#SHE LOVES HER COUSIN SHE LOVES HER COUSIN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[jiminrings]

six degrees of yearning

pairing: yoongi x reader

wordcount: 10k

glimpse: you're associated to yoongi through six different connections, and you're just hoping that he loves you back in atleast one.

alternatively, you believe in the six degrees of separation, and yoongi's just kind of sick of always coincidentally seeing you.

[ fluff, angst, mutual pining except yoongi's avoidant so He's An Ass At First, initial unrequited love, jealousy, not really a soulmate au (but looks like it w the way yoongi crashes out every time u ignore him (except u are jus reciprocating what he'd normally do!!), reverse cards aka the turns have tabled yippeeee, redemption ]

notes: now #that it think abt it, this is a relatively light fic amongst ALLLLL my yoongis (both tumblr n patreon)!! enjoy :P

as always, lmk what you think <3 send in feedback n love to my askbox anytime!!

Yoongi doesn’t believe in connections.

He neither believes the power and the convenience of the supposed connections he has, not because he worries about the ethical parameters of pulling some strings (he literally could not care less if someone talks shit behind his back), but because Yoongi’s never found any real use for them.

His dad says that he has a friend who works as the head of security in the newly-opened outlet mall in the city, and unless Yoongi’s planning on shoplifting a pair of authentic, luxury cargo shorts (that’s in either a hideous color or has an outrageous factory defect like the zipper being stitched on backwards), he’s not really scrambling at the offer, if it even sounds like one to his dad, with his hands outstretched for the car keys.

Yoongi has also heard from his mom that she has a second cousin who’s a dean in this one university that’s hard to get into. Nevermind the fact that the department she’s heading has something to do with numeracy (and the other glaring fact that Yoongi has to whip out a calculator to make sure he knows what he’s doing with the numbers on the microwave) — his aversion towards even considering the offer of being directly enrolled stems from the fact that the said uni is literally hard to get into because the building’s two hundred years old and he doesn’t want to give himself the stress of having to talk to the walls.

It’s not to say exactly that Yoongi’s turning his back on the entirety of connections his family has and the opportunities they could offer. He’s not saying never to the chance of being able to enter a flagship frozen yogurt store three hours away from his house, thirty minutes early (he doesn’t even know for what reason) or shaking his head at the prospect of one day renting a comically large bounce house and rock wall bundle for a party free of charge.

It’s just that Yoongi has no will to exercise his connections, nor believe in them in the first place, because there’s not one that’s ever really benefitted him yet.

It’s to your understanding, however, that Yoongi’s your mom’s best friend’s son, and that fact alone makes you believe in the sheer beauty and providence of having connections.

The first time your mom’s best friend’s son, Min Yoongi, properly interacts with you— outside of seeing him in passing during compulsory family photos in reunions (where you had to take over for your mom multiple times in taking pictures because she just does not seem to ever grasp the concept of taking a photo without her thumb on the way) and video calls between your moms (where the two of you had no choice but to take over because they just kept making the mistake of calling the wrong people) — is at your family’s dinner table.

Yoongi thinks your family’s a hoot to be with, really, even with the way your dad’s dry sense of humor is rubbing off on his own and the way the wallpaper in their bathroom just keeps changing with every Pinterest board your mom could conjure. 

He doesn’t mind that much; he doesn’t mind the closeness nor the rapidly growing amounts of teasing, because although Yoongi’s always known that you and him basically grew up together without being around each other that much at all, he figures that it’s harmless.

It’s harmless for the both of you to know far too much about each other without having even been left together alone in a room, because he figures that it’s just what moms do. It’s harmless for your moms to keep telling the other random details about their lives and their children specifically, because while you know that Yoongi had once mistyped 40 seconds for 4 minutes in the microwave and almost gave their kitchen a very, very bad day, you don’t know if his eyelashes are short or how many piercings he has on each ear.

Now that Yoongi’s here though, right next to you at your family’s dinner table, because your parents are engaged in a heated debate about whether carrots are better eaten in their original or in their miniature form and you’re the only children here for this, you realize three things.

First, Yoongi’s lashes are long and dense that point downwards, and second, is that he has two piercings on each ear.

Third, is that you thank every auspicious thread in your life because Yoongi happens to be your mom’s best friend’s son, and you’ve never seen someone so charming and enigmatic up close. 

 "You could feed them to the dog so it's not as obvious," he leans down to whisper, eyes pointedly lingering at the way you’ve basically scooted all of your vegetables to the side.

"We don't have a dog," you mutter defeatedly, voice fading to a chuckle when you look up and realize that he’s too close; like he’s too familiar with you to the point that he doesn’t see any issue in having his face just inches away from you in attempt to be discreet, when really, it would take an earthquake and a half to even pull your parents out of their debate.

“You don't?" he tilts his head, scrunching his nose in confusion. "Why's there a collar and a leash in your coat rack then?"

"Because I thought buying them would pressure my parents into letting me adopt one.”

Yoongi chuckles softly, the amused smile that settles on his face making you blink once, twice, the weight of his lazy, comfortable expression almost distracting you from the way his hand moves to your plate.

"Here. That's my share," he nudges his head to your vegetables, chewing and swallowing the noticeable dent he had made on your plate without even flinching. “Rest is yours."

"But it tastes horrible," you frown. "You only want it because you're from a granola household," you murmur, the slip of your tongue making you purse your lips immediately. "No offense. Love your mom, by the way."

"What kind of example would I be if I don't force you to eat your veggies?" Yoongi rolls his eyes, resting his cheek on his palm with an almost bored (and slightly entertained, you hope) look to his face.

You should be grateful that he even considered helping you out, but it just doesn’t hit you yet. You don’t want to count your blessings immediately because Yoongi doesn’t look like he’s going to stop being gratuitous anytime soon.

Almost as if you don’t see him leaving your thread of connections within the future.

"Fine. Just one more spoonful,” he yields, mistaking the wistful, dazed, and slightly unhinged expression behind your eyes (you wonder if Yoongi knows about the sidewalk rule, or what side of the bed does he sleep on, and whether or not he’s the type to jump to your family plan or the other way around) for genuine distraught over him not helping you.

You can’t help but feel a little too fulfilled; a little too prideful of being connected to Yoongi, who’d clear the mountain of vegetables on your plate when your mom’s in a crazy, nutty health kick, even if you’ve never gotten the opportunity growing up to ask him what flavor of scented erasers he liked nibbling on or when his first kiss was.

You like Yoongi.

You like him and his ginger hair and the undercut that’s working really well for him, even more than your older sister’s best friend’s cousin who sells imported factory overruns of your favorite jeans (read: the Japanese selvedge denim that you’d never tell anyone where you got it from when they react to your pictures).

You like him and his habit of chewing on nothing when your conversation dwindles and you’re still racking your brain for tangents to continue it, even more than your uncle’s ex-wife’s (who always had you as her favorite) new husband’s food truck that sells your favorite baked potatoes.

You know you would like Yoongi, whether or not he’s your mom’s best friend’s son — it’s that simple.

It’s not so simple, however, when he lingers by the edge of the living room when he hears the telltale patter of your parents ramping up to say their goodbyes, right after decimating each other’s Letterboxd reviews. You didn’t want him to go just yet; you wanted to hear more of his stupid opinions and see his stupidly handsome face even longer.

"You know, it wouldn't be so bad if you just bring home a dog and then ask for permission later," he hums. ”It's not like they can do anything about it."

