the whole mansion was tense that night and they all took turns keeping an ear out for any hint of trouble from a respectable distance. After a few hours Leonardo had come down smirking and declaring that ‘any screaming now wouldn't be from anger’. It had only been about eight months prior and the emotions that just the memory of that incident brought forward caused Comte to smash his glass on the top rail littering it with glass.

She's too good and pure for him. Forgiving him after hurting her like that even if it was unintentional, and now be giving him a child after it all.

Comte sighed and looked down at the broken glass.

Well now, that wasn't very mature of me. I should be happy that she forgave him and they're able to continue to be so happy…

Comte lifted the whiskey bottle to his lips, drinking back the last of its contents. He looked up into the night sky smiling as his thoughts returned to the afternoon.

‘Don't you think that this is all a bit much?’

‘Whatever do you mean?'

‘I mean you've bought multiple things from every store we've been in today! I didn't need those new dresses and on top of that you're also spoiling this baby before it even gets here!’

‘Nonsense Cherie, I could never dote on you or the child enough to ever come close to spoiling either of you. You deserve all of it and more.’

‘Really I-'

Suddenly they had both heard soft laughter from nearby. When Comte turned around there was an older woman standing there smiling fondly at them.

‘Just let him do as he pleases dearie, if your husband's anything like mine was nothing you say will deter him.’

‘Oh but he’s-’

‘Listen to her words of wisdom ma Cherie, plus have you ever been able to convince me before?’

‘Well no…’

‘If it makes you feel better dear , think of it as payment for the hard work soon to come.’

‘Who are you bothering now?’

The older woman clicked her tongue and rolled her eyes.

‘I’m not bothering anyone, I was just telling the young dear here to accept as many gifts as her husband desired to provide her and their child with.’

The old gentleman who had approached quickly cast an appraising look over Mitsuki then Comte noticed his lips turning up into a faint yet fond smile.

‘A word of advice son, pace yourself unless you don't mind spending all your wealth spoiling them.’

‘See he agrees with me, you're spoiling them already.’

‘I still say you should let him.’

‘Hahaha of course you would, come my dear leave the young couple to enjoy themselves.’

‘If you insist, oh but wait! Congratulations to you both.’

‘Comte, why didn't you correct them?’

‘Hmmm? Is the thought of being married to me that horrible?’

‘No, of course not! I didn't mean-’

‘Haha it’s alright cherie, honestly they just seemed happy and besides it didn't cause any harm’

‘I suppose not.’

It was nice to dream if only for a brief moment. If I hadn't dismissed my feelings, not been afraid to lose what we did have then maybe…

“Comte?”

The sudden voice startled Comte and he turned towards the door.

“Cherie, what are you doing up so late?”

“Sleeping is becoming incredibly difficult lately and this heat isn't helping. What about you, could you not sleep?”

I wish it were that simple.

“Something like that, come let me take you back inside.”

“No, I'd prefer to stay out here. The breeze is really cool and-”

“Cherie don't-”

“Ouch!”

Comtes warning came too late as Mitsuki placed her hand on top of the shards of broken glass. Blood began to trickle down her palm and fingers momentarily freezing him to the spot.

“I'm so sorry, Comte! I should have been more careful.”

Comte said nothing, his gaze fixed on the trails of blood while the rest of him desperately fought the intense burning in his throat.

“I should go and get-”

“No!”

“Comte?”

Comte closed the small distance between them staring down at Mitsukis bloodied hand for a moment before lifting it upwards.

Maybe it wouldn't have to be a dream.

Comte lifted Mitsukis hand higher to his lips and lapped at her blood before sinking his fangs into her soft flesh. The taste of her blood on his tongue as it passed over it and down his throat was heavenly and sweet. He felt her knees begin to give and wrapped an arm tightly around her waist as he-

“Comte!?”

Comte shook his head slightly as he was pulled back to reality, he held Mitsukis hand dangerously close to his lips. She was looking at him with wide eyes filled with fear and confusion.

I just need another minute... to compose myself.

Comte took his free hand and removed a shared of glass from Mitsukis palm before removing a handkerchief and pressing it into her slightly trembling fingers.

“There doesn't appear to be any more glass in the wound.”

“Thank you for checking.”

Comte could tell Mitsuki was relaxing again and so he released her hand and started walking towards the door.

“Wait here cherie. I'll go and fetch a first aid kit and send Arthur or Sebastian out with it. We wouldn't want you to wander into any of the other residents like that.”