"And have me and the dog brought back to the shelter?"

"I can convince my mom to have your mom go easy on you," Yoongi shrugs.

"But she's a cat person and mom's just— she's a person, alright. She doesn't even want to have a pet fish."

"Who do you think made her a cat person?" Yoongi snorts, slightly struggling to put his coat on which makes you have the knee-jerk reaction of scrambling to help him, the sincerity (and almost rabid eagerness) of your hands making his eyes widen momentarily. ”I brought in a stray, then she made me sleep out in the porch for a night, but now? She literally cradles Miso to sleep."

It should just be another tidbit about Yoongi that you’re supposed to forget.

It should just be another seemingly insignificant nugget of information that would awe you, but never endear you to the point that you find yourself thinking about him and your red thread (one that you keep tugging on telepathically because although you exchanged numbers and socials, he’s not doing… anything) — something that wouldn’t keep you up at night.

Yoongi and his horrible, godforsaken influence don’t leave you at all.

Yoongi, your mom’s best friend’s son, and the stupid, detailed facts you know about him linger in your system like a red thread stands out on the pink linen runner in your family’s dining table.

You text Yoongi, late in the night, just once, with a picture of a comically large, skrunkly, and funky-looking dog on your lap, whom you could finally call your own.

her name’s veggie :]

Yoongi sends just one text back in the morning, attached with a picture of Miso sprawled out, sleeping on his shoulder with remnants of cardboard in her mouth. 

yippee!!!!!!!

( ♡ ) 

Yoongi’s your ear seeding guy’s roommate. 

Jin who’s not really a licensed auriculotherapist, but who’s your age and Just Happens to be fond of sticking little tiny beads on his ears and his clients (three including you and himself), doesn’t have an actual shop he could call his own yet.

To have one, it would mean he actually needs to get a certification for what he’s doing instead of practicing his self-taught degree from Reddit University, with his esteemed professors being his grandparents, his parents on a good day (when they’re not being undermined by their parents), and some person aliased Jay M. Rings on Etsy who not only sells him his equipment, but keeps answering his questions.

More importantly, Jin (whom you only knew of because he was sat next to you in the library and flicked your conch when he heard your stomach audibly grumble) would need to rent out a place that would bleed him dry, assuming nobody would pay the ideal 400% upcharge to your existing payment so he could keep the spot.

It doesn’t bother you at all that Jin keeps the ear beads next to the orange juice in his fridge. It doesn’t make your brows draw knowing that he forgets to ask you atleast 75% of the time what you were in for before he starts working. It doesn’t even perplex you when you hear Jin hum for two solid minutes right after you ask him what could possibly happen to you if said beads were to fall right into your ear canal.

The only singular time that Jin, your uncertified but family-trained auriculotherapist, actually makes you perk up into attention is when he leaves you momentarily in the living room of his shared dorm, muttering how you might see his roommate but you’ve got nothing to worry about because “he could be an ass sometimes, but he’s polite to strangers” — is that he’s never really told you that he lives with Yoongi.

Jin, bless his heart, who had no reason to ever assume that you know Yoongi in the first place, was right to leave you momentarily in the presence of his friend who’s just as confused to see you sitting on his stool in the counter.

“We’ve got to stop meeting like this,” he mutters, the supposed playful thrum of his voice sounding far too real towards the end.

Yoongi’s not even dressed for class or work by the looks of it. Instead, he looks every bit the other paying half of the dorm you’re in. From his ginger hair that’s toned down and a little longer than the last time you saw him (read: it’s much longer judging by his roots, but you can’t even think about that right now), all the way to how his sleep shirt features the silhouette of an actor for a superhero that’s long been cancelled before, you have no doubt that it’s your mom’s best friend’s son staring you down.

“Yoongi,” you smile, voice a little breathless despite having done nothing at all prior to seeing him in the flesh. “Why are you here?” you ask, the lump in your throat making it impossibly discreet that you’ve long connected the dots even before you could utter a response to him.

“I live here,” he snorts, running a hand through his hair in an attempt to make himself look a little more presentable (but not that he cares or anything). “Are you here… for me?”

You have no doubt that it’s your ear seeding guy’s roommate who’s making your brain fuzzy.

“I want to say so,” you chuckle, nibbling on your bottom lip. “But I don’t think you do ear seeding like your roommate does.”

“You know that Jin only has three patients right? Me, himself, and I don’t know who the third one is, but he told me that it’s his first client ever.”

“That would be me.”

“Oh,” Yoongi deadpans, narrowing his eyes. “You know he’s not certified, right?”

“I know,” you nod, trailing off as you look down at the floor to try and not to look like an utter fool in front of Yoongi who looks way too lax about your unexpected meeting. “And he doesn’t even charge that much for someone who can’t legally do this, but am I crazy?” you murmur, fading into a whisper as Yoongi stalks towards you on the counter, working around your figure as he fishes for the orange juice. “Am I crazy for feeling that Jin… makes it work?”

“I’ve been in denial about it for as long as I could, if that helps,” Yoongi whispers back, surprisingly not weirded out with the way your voice had dropped as he gives you your own glass wordlessly. “I pay him to do it, but I don’t want it to get into his head that he might actually be onto something.”

“Right? I think it’s a-…”

“What are we whispering about?” 

Jin comes out of nowhere and you practically jump out of your skin at his interruption, your ass just seconds away from dropping to the floor if not for the very glaring realization that Yoongi’s here; that your body’s split-second response could possibly dictate your entire future with Yoongi, and that your embarrassment would seal the horrid fate of both your threads.

“You guys know each other or something?”

“Sort of,” Yoongi answers for the both of you, looking at you with his eyes thinking out loud as he ignores Jin’s muttering of why he wasn’t poured a glass of orange juice. “Y/N’s my… mom’s best friend’s daughter.”

“Yeah,” you affirm, testing the words on your tongue. “And Yoongi’s… my friend?”

He only shrugs.

“That works too.”

It could and it would work for you, because the way Yoongi lingers around you as Jin works on your ears gives you a different type of constipation that not one cold, tiny bead could fix.

It should work for you, because you’ve never been this ecstatic over incidental connections in your lifetime; not when you learned that you can get 20% off your breakfast muffin orders from this famous joint in the city because your great-grandpa was the first cashier for it maybe a hundred years ago (you do not have a grasp on time past your parents’ ages), nor when you found out that the librarian is the stepmom of the kid you used to babysit and she’d let you bring home anything you want.

“Stop talking to Y/N, Yoongi,” Jin grumbles at some point, exhaling more pointedly than usual when he doesn’t get to stick the bead at the exact pressure point that he needed to. “Her ears are too warm right now.”

“No, they’re not,” you immediately retort, the sharp flit of your gaze to him making him mockingly curl his upper lip at you, rolling his eyes at your denial.

It must work for you, because even Jin, your ear seeding guy, could tell that whatever crush or admiration you have for Yoongi would be devastating — it’d be only endearing, if and only if, it was requited.

Yoongi texts you sometime in the evening, a few too many hours later after you left his apartment. You weren’t necessarily expecting for him to holler at you by the doorframe, asking you to give him a call to let him know you made it back safe; Yoongi didn’t require that of you, and it should be okay.

You’re only friends. 

You’re only a friend who unknowingly drank from his favorite, always-washed-and-dried mug, and he’s only a friend who had texted you at 8 in the evening with a picture of Miso on his mom’s lap 

one time i woke up with two less beads on my ear and i never questioned it

You’re only a friend who rapid-fire texts your dad for a picture of Veggie just to immediately reply to Yoongi, even if said image you receive is a live photo of her snoring with the flash going off on her snout.

there would be No Answers either :D

( ♡ ) 

Yoongi’s your little brother’s dentist’s godson. 

In an attempt at self-preservation (read: working a job wherein he doesn’t feel the need to brawl when faced with a customer with a phone whipped out), Yoongi finally relents to trying one of his connections over the break.

It’s fairly easy, really. He doesn’t have to spend his day looking down on other people’s mouths nor hold the suction for the dentist on duty or anything at all; Yoongi’s not exactly making bank, but all he has to do is be a pretty face in the reception area, schedule appointments here and there, type out a few Excel sheets, and his godmother swears that’s it.

You only wish those were the actual things in his job description, because as soon as you walk in through the double doors, you convince yourself through hell and back that Yoongi’s here for every other reason besides working his summer job.

You wait for the other shoe to drop, for him to telepathically communicate to you (without even making eye contact), that he’s been significantly older than you all this time and that he has a DMD degree and he’s only been humoring you during all your previous interactions, and all the aforementioned is a nudge to letting you down slowly.

You wait for it to hit you that perhaps it’s not really Yoongi-Yoongi whose side profile is facing you, but instead some random guy that has one of those faces, while your little brother waits for you to resume functioning again.

He’s dressed in scrubs, but Yoongi has one of those faces which you could tell have never worn scrubs before. It doesn’t look natural in his frame with the way he looks too foreign and polished in them, almost as if he’s never even stretched upward to pick up something from a cupboard or twisted his arms laterally to get rid of the aches in them. 

Yoongi looks like he doesn’t belong in the dentist’s office thirty minutes away from your childhood home, until he blurts out your name in equal confusion.

"Y/N?" he tilts his head, the unsure tone that coats his words making you snap into attention, walking towards him with a renewed purpose in your steps. “What are you... doing here?"

"I'm here to hold his hand," you answer as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world, waving your occupied hand proudly (when just awhile ago you were complaining how clammy your brother’s hand was) with a hesitant smile. "What are you doing here?"

Yoongi’s lips part in astonishment, almost as if he didn’t count on you returning the question to him. He loosely points to the framed picture of the dentist behind him, the chuckle that leaves him making you nod eagerly even before the words could leave him, making it painfully obvious that you already connected the dots to some sort of degree, but you still want to hear him speak nonetheless.

"She's uh, she's my godmom and I'm putting in some hours.”

"Are you getting paid?" you blurt out, eyes later widening when it registers to you that your desperation to keep your conversation going knows no bounds as long as it involves Yoongi, making you swallow your own shame with a cough. “Sorry. I'm just a little nosy.”

Yoongi clears his throat at that, pursing his lips in genuine thought at the (valid) question. ”Uhm, not exactly, I think? I get handed money at the end of the day but really, it's not-..."

You wanted nothing more than to retract your question even before Yoongi could muster finishing his train of thought.

You wanted nothing more than the ground to swallow you whole when Yoongi can’t even finish answering your question, to which you already seemingly crossed a line with, because he’s preoccupied.

Yoongi’s not preoccupied with the way your brother’s started drifting away from you, even with his hand still clasped to yours, except this time he’s treading closer to the reception desk where he stands in, body language glaringly evident that if you were to even loosen your hold on him for a split second, he’ll hide behind Yoongi’s feet to avoid getting his routine cleaning.

He’s not distracted either with the way you keep blinking up at him as if you were communicating your admiration for him in Morse code, nor with the way your lips are still parted with the next awaiting conversation greaser if he were to stall.

Yoongi does stall, not because of you, but because of the woman that strolls into the clinic and past him, her manicured hand grazing past his midsection in the process.

"Hi, Yoongs.”

"Hey, Jisun,” Yoongi immediately replies with a sheepish smile, his hand buffering by his side to return the touch with a gentle pat as his eyes follow her, the flustered lump on his throat making him cough sharply.

Oh.

It’s not Yoongi who doesn’t belong here — it’s you.

"It's more for the experience, then? Not the pay?" you try to finish his thought for him, your voice on the verge of fading if not for the little drops of self-preservation in your throat that keep you standing upright.

Yoongi doesn’t look embarrassed over you seeing the interaction unfold, and he’s not uneasy either. He just looks sheepish… almost pitiful that you had to see something so unnervingly warm and intimate without even meaning to.

“That's one way to put it."

Without another word, you nod firmly and he takes that as his signal to actually do his job.

Without another glance, you do your job and hold your little brother’s hand throughout his appointment, steeling your nerves every time you hear the door to his room open because it would be pointless to look back. There’s no way it’s Yoongi finding an apt reason to linger near you, and there’s no way either for you to come back for conjuring such an expectation.

Yoongi rings you up with no discounts (he's not sure if he's even allowed to) yet he leans in just enough to ruffle your brother’s hair, gaze fixed on him before it flits to you briefly.

"Good job, buddy. Go pester your sister for some ice cream,” he hums, the almost-customary, dry-humored, and slightly playful goodbye rekindling a little bit of hope in you, enough to make you look up from your shoes without worrying if you have to see Yoongi’s midsection grazed by a hand that isn’t yours, again. ”Say hi to Veggie for me."

You nod tightly in obligation.

"I hope Miso's well."

( ♡ ) 

Yoongi’s sister is the amateur hairdresser who gave you a bad haircut for free in cosmetology school.

For the record, you weren’t searching up Yoongi’s family name and making up a family tree as you went in order to find ways to be closer to him. That wasn’t the case at all.

The only pressing situation you had last night on-hand was that your mind was plagued with the saying that hair apparently holds memories, and after a few barely-passing major exams here and there that hours of doom-scrolling and back-to-back partying couldn’t fix, and you decided then and there that you’d get a haircut first thing in the morning.

Your budget wasn’t that of a pressing issue (it’s no match to the marks on your university portal you could only blankly stare at), but it’s truly up there. You couldn’t afford to go to your usual salon, which although may not be the most expensive salon there is in the city (but they did serve iced drinks in-house so that atleast counts for something), would still set you back a few good meals throughout the next two weeks if you were to book an appointment.

You had no choice but to suck it up. You wanted change and you wanted it quick for a fraction of the usual cost, and that’s why you ended up in the cosmetology school just a few blocks away from your dorm. You only knew five minutes prior to walking there, thanks to a classmate, that they offer services for cheap and that most of the time they end up being actually really good, and you didn’t need to hear any more after that.

In hindsight, however, you should’ve stuck around to hear more.

You should’ve stuck around to hear that getting A+ (maybe even C-) treatment at a cosmetology school is basically entering the lottery, and that you shouldn’t have had a perk in your step walking to there because a higher power, whether it’s up in heaven or just a few blocks away, would mistake it for you being too confident in what you thought you deserved.

You didn’t think too much about the way the woman named Eunji, who happily sat you on her chair with a nervous smile and familiar eyes, kept glancing to the back of your head and to the reference picture on your phone.

You didn’t think too much when she engaged you in conversation and something about the way she laughed made you squint your eyes as you rack your brain on why she both looks and sounds familiar, nor the way your hair kept getting into your eyes as she blowdried you and how she made no move in moving it the last minute.

It’s a little bit funny that the one time you didn’t think too much is the exact moment when you should have, and the whole vignette stops being funny as soon as you turn your head sideways.