“Alright.”

Comte left the balcony without another word or a backward glance. His throat was burning out of control and his mind was racing.

That was too close, how could I have scared her like that! She looked so frightened and-

“Luv? Oh Comte, sorry old chap I thought I smelled-”

Comte looked down at his hand and noticed he had traces of Mitsukis blood on him.

“She's fine Arthur, just a bad cut. I was actually on my way to get a first aid kit then find you or Sebastian.”

“Where is she?”

“On the balcony.”

Comte watched Arthur head off down the hallway towards the balcony for a moment then continued on to his own room where he locked the door behind him.

Arthur found Mitsuki standing on the balcony cradling her hand, one of Comtes handkerchiefs pressed against it.

“What happened luv?”

“Arthur! I just cut myself on some glass that's all.”

Arthur took in the scene before him and put together with what Mitsuki told him of her and Contes outing and the way he looked it made his eyebrows furrow.

“Are you sure you're alright?”

“Yes, Comte took the shard of glass out and then gave me his handkerchief.”

Arthur let go of a breath he wasn't aware he was holding as he inspected Mitsukis hand. Finding no shards he began to wrap her palm.

“Once the bleeding has mostly stopped I'll clean and wrap it properly for you. It shouldn't take long, now come here.”

Arthur pulled Mitsuki towards him, placing a kiss to the top of her belly before turning her away from him and wrapping his arms tightly around her. They stood there in silence for awhile when Mitsuki suddenly tilted her head upwards.

“Was Comte ok?”

“Why do you ask luv?”

“He seemed….hurt.”

Arthur sighed remembering the fevered look in Comtes eyes and glimpse of his fangs he had caught during their brief exchange.

“It's nothing that won't heal with time.”

“Are you sure?”

Arthur looked down at Mitsuki and saw the concern in her eyes. He wasn't sure at all but he couldn't bear to tell her that so he smiled and kissed the top of her nose.

“The old chap is stronger than he looks so don't worry about him, just focus on this right now.”

Arthur moved his hands to caress over Mitsukis belly and she laughed.

“Alright Arthur, I trust you.”

I really do hope his willpower holds out but regardless… I know we'll both do what we need to do to keep you safe.

[saturnluvva]

IFHY

pairing: fem!reader + enemy!mattsturniolo

warnings: angst, cussing, jealousy?

blue - matt

pink - reader / y/n

orange - Chris

purple - Nick

summary: when matts biggest enemy y/n starts talking to a boy from his hockey team matt gets jealous.

A/N: I hate this. also, might make this a 2 Parter or a series.

- Matt's POV -

I've hated y/n my whole life she was so difficult to get along with. she was either always talking about boys or makeup which are the most boring things ever. it always confused me on how my brothers even tolerated her as much as they did but I guess that was none of my business.

"EARTH TO MATTHEW" nick yelled in my ear like the idiot he is. "Huh?' I replied I was acting like I didn't hear him at first, but I really didn't Wanna believe what he said 'y/n is moving to LA for the next 2 months!" Me, Chris, and Nick moved to LA about a year or two ago because of our YouTube channel.

I hated how Nick and Chris were friends with y/n because that's mean that I couldn't escape her whether it was a short visit, or a long call made by nick.

"wh-" before I could even say what I had to there was a ring at our door "is that her?!" Chris asked as he ran down the stairs. nick shrugged and went to open the door. there she was the worst person in the world.

- Y/NS POV -

I saw nick and Chris opening the door to their house the first thing I did when i saw nick was giving him a big hug since it felt like forever since id seen him. and I hugged Chris right after even Though he kind of smelled like blue cheese. right after I hugged Chris, I saw him. I put our past behind and walked up to him "hey" but i was met with silence and a look that made me feel uneasy `what do you want" finally he spoke. was it the words I wanted? no but it was good from him "hi. how are yo-" he walked away. he always did this maybe it was his way of thinking he's won the argument. but I wasn't arguing with him this time. "what's his pr-" I heard him slam his door. 'Bitch..." I thought to myself. "That doesn't matter! let's catch up for a while until matt learns not to be a dickhead!" I laughed. nick was always the funnier triplet he always knew what to say and when to say. I spent next two hours catching up with Nick and Chris it was really nice I had talked about all the new people and boys I'd met.