The whole bit goes sideways, just like your haircut, when Yoongi walks towards your hairdresser who’s not earned her actual license yet.

"Here you go, princess," he scoffs, handing her a cup of iced coffee. "Had the time of my life explaining your order to the barista in the drive-thru booth."

Yoongi takes off his sunglasses, ready to rip her a new one and detail how he had never been more embarrassed knowing the difference between the concepts (concepts, not actualities) of white chocolate and white mocha somehow, but he suddenly stills.

He knew there was someone sitting on his sister’s chair, and he wasn’t really bothered lecturing her in front of a stranger.

Except you’re not a stranger — you’re you, sat on Eunji’s chair, and you’ve physically never looked this unrecognizable to him.

"Y/N?" Yoongi mutters, unwilling to even wait for your acknowledgement before he snaps his heads towards his sister. “Why's she in your chair?"

"Being supportive," you answer clippedly, only looking at Yoongi’s reflection in the mirror instead of the very real, and very solid him beside you so you wouldn’t have to turn your head and see your haircut in a whole new sense. "Also saving my allowance and I needed to get a trim, so I-I figured... why not go to Eunji?"

Yoongi doesn’t want to beat a horse when it’s down.

He really, really doesn’t want to laugh at you, but with the way you’re blinking at him like you’re held at gunpoint (except the gun is his sister’s shears), he can’t help but put a hand over his mouth.

He’s not laughing, but he is smiling. Yoongi’s thoroughly amused and deeply pitiful for you all at the same time, and he doesn’t know how his smile figures into the scheme of your haircut just yet.

"I could think of a few reasons."

"What do you think?" Eunji cuts in, asking with a nerve-wracking grin on her face with her hands clasped together, the watery gaze she has set on you tugging at your heartstrings in a much different way than when she had tugged at your ends.

"I love it," you answer breathlessly, tears pricking at the corner of your eyes as you try to ignore how much length has been cut off and how the layers she gave you are more of an emotional, haircut-related crashout kind. “Oh my god, I love it so, so, so bad."

Eunji breathes a deep sigh of relief at that, her shoulder sagging before she picks herself up and gives you a hug from behind, dashing off to get her camera from her locker instead of her supervisor.

You love the Min family.

You love their warmth and their constant presence, no matter how incidental or fixed.

You’re trying to love the existing skills of their third-born, however, but you can’t tell if your love is that unconditional for a family that’s always treated you like their own.

"Do you need a hat?" Yoongi asks, his upper lip tucked in between his teeth as he continues to stand behind you. "You look like you need a hat."

"N-no. I really, really..." you hesitate, your exhale far too slow for someone who’s genuine, but far too stable for someone who’s pretending to keep it together. "...love the change."

Yoongi gets a full-body shudder.

"I don't," he quips. "I don't think anyone but Eunji would love it."

"Yoongi.”

It’s simple. 

It’s just a simple utterance of his name and yet Yoongi stops cold in his tracks. He reels back the emotion that’s clear on his face, and he lets go of the money he has crumpled in his fists inside his pockets for you to get another haircut at a salon you actually want to go to, because he doesn’t want you to mistake his genuine pity for you as patronization.

You’re on the verge of crying, but Yoongi doesn't wipe your tears. Instead, he just hovers; he’s still there, whether you like it or not, and he could only hope that his striking resemblance to his sister doesn’t further set you off.

"You need a hat," he quietly murmurs, removing his cap from his head and putting it on yours seamlessly. "You don't have to give it back.”

Yoongi leaves it at that, watching you walk out with gas as soon as Eunji finishes taking photos of your hair, before turning his attention to his sister. Her coffee order isn’t the biggest issue they have for the day, instead, it’s her shitty hairdressing skills and how you’re far too kind.

It’s close to midnight, right after you reschedule your ear seeding appointment with Jin for another day because you couldn’t bear seeing anyone with your fuckass haircut (he unfortunately doesn’t know any pressure points that would make your hair grow back longer, and he did research on that after being suspiciously silent when you sent him a picture of your hair), when Yoongi texts you.

He doesn’t talk about The Incident. He doesn’t apologize and go on a rant about how he could’ve reacted better awhile ago.

He just sends a picture of his cat sleeping snugly in a Dutch oven that he got from a blind box and drove to another city for.

sometimes miso throws up orange fur she is white btw

You reply not a minute later before locking your phone.

good night miso

( ♡ ) 

Yoongi’s your best friend’s best friend other than you.

You’re not one to gatekeep. In fact, you’re the number one hater for every creator who washes up in your feed and suggests for you to go manually type up and search a link or press another button to know the follow-up to the already lengthy, chatty video you already watched.

You know you’re not privy to most things; you’re not even privy to anything at all.

It’s not a conundrum with a tight space for it to be debated upon; it’s just the truth. 

The very idea of everyone in the world being connected to each other within six degrees of separation was shaky in itself. If you were asked to, you can’t exactly place the most far-fetched celebrity in the media and trace back the six or less people that would serve as the bridge for you to be acquainted to them. 

You believe, both in a pipe dream and the innate hope you harbor, that you can be connected to said celebrity or anyone just as significant (maybe even notorious), yet it’s the semantics of trying to pinpoint your exact link that you can’t be bothered to do so in your free time. You’re in no rush to discern how many degrees separated you are from the mayor of the city, and you’re not jumping at the opportunity to know how many handshakes away you are from the executive producer of your favorite show.

You believe in fortuity. You believe in the hope that contingency promises and how ridiculous your current chances could be. You believe in select customs when they serve you and you put your hands together to ward off what don’t. You take what resonates with you, even if your belief in tomorrow comes from a long line of whatever came before you that you don’t fully believe in or if it spawns from the clench of your chest that you get when you see something scribbled in a brick wall and you decide that it’ll forever echo in your mind.

You’re not privy to the general admiration you have for Yoongi, nor are you privy to all the connections you have with him.

You believe in fortuity and you believe in Yoongi, but the two aren’t always synonymous.

"Yoongi?" you ask, the slip of his name from your mouth appearing out of habit rather than actual disbelief. “What are you doing here?”

He looks like he belongs here. He belongs here as much as you do and as much as you’ve never questioned the specifics, he looks you up and down with a discreetness that doesn’t belong in a party as big as this.

Yoongi makes Jimin’s party feel small to you. He zeroes in on you with a gaze that you can’t begin to dissect because a grunt slips past his lips before you could even explain what you were doing in the same space as him, again.

"What are you doing here?" he purses his lips, exhaling sharply. "Y/N, it's great to see a familiar face and all, but please don't stand so close to me," Yoongi grunts through his teeth as if your proximity to him physically pierces through his clothes and sears his skin. "I'm seeing this new girl and she gets a little bit-..."

"Hey."

Before you could even try to recover from the recoil of stepping away from Yoongi immediately so he could entertain her, before you could even try to nurse the harshness of his words and his gaze that penetrated your belief in him — Yoongi gives you a further light nudge in panic before backtracking, his arm now across your shoulders.

"She's my cousin, baby," Yoongi breathlessly greets, the belated addition of your name never falling to your ears because you choose not to know her; because you’re rendered frozen anyway when you realize that Yoongi introduces you as someone far more personal to him, yet someone even more distant to anyone who could see you. “Say hi, Y/N."

You can’t even be introduced as his friend.

At the back of your mind, you doubt if being introduced as one would even make a difference because the woman before you doesn’t seem the least bit interested nor intimidated at however Yoongi introduces you as.

You weren’t competition to her, nor did it feel like you were viable opposition to practically anyone in Yoongi’s life.

"Hi," you nod curtly, the clench of your jaw doing little to ease the migraine that blooms from the back of your head.

"Pleasure to meet a family member of my boyfriend, finally. He won't take me home for some reason," she jokes, her outstretched hand being taken by yours that’s gone cold, making her raise a brow, yet she takes it in stride anyway.

Anything for Yoongi’s supposed family, it seems.

"What was Yoongi like growing up?"

"Oh. Yeah, we didn't see each other that much growing up," you swallow, the shallowness of your tone making Yoongi’s casual arm around your shoulders falter, the slyness of his gaze on you curving into something unidentifiable. “Every time I see him, I still... learn something new."

Your voice tapers off, and both Yoongi and his girlfriend let you be. She only pushes for a little right after, when Yoongi’s hand is back snug to her waist and her head is pressed to his chest, yet you can’t bring yourself to add to the conversation she so badly wants.

She should know that she has no reason to impress you. She should know that she doesn’t have any reason to be afraid of letting you down, because neither does Yoongi.

Jimin, yours and Yoongi’s best friend, claps. 

“I’m back! Got in this long-ass line and-..." he trails off, looking between you and Yoongi and his girlfriend. “Oh? You've met each other then. Great!"

Her eyes only narrow in confusion for a split second, but she lets it be.

Yoongi lets it go, right after he sends a few glances your way and realizes that Jimin’s talking to you animatedly.

You only let go of it when you get home from the party far too early than anyone could account you for.

The grasp you have on fortuity is barely firm, just barely getting by, so much so that you don’t even look at your phone when it vibrates on your nightstand.

jimin’s asking where you are

The grasp you have on Yoongi is barely solid, only enough to hold onto thread instead of cloth, that you don’t reply to his text when you see it in the morning, nor bring up the very fact that it was Jimin himself who hailed a ride for you.

( ♡ ) 

Yoongi’s a familiar stranger to you. 

He’s basically a crow to you, and to him, you remain to be the pesky, overeager, and insanely optimistic human who wants to domesticate him.

He’s a highly-intelligent, unforgetting, vindictive creature. He knows patterns when he sees them but never flukes, not because he thinks he’s too good for them, but because it felt impossible.

To you, the world had never felt smaller when Yoongi first sat next to you at the dining table.

To Yoongi, the world had never felt bigger since he’s first crossed paths with you. It wasn’t the dining table for him. It wasn’t every other interaction that came after — it was everything before.

As soon as his eyes lay on you from across the floor of the reception hall, the warmth that spreads across your chest is everything but welcome. It stings and it burns and it leaves marks in its wake because it’s Yoongi and it’s you and there’s no other explanation.

There’s no other plausible, full-bodied explanation for the way Yoongi hates familiarity, other than the fact that it’s from you.

There’s no salve for his lack of need for you either.

“Are you a fucking stalker?” 

“W-what? No!” you stammer, eyebrows drawn together as you try to level with him. “This is pure coincidence. I wasn’t even trying to— all the times before either, I swear! I never intended to bump into you.”

Yoongi rolls his eyes, the scoff that leaves his lips only adding to the uncomfortable warmth that burns your fingertips.

“Say that you’re right. That every interaction, every meeting, every discreet instance of you shooting your shot at me, which by the way is not discreet at all, is just pure coincidence— do you think I’m happy about it?”

You want to correct him.

You want to point out every thread between you that’s there yet you never pulled on. You want to write his name on a piece of blank paper and map out with yarn all the degrees you’re separated from him, and yet you don’t. You can’t focus on anything with regards to proving yourself right and him wrong when all you can zero in on is the little amount of self-preservation you have left.

“But you don’t hate me, Yoongi,” you murmur, shaking your head earnestly. “You said it yourself. Y-you said it’s nice to see me and-…”

“I said that in the past but I don’t mean it now! Yes, you’re familiar, and that benefits me when I get put into situations and all I happen to know is you,” he snaps, throwing his head back. “I don’t mean it now. It’s not very nice to see you when everyone, including the girl I actually like, just assumes that we’re together because you kept looking at me!”

“B-but I don’t-…. I-I don’t do so well in new-…” the words die in your throat, the gentle yet firm tug he has on your wrist making you freeze in its inescapable warmth. It should be familiar. Yoongi should be familiar, but he feels everything besides that. “But you’re the only one I know.”

“Here. I’ll introduce you to someone and then you can hang onto him.”

Yoongi wordlessly takes you across the hall, delivering you like you’re some misplaced package that ended up on his porch. He doesn’t even look back at you despite his hand being wrapped around your wrist, whereas all you can do is burn holes at the back of his head with your gaze, ignoring the curious onlooking to your predicament as you swallow the lump in your throat.

“Hey, Jungkook,” Yoongi makes his presence known as soon as he sees the familiar mop of hair within his eyeline, his holler effectively taking said guy’s attention.

“Oh, hey-…”

Yoongi, without sparing a second glance to you, nudges you gently to him.

“This is Y/N. Someone I know. Can you watch over her for a second?”

Jungkook, the guy you’ve known for a total of two seconds, hesitantly receives you with a pat to your arm, letting his hand linger there as the both of you look at the back of Yoongi’s retreating figure.

“…okay?”

Just two seconds ago, Jungkook was in a heated one-on-one with his friend Hoseok if it was ethical for one to let their hypothetical girlfriend’s hypothetical close friend sit in the front seat, if said hypothetical girlfriend was drunk and wanted to lay in the backseat (Jungkook’s on team not let close friend sit shotgun) — now, he’s in a silent one-on-one with you.

It’s silent, of course, until you sniffle.

“Oh my god, are you alright?” Jungkook panickedly asks, fishing out a handkerchief from his pocket. “Do the tears have to do something with how weird Yoongi was two seconds ago?”

“Yeah.”

“I figured,” Jungkook, someone you’ve known for less than five minutes, rubs comforting circles on your back.

You don’t mind.

“I’m sorry. I drank from this awhile ago but I swear I didn’t spit on it or anything,” he frowns, his hand outstretched invitingly enough for you to interpret it as friendly, but distant enough for you to have the chance to be wary. “Or do you hate drinking from a stranger’s water bottle that’s already open?”

“It hasn’t happened before, but I don’t think I’ll hate-hate it,” you mumble through broken sniffles, turning your head briefly, partly to wipe away your tears, but mostly to not look like a complete idiot. “Also, you’re not a stranger.”

“Right! I’m Jungkook again, by the way. I don’t think Yoongi even said my name properly because of how fast he was dying to get out of here,” Jungkook laughs, the sincerity flowing out of him being easy. Uncomplicated.

You drift to your default silence, nursing your cries to yourself while trying not to make a sound, but it’s proven difficult when you see two large hands underneath your downturned head: one holding the water bottle, and the other cupped underneath it.

Jungkook thinks your questioning gaze is directed to the way his hands are positioned instead of his default kindness for you, and just maybe everyone else he’s ever encountered.

“Because your hands are shaking.”

He lifts the bottle to your lips, being extra careful in tilting it and having his hand tuck right under your chin to ensure that not a single speck of water would drop to the elegant dress you’re wearing (that you’ve only borrowed, unlike his assumption that you just have the number lying around).

Jungkook sheepishly excuses himself right after you tap him on the forearm to let you know you’ve had your fill, the snort that leaves his lips almost disturbing his methodical pouring of the remaining water to the bottle cap.