- Matt's POV -

as soon as I came out of my room to get something to eat, I heard that annoying bitch "yeah there's this new guy I'm talking to! his names Austin" Austin. I'd always hated Austin I never knew why though. maybe it was his hair. his smile. his face. or his attitude. he'd always just rubbed me the wrong way. but now he's "talking" to y/n I hate him even more for that. not because I like her or anything it was because he never kept a relationship for more than a month and knowing how much of a crybaby y/n is I just know that once the relationship ends, she's gonna come to nick and Chris crying and I'll never hear the end of it. it felt like he was plotting on me, and I hated it a little more than I hated him and y/n.

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

it was 12:00am which was usually the time Chris and Nick were asleep, so I went downstairs to get some leftovers of the canes we had bought earlier. but as soon as I reached the last step, I saw y/n in the living room and walked up to the couch where she was sitting "why are you up so late..." she had jumped from the sound of my voice "just not tired" bullshit. I'd seen her phone in her hand already "texting Austin?" I'd had the biggest smirk ever.

- Y/NS POV -

there he was with that dumb smirk on his ugly face. "No! why would I be doing that?'' "I'm a great liar!" I thought "you're a horrible liar" dammit. "What do you even see in him?" dumb question "he's actually nice to me."

"You should go to sleep. c'mon" "why?" "You know the rule." shit. the rule was that I could only sleep in Nick and Chris's rooms if I go to bed at the same time as them. I've always hated his rule but who was I to break it? exactly. "fine" I rolled my eyes and stood up

I'd l laid down next to him in his bed with my back facing him I didn't mind sleeping in his bed it was the fact that it was his bed.

the curiosity was killing me "so... how many women have you fucked on this bed?" "50" "ew!' I instantly jumped up from his bed and he started laughing. 'I'm kidding." "Maybe like 3 or 4 depends on if you count me actually Cumming at the end" "freak" I was actually disgusted even if he was joking.

"You asked" I ignored him. he was right but I wasn't gonna give the satisfaction of knowing that and he knew it.

I gasped as I felt him lean over me "what?' "You know Austin's only gonna break your heart?' "Shut up." "Nah I'm good sis." I rolled my eyes. it was hard dealing with matt because if he wasn't being a dickhead and annoying the shit out of me, he was being a sassy asshole.

[ddoxhan]

letters from me to you

every letter you didn't send to jimin

word count : 0.9k words

genre : angst; you loved jimin more than you ever imagined, and it hurts that you still do; non-idol! karina x gn! reader

t/w : none :) other than a relationship breaking apart and there's absolutely nothing that can be done about it

a/n : unrequited love, something so ever ethereal yet burns a hole in your heart and leaves a scar you will never forget. but does it hurt more when it becomes unrequited? since it wasn't from the beginning, and you had a taste of that person's love.

— 26/01/2014 | sunny ☀️

to my dearest jimin,

happy first anniversary! it's been 12 months, 365 days, 8760 hours, 525,600 minutes since you said yes under those bright stars on this very day last year. time has gone past so fast yet so slow, when I look into your eyes, everything around us seems to slow down and allow me to drown myself in those galaxy-like orbs of yours. you know I've never been expressive with my words hence this letter but still, I can never find the very words to convey my love to you. however, these four words might actually just do the trick.

I love you, forever.

your love

—  11/04/2015 | spring sun 🌸

to my crybaby jimin,

don't get mad just from reading 'crybaby' but I can't help but call you that. not after you so adorably sniffled while watching 'the notebook'. I just wanted to squeeze those cheeks of yours but I knew you were going to be upset for breaking the mood, so I held myself back. okay, this was definitely not the purpose of this letter, but oh well, I just wanted you to know you're the cutest.

happy birthday, my baby jimin! once my baby, forever my baby. I hope you had a blast today after been to the amusement park, cafes and even the late night movie later before the end of your big day. I have never been more blessed with a gift like you to be in my life and better, as my girlfriend.

once again, happy birthday. let's spend this day together in the years that are to come. I love you, forever.

your beloved

— 08/07/2015 | cloudy ☁️

to my precious jimin,

I know I'm in the wrong so I am not going to make up any excuses to justify what I did. you felt hurt and neglected by my actions and nothing can ever undo those wounds. but will you let me make it up to you? if you need time to think, take as long as you need because I'll be right here waiting until you give me a chance to prove my love for you that never faded. if anything, I only find myself loving you more than I did the day before.

work has doubled in amount but I should have known to try harder to spend time with you despite that. it is my responsibility to do that, yet I chose the easy way out and hurt you. I'm so sorry, baby. please forgive me. I love you so so much, I love you, forever.

your dumb bear (still in regret)

— 17/03/2016 | rainy 🌧️

to my wonderful and amazing jimin,

there is nothing special about today, surprise! although there isn't a special occasion today, I want to let you know that every day that I spend with you is special and every moment we have together is engraved in memory forever no matter what happens.