“Sorry. I’m a little bit thirsty myself.”

“You could just drink from your own bottle,” you find yourself genuinely laughing the first time into the night, shrugging playfully. “Just a thought.”

“But I don’t want you to think I’m a weirdo for drinking from my bottle deliberately after you drank from it,” Jungkook frowns.

“Of course,” you nod eagerly, gesturing to the live image of a man as structured as him taking tiny little sips from an even tinier bottle cap. “This isn’t any weirder at all.”

“Thank you, pretty girl,” Jungkook bows in the most regal way he could, the grin that graces his face easing the weight that Yoongi had left on your chest. “Not bad for a first impression, hm?”

.

.

.

Yoongi has a habit of mumbling.

Jimin has a habit of eavesdropping, especially when it’s Yoongi mumbling angrily to himself.

“Well that’s fucking weird.”

“What?” Jimin clarifies, furrowing his brows at the annoyance that’s plastered clearly on his friend’s face.

Yoongi doesn’t explain. He just barks at him, arms crossed on his chest as he exhales slowly.

“Go bring Y/N a bottle of water. Don’t tell her it’s from me.”

“A please would be nice,” Jimin mutters. “And no? Give it to her yourself.”

“She’s your best friend.”

“She’s your friend too.”

“She’s not,” Yoongi corrects him, the adjustment falling short because Jimin doesn’t even flinch at the attempt.

It’s pure, utter bullshit. It’s a propaganda that he won’t fall for and it’s a movement that even Yoongi himself isn’t truly invested in.

“She’s not?” Jimin echoes. “The girl who hates driving in the dark and in the rain, who drove you to the airport in spite of all that because my car was in the shop last week, is not your friend?”

Yoongi’s breath hitches at the reminder. 

His heart buckles at the way he didn’t even know you were scared until now, because you only talked to him that day like normal. Like nothing bothered you.

Like warm, as always.

Like you.

( ♡ ) 

Yoongi’s not intentionally seeking punishment.

Frankly speaking, he doesn’t even know exactly what’s he’s asking from you. He doesn’t know if there’s a word for the hollow, all-consuming guilt that’s planted in his chest and grows roots in the pit of his stomach and blooms in the back of his skull.

If Yoongi were to hear his own words repeated back to him, with even just a fraction of the amount of vitriol and misplaced frustration, he would’ve called it then and there. He would’ve hurt himself and ran for the hills right after to recuperate because there’s no amount of distance that would ever stop the echoes of his own tirade.

You weren’t Yoongi, however, and he’s never hated that fact more.

It’s beyond good, maybe even immaculate that you weren’t him, because you were far too better. Far too warm and too good, because even though Yoongi doesn’t seek punishment from his own hands, you wouldn’t deal him the same deck of cards if he were to explicitly ask you.

“I’m so sorry, Y/N. You didn’t— fuck — you didn’t deserve that at all and I’ve never been more stupid,” he apologized through the bedroom door of your childhood home. It was his parents’ monthly catch-up with your own and although the invite wasn’t really open for everyone (not one child from either families came with whenever it was this time of the month), Yoongi jumped at the opportunity to come over. You were still warm, although not for him, but not one second passed wherein you took out your anger for him to his parents who didn’t know any better.

“I didn’t mean any of it. I-I was angry, and I was frustrated, and I didn’t know how to juggle everything — but I’m not making excuses! I’m being honest, and the truth was that I was an asshole and I took it out on you,” Yoongi had apologized to you in his dorm when it was time for your session with Jin. You didn’t work your way around him to change your routines; you stayed rooted and despite being overwhelmed with guilt and the need to make himself better, it’s Yoongi who bended backwards by not fleeing at all. You didn’t take it out on Jin, and you didn’t even take it out on the apparently lucky succulent that Yoongi had slipped to your hands during one of your sessions.

“You can push me away. Please. Y-you can cuss me out and everything, and I know I’m asking for forgiveness and you can keep saying no, but I-I’m not doing this to absolve myself, y’know? I just don’t want you to have my… my own words linger in your mind,” Yoongi pleaded to you during your little brother’s return appointment at the dentist. It wasn’t even summer. He’s not even working for his godmother anymore, and yet Yoongi still came into the date he booked your sibling for. You didn’t give him attitude; you didn’t take it out on him in public.

What Yoongi seeks from you is indiscernable. It’s neither penance or punishment. It’s not forgiveness or absolution.

The only absolute thing that Yoongi knows he wants from you, even if it’s within his lowly means and that equates to being beneath you, is something akin to familiarity.

It hurts to see you there but not for him. It aches to see you everywhere and digest that the only times your gaze would land on him is when he makes himself painfully known for your anger and frustration to snag on, anything, really, just to be reminded that you know him enough— even if it’s just barely to get by — to be annoyed over.

You’re everywhere and Yoongi doesn’t complain, even if every single bone in his body is just yearning for the warmth that he took for granted when your shoulders would touch and your knees would brush and your eyes would meet. 

Yoongi’s being burnt alive from your frigid avoidance towards him, even if you’re practically everywhere he goes, but he doesn’t flee.

He’s not avoiding you. He’s taking the hurt and he keeps taking it, because although it’s not punishment enough, it’s close enough to warmth.

It’s close enough to familiarity, even as he pulls desperately at all the threads that bind the two of you close but never together — because it had only been him who had delayed the latter from happening.

“I’m not making excuses. I-I’m being honest and it’s ugly in hindsight, but it’s the truth,” Yoongi whispers, gnawing on his bottom lip as he stands outside of your dorm with no buffer this time; no other connection, no other degree of separation. “I-I wanted to be connected to you in every single way without— w-without anyone else bridging the way for me.”

“That’s stupid,” you mutter.

“I.. know. God, Y/N. You don’t know how much I think of you and all these stupid, fucking ways I want to be your guy for everything,” Yoongi throws his head back, running a hand through his face as he tries to regain his footing. “I-I want to be the guy who fills up your wiper fluid and double checks if you’re being ripped off at the shop because you’re too pretty. It’s stupid, and I know that, but I thought you’d have the tendency to be like your mom a-and be infatuated with wallpapers one day, and I want to be the guy who talks you down from sticking them to the granite your apartment came with-…”

“You sound like an idiot, Yoongi.”

“It’s idiotic. It’s so, so stupid. I want to be your bootleg designer sunglasses guy. I-I want to know how to cut your cuticles and touch up your layers. God, I even have handwritten notes on how I could be the most annoying, present being in your life and-…”

You slap Yoongi very, very lightly.

It’s practically just a tap on his cheek that wouldn’t even be enough to spook a bug off your arm, but it’s you. It’s you and your touch and your warmth and Yoongi literally jolts with electricity, the words stopping right at the tip of his tongue as you stare him down.

“That’s stupid, Yoongi.”

“I know. It’s so stupid,” he shakily affirms, cheeks impossibly warm at your touch. At your proximity, even if your chest is far from touching his own and even if your hand that was on his cheek is now back on your side. “It’s stupid that I kept pulling down the collar of my shirt when I first sent you that picture of Miso, a-and how I’m a grown man but hid behind my literal cat every time I felt that it was getting too real and I-I couldn’t keep up.” 

Yoongi didn’t always believe in connections, and you have no doubt about it.

You have no doubt about Yoongi’s stupidly honest and sincere outpouring either.

“Stupidest thing I know,” you affirm with a whisper, nodding your head tightly.

Yoongi didn’t always believe in fortuity. 

He didn’t believe in yearning and contingency until it dawned into his thick, stubborn skull that what— who — he wanted most is you.

“I want you in all the ways I already know you,” Yoongi relents, not out of surrender, but out of admission. Out of sincere, full-bodied truth. “I don’t want to stop, sweetheart. I don’t wanna stop thinking and being all the ways I could ever be connected to you.”

[camdunez]

Will You Let Me In? | s. leforteza

song playing: ego — josh levi | touch me — victoria monet (feat. kehlani)

paring: sophia leforteza x gn!reader summary: you grew up in the church under a father who feared the devil in your hands. now you play the blues in secret, letting the sound free when no one watches. that changes when your war-worn cousins smoke and stack drag you into their plan to build a juke joint on haunted ground. the music you make inside those walls begins waking things up. including her.

sophia watches from the trees at first. then the crowd. then closer — until you see her one night, standing too still, eyes locked on your fingers. her beauty is disarming. Her presence is wrong.

but the way she looks at you — like you’re holy and hers — is worse. genre: mild angst, supernatural, word count: 3.9k warnings/tags: mild language, real suggestive, time period piece, vampire!sophia, sammie!y/n, a little bit of manon x y/n (pearline!manon), blood, colonial trauma and ancestral longing, slow-burn obsession with gothic erotic undertones, sophia believes she loves you — in a way only something ancient and starving can. a/n: adding onto the vamp!sophia agenda. this is for @jaelvrphnz ;) hope i gave you what you wanted!

the juke joint was breathin’.

sticky air hung thick like molasses, and every corner of the room pulsed with heat and hush. folks sweating, laughing, swaying in that lazy way folks do when they been drinking all night and crying with their bodies instead o’ their eyes. overhead, a pair of bare bulbs swung like ghosts on a noose, humming over the sound of you.

sitting on that crooked stool with your guitar in your lap, chin tucked low, fingers talking to the strings like they was something holy.

you didn’t play for applause.

didn’t play for no woman.

you played ‘cause something in your blood wouldn’t let you do nothing else.

and the whole damn room felt it.

even the walls leaned in.

and she was standing out on the porch. talking to cornbread— well.. cornbread was talking to her while she stood in silence.

didn’t move none. didn’t light no cigarette. just stood there, watching, like she’d been carved outta moonlight and left there to haunt. skin smooth, hair dark and wound up neat, coat dragging the floor like she ain’t felt heat since moses walked the earth.

didn’t look like no woman from ‘round here.

didn’t act like one neither.

just stared at you like you was the one thing she’d been waiting on for a thousand years.

your fingers hit a sour note. you covered it fast.

but she saw.

she smiled.

when the set ended, manon leaned in behind you, voice low and sugar-slick.

“who dat out yonder?” she asked, passing you a glass. “she been starin’ holes through you since the first strum.”

you looked.

she was still there. and cornbread was long gone.

like the night was her home and she didn’t mind no waiting.

“don’t rightly know,” you muttered. “ain’t never seen her before.”

“she give me chills,” manon said, rubbing on her arm. “like them stories mama used to tell ‘bout folks that don’t belong nowhere.”

you didn’t answer.

didn’t need to.

because that woman — no, that thing — stepped forward.

just a little. just enough to stir the remainder of the inhabitants inside the juke joint.

and she said it.

“your blood hums when you play,” she said, clear as a bell.

and then, everything stopped.

smoke lifted his head from the bar, eyes narrow.

stack sat up slow, like a man hearing something dangerous in the wind.

the whole room seemed to lean just a hair, breath catching.

you rose, slow-like. manon followed, her fingers brushing your sleeve.

behind you, smoke and stack moved too, silent and close.

you stepped to the doorway. just shy of crossing that line.

sophia stood there, not a hair outta place.

“you ain’t invited,” you said, firm.

“not yet,” she replied, lips barely parting. “but I imagine that’ll change.”

stack’s boots creaked behind you.

“ain’t nobody invitin’ you in here,” he said, voice hard as gravel. “so turn ‘round, keep walkin’.”

she didn’t even blink.

didn’t see him.

her eyes were pinned to you.

“I wasn’t speakin’ to you,” she said smooth. “nor to your brother.”

her gaze softened as she looked back at you.

“I was speakin’ to them. the one who called me.”

“ain’t called nobody,” you said, but your throat was tight.

“oh, but you did,” she said, her voice like silk sliding through shadow. “when you played that first song... when you opened your heart and let it cry for the dead. you cracked the veil, just a little. I heard it singin' across the trees.”

she stepped closer.

then froze.

a flicker — like she hit an invisible wall.

you saw her jaw clench just a hair.

“still holdin’,” she said, mostly to herself. she chuckles. “old magic. you folk sure do keep your doors shut tight.”

smoke leaned forward.

“don’t reckon you belong here, miss,” he said, hand hovering near his belt.

“I’m not here for y’all,” she said, tone unchanged. “I’m here for the one whose blood remembers things even they don’t.”

she looked at you again.

“do you know what you are, Sammie?”

“I know you standin’ on my kin’s porch askin’ questions ain’t none of your business,” you said.

“oh, but it is my business,” she said, eyes bright now. “because when you play — when you really play — I feel my ancestors stir in the soil. And yours? Yours come walkin’. that gift in your hands ain’t just sound. it’s a summons.”

manon’s hand curled around your wrist.

“don’t listen,” she whispered. “please. you know better.”

“they know the truth,” sophia murmured. “even if it frightens them.”

she tilted her head.

“let me in, sammie. let me come in and show you what your music can truly do.”

stack stepped forward.

“I swear to God, you take one more step—”

“God’s not here tonight,” she said, sharp now. “only blood. only memory... and only them.”

she extended a hand.

“say the word. just once.. and I’ll kneel at your feet and sing your name in every tongue you forgot.”

the room was dead quiet.

sweat rolled down your spine. Your guitar felt like it weighed a thousand pounds.

you looked at her.

and for a second — a second — you saw what she saw.

the fire.

the power.

the hunger.

and then Manon squeezed your hand. Stack shifted closer. Smoke’s shadow crossed yours.

you blinked. Took a breath.

and you shook your head.

“come back when the music wants you,” you said, and turned your back.

the crowd never quite came back after she left.

even with the music on and the glasses clinking again, a chill hung in the corners. folks laughed a little louder than they meant to, as if trying to drown out what they’d seen — or hadn’t seen. smoke muttered something to stack before heading back behind the bar, where his hands moved twice as fast as usual. the band played easy, trying to keep the current soft and forgetful.

but you couldn’t settle.

neither could manon.

she sat beside you on the backstage step, legs crossed at the ankle, eyes on the sawdust swirling in the air. she’d changed out of her stage heels, bare toes brushing the floor like she needed to feel it to stay grounded. her voice came slow, quiet.

“ain’t never seen somethin’ like that. ain’t felt somethin’ like that neither.”

you nodded, elbows on your knees, still holdin’ the guitar you hadn’t played since she spoke through that doorway.

“I heard her. felt her in my teeth.”

“what was that?” she asked. “what is she?”

you didn’t answer right away. the question sat between you like a third person.

you plucked a string just to hear the sound — but it didn’t feel like yours anymore.

“she called me somethin’. said my hands remember the dead.”

“your hands do more’n remember, baby,” Manon murmured, glancin’ sideways. “they wake ‘em.”

her words made you shiver.

she reached over and rested her hand on yours — warm, steady.