I know I can be cheesy but I feel like every time I tell you that I love you, it just feels more overwhelming and unbelievable. so unbelievable that I have the most beautiful; in and out; person in the whole world as my girlfriend. it would be better if one day, it would change to my wife. I can already tell how your face would start burning up and the tip of your ears cutely beet red. even though I had told you I love you numerous times, it never feels enough. I love you, forever.

yours forever

—  02/10/2017

to my lovely jimin,

it's been five years since we've been together, and I know how you are when something or someone upsets you. if you don't talk to me or even be next to me, I would not know what to say or do to help you, honey. we promised to never go to bed with complicated feelings, regardless of whether it be about us or someone else. you said it is not good for the health if we keep our feelings bottled up.

if it's about me, please, please tell me what I did wrong. tell me what I need to fix so that you would not be upset. please, talk to me, jimin. let me be by your side as I always did. I love you, forever.

—  19/01/2018

to my one and only jimin,

please take me back, I love you so much. please don't leave me all alone in this shared home of ours. it's too painful to see the memories of us, filled with happiness and joy. let me still call us, us. please, please come home and whisper sweet nothings like you used to, say that everything was all a prank. that you went overboard with the joke. please bring me into your embrace and stroke my back, tell me everything's alright, we're alright.

I love you, jimin, you know that right? I love you, forever.

yours

.

.

.

.

you know, I've always imagined us walking down the aisle as I take you in my hand and swear the oath to be each other's seasons, side by side all the way through our future days together. but sadly, all I could do now was clap for you, your happiness with your lover, staring at each other so lovingly on the pedestal. if you were happy, so would I be.

because I've always loved and will love you forever, my jimin.

[spurgie-cousin]

one part of adhd that i really hate is just knowing there's people out there that think of you as an unreliable or careless person 😕 like how i perceive time and the passing of time has been an issue since i was a kid, i was always chronically late to things (and still am sometimes) so a lot of ppl i know have running jokes about that, but some of them like my family definitely don't understand the connection bt the two things so i know there's sometimes actual anger and frustration behind the jokes. and that they just probably think im a selfish person who doesn't care about other people's time when in reality ive bawled in my car on the way to an event i was supposed to be at 20 mins ago so many times bc i felt like i tried so hard not to do that and just something went wrong, again.

i also lose stuff constantly and throughout my life i've lost some pretty important things, which not only makes me feel awful but makes people who don't understand just assume i'm a careless moron who doesn't understand the value of things when literally nothing could be further from the truth bc i went through a period of being broke as shit for years....so if anything i really feel like i place too much value on some things bc subconsciously I'm worried that if something happens to it I won't be able to fix or replace it. if I didn't live with someone else who kept me in check I'm almost certain there are things I'd like, hoard.

idk sometimes i try to explain the connection to these kinds of things to people and you can just see it in their face that they don't really believe you and might think you're just trying to come up with excuses. and it makes me want to be so defensive bc i try sooooooo hard all the time and it's so upsetting when you're doing that and STILL having these issues‼️ like the fight to convince myself that I'm trying to cope with a disorder and I'm not inherently just bad and dumb after actually believing that for nearly 3 decades is an every day uphill battle so 🥲 to know a lot of people would agree with my past self and can't understand that is hard

[skayafair]

Scared Vi

The thing I was finally able to put into a thought and into words after staring at gifs for 2 hours straight: throughout all the post-timeskip Arcane Vi is fucking scared of everything that's going on around her. AND she's on the brink of losing it pretty often. I need to rewatch (no idea when I'll be brave enough to ride this rollercoaster again) but I didn't notice it while watching, because, WELL, there was already TOO MUCH to take in, so some more subtle details escaped me. I've caught that Vi is very vulnerable in her honesty, openness and straightforwardness, but that wasn't all to it, and it bothered me! Because all three don't ooze the vulnerability 24/7 and that's what Vi looks like to me nearly all the time!

So I was wondering.

And here's the answer. She's been suddenly released out of her cell into the world that is now completely unknown to her. Yes the air of freedom is great, and she enjoys it, but at the same time there's always this frightened undertone.

She's constantly on the edge.

Not in the least because when things that used to be familiar, like your home, ones you used to know like the back of your hand, change but not completely, it's the worst trap of all, the most confusing and anxiety inducing. How much of what you remember is still the same? How much changed? Can you trust its exterior even if it looks the same? Or would it betray you in the worst possible moment? How do new things work? How do they work WITH the old things? I've experienced it once coming back to my former workplace that changed quite a lot but no one bothered to fill me in so I was piecing together the information for a YEAR. And I might not be the brightest but I'm not dumb either. I'm pretty good with systems. It was BAD.

So I can't imagine how much worse and disoriented Vi must have felt. And Caitlyn took her out of jail to SHOW HER AROUND. Having no idea how the world Vi used to know so well changed just in several years. So she's on a look out all the time. And her eyes, her expression betrays her put up exterior of confidence and maybe even arrogance, leaking this anxiety and straight up fear almost all the time.

She looks like a frightened, lost little girl. And when she doesn't, she looks like a desperate teenage girl who tries to punch her way out of every problem because she's backed into a corner and that's the only way she knows, even if it never helps. (No seriously, the only time it helped was against Silco's thugs and EVEN THEN they weren't completely dealt with and kept causing problems straight up to the bridge fighting scene. Vi's fists kept her alive and safer but they never SOLVED anything.)  

I think the way she looks just SCREAMS fear and anxiety when she and Powder/Jinx fight back to back after the torch scene. Jinx looks like she's completely in her element, she knows these guys, she's been in situations like this time after time. It's habitual. She's very confident and almost careless there, moves freely, she knows what she's doing. She might even enjoy it. Vi, on the opposite... Vi, who's all about loose body language, free movement and such - nearly curls up into a ball against Jinx's back, keeping her fists and elbows close to herself. Vi NEVER looked like this again, I think. I... believe she was the most thrown off kilter back then. She finally found her most treasured and the only remaining piece of her past - her sister, and sure, lil Powpow changed, she had to survive, but she's still Vi's little sister!

Right?..

Wrong. Powder-Jinx back then is the quintessence of the trap Zaun is to Vi now: familiar pieces are all there, they're recognizable even if a bit changed, but you never know what lurks under the surface.

And gods does Jinx just demolish every last bit of the ground Vi was standing on. It's not even when Jinx goes full on unhinged, it's when she simply starts blasting bullets all around. When she fights and she's confident in what she does. Vi doesn't know this girl. Vi doesn't know this gang flying around. I bet she doesn't even know this TECHNOLOGY because the world made a whole leap technologically while she was stuck in her cell isolated from pretty much everything. It's like a literal time skip for her. And she doesn't know what to trust, so she can't trust anything no matter how much she wants to. And she HAS to want it, because she looked genuinely hopeful fresh out of Stillwater. Before she saw what her home turned into. Silco really did bring the monster out of it, not just himself or Jinx or shimmer junkies. The whole city. So Vi looks small, and frightened, and I think she's even panicking back in that scene.

She's ready to snap at any moment.

It's very interesting to me, because she looks tough and very mentally healthy on the surface but boooy are there mountains hidden underneath.

Vi does snap, actually. Several times. Her voice cracks as she's trying to convince Ekko she's THE Vi, same she used to be. She charges at Sevika TWICE. I think second time was much worse btw. She literally downs a drink IN THE MIDDLE OF A FIGHT - I don't think it was out of mental stability. And, well, the cry in the end. She won, and it helped nothing again. Even her mental state. Another fragile moment with Vi is the way she looks around her sister. Vi is confident and action-charged by nature, she's energetic and isn't shy to take up space. So she never looks small... except when she's around Jinx. She's drowning in guilt, and this guilt is spilling out.

Interestingly enough, scenes when Vi DOESN'T have this scared/guilty/anxious/desperate look is around Cait. She's either playful, or actually confident, or even RELAXED. Which is... wow, all things considered. Part of it is a put up facade, of course, but only in the beginning. The ship sails itself huh...

A lot of people pointed out Caitlyn is about future in Vi's life centered around the past, but I think what's more important is that Cait is about the present. Plus, she's a familiar - an enforcer, a topside - turned unfamiliar in a GOOD way.

Gods once again I'm baffled at the level Arcane is thought through. These are subtle, small details, expressions that aren't exposed or accentuated like many other ones. They are underlying, but once you notice them it's a whole new tapestry unfolding right before your eyes.

As you can see, I'm very normal about Arcane and Vi in particular, yup, totally cool 😌👌✨