“you okay?” she asked.

you didn’t lie. just gave her a tired kind of smile.

“nah. but I will be.”

you leaned your head back against the wall, eyes shut for a moment.

“need a smoke,” you said. “Head’s ringin’. I’ll be back for the next set.”

manon looked at you hard.

“don’t let her catch you alone.”

“ain’t gon’ be gone long,” you said, forcing another smile. “you keep my seat warm.”

she didn’t smile back.

“you better come back with your soul, hear?”

“ain’t leavin’ without it.”

the night air hit your skin like a slap.

it was humid, thick with pine and ash, but still better than the heat inside. you leaned against the side wall of the joint, just outta sight, striking a match against the bricks. the flame flickered, caught the end of the cigarette, and you inhaled deep, letting the tension crawl out of your shoulders with the exhale.

you told yourself you weren’t lookin’ for her.

told yourself she was long gone.

but you were still turned toward the trees.

still waiting.

so when you heard footsteps — slow, barefoot, soft — you didn’t flinch.

didn’t even turn your head.

you knew.

“thought you weren’t comin' in,” you said, calm.

“I wasn’t invited,” came her voice — low, smooth, so close now it brushed the hairs on your neck. “but I never said I wouldn’t wait.”

you turned then.

and there she was.

sophia stood not five feet from you, framed by shadow, her coat open just enough to show a white blouse now streaked red across the collar. her lips gleamed — too red, too full — and a smear of blood shone at the corner of her mouth.

you stared at it.

she didn’t wipe it away.

“cornbread?” you asked hoarsely.

“he didn’t run,” she said simply. “hot fast enough.”

her fangs were out now.

not bared in threat.

just present.

like she didn’t need to hide anymore.

you held your cigarette steady.

“you always eat like that before midnight?”

she laughed — a sharp, beautiful sound that didn’t belong to a thing with blood on its mouth.

“oh you’re brave,” she said. “or just stupid.”

“you the one stalkin’ a man outside their own home.”

“your home doesn’t belong to you,” she murmured. “not yet. you still think it can keep me out.”

you stepped back half a pace. not fear. just... space.

“What you want?”

she tilted her head, stepping forward once more, into the soft light spilling from the open window.

“I watched you with her. that singer.”

“manon,” you said.

“she touches you like she thinks you belong to her.”

you didn’t answer.

her eyes gleamed.

“she doesn’t know what’s inside you,” sophia whispered. “she sings like she believes. you play like you remember. there’s a difference.”

she was beside you now.

close enough to touch.

close enough that your cigarette hand dropped just slightly, your other hand flexing like it wanted to move — toward her, away from her, you couldn’t tell.

then she did it.

she reached up.

one cold hand, porcelain-smooth, curled lightly around your jaw.

and she leaned in.

slow.

her lips ghosted past your ear.

her fangs brushed your neck.

not biting.

just... tasting.

“God won’t save you from me,” she whispered.

you stopped breathing.

the smoke curled outta your mouth, forgotten.

she hovered there.

her mouth on your skin. her teeth teasing the edge of your pulse.

then she pulled back — just an inch, just enough to look at you.

“but you could invite me in,” she said. “and I could show you what it means to never be afraid again.”

you stared.

your heart was beating so hard you could feel it in your tongue.

you wanted to step back. you wanted to lean forward.

instead, you dropped the cigarette.

crushed it under your boot.

“I said I’d be back for the next set,” you said, voice low. "manon n' the bands waitin' for me."

“so go,” she said. “I’ll be waiting.”

and when you turned to walk back inside —

she didn’t follow.

but her shadow stretched behind you.

long.

lingering.

hungry.

inside the joint, the light had shifted.

warmer now. softer, somehow. but it didn’t feel safe.

didn’t feel right.

manon stood at the center of the stage, one hand wrapped around the mic stand, the other resting flat over her heart like she was holdin’ in somethin’ that wanted out.

the room watched her.

men with hats in their hands. women with tears in their mouths. even the drinks had gone still.

and her voice?

it was a mourner’s hymn, stretched out in velvet and bruise.

“Mm-mm-mm... Lord don’t see me now... My hands too dirty for prayin’... But my soul still know how...”

the piano followed soft behind her, delta slim barely touching the keys. the whole place breathed with her. sank with her.

but her eyes?

they weren’t on the crowd.

they were on the open window.

the one with a shadow leanin’ just outside.

outside, on the far side of the juke joint, you stood half in moonlight, half in the dark, jaw tight, shoulders still buzzin’ from the feel of her — sophia — and her cold breath on your neck.

you hadn’t said a word since you stepped out.

didn’t need to.

smoke was already leanin’ against the wall beside you, arms crossed, eyes fixed on the woods like he saw ghosts in ‘em.

“she touch you?”

his voice wasn’t angry.

wasn’t calm either.

just direct.

you didn’t look at him. just answered.

“she ain’t bite me. If that’s what you mean.”

“that ain’t what I asked.”

you sighed, running a hand down your face.

“yeah. she touched me.”

smoke nodded once. Real slow.

“she cold?”

“like stone that remembers bein’ wet.”

“then it’s her,” he muttered. “same feelin’ I had over in reims. back when the bodies didn’t stay dead.”

you turned then.

“you talkin’ ‘bout the war again?”

he nodded.

“they came through the fog. pretty things. pale, pretty things. always after the quiet ones. ones who felt too much. they didn’t drink blood back then. they drank grief. drank it down like wine.”

you swallowed.

hard.

“she said my music calls to ‘em.”

“it do,” he said. “and it calls to others too. old ones. things that ain’t walked in sunlight since the first scream got trapped in a tree trunk.”

your fingers twitched, remembering the way sophia’s voice coiled around your name.

“she ain’t lookin’ for no meal.”

“no,” smoke said. “she lookin’ for belongin’. which make her worse.”

he looked at you now, square on.

“you let her in once — not just through a door, but through you — and you won’t be the same. you’ll still breathe. still play... but the strings won’t sing like they used to. that music won’t be yours no more.”

you flinched.

‘cause part of you knew he was right.

back inside, manon’s voice cracked just slightly, just enough.

“They say the devil knock sweet when he come... But he don’t knock twice... He wait for you to run...”

her hand clenched the mic tighter.

a couple in the back started crying.

delta slim looked up at her like he knew — like he felt the chill blowing in through that damn window too.

but still, she sang.

not to the crowd.

not even to you.

but to her.

to sophia.

to whatever part of her still stood just outside the reach of the floorboards, listenin’ like the whole joint was a confession.

outside, smoke lit a match with his thumb.

didn’t strike it against anything. Just held the flame between you.

“my advice?” he said. “don’t let that woman write her name in your blood.”

“ain’t plannin' to,” you muttered.

“you already playin’ like you miss her,” he replied, low.

you stared at the flame.

then at your own hands.

they didn’t tremble.

but they itched.

like the strings were callin’ again.

like she was.

and from the window?

you could still hear manon.

“mm-mm-mm... I can’t stop singin’ her name... can’t tell if it’s worship or shame...”

[vanessahenrey]

I agree with this so wholeheartedly.

Because it was also the same Annabeth who sobbed at her “dead” cousin’s funeral. Even though she hadn’t seen him in years- and their parents weren’t even on speaking terms. And the same Annabeth who hugged Magnus to the point where it was hard for him to breathe, and then offered to take him away to camp half blood because it would be the only “safe” place for him to go. And the same girl who made Magnus promise to call her back and let her know he was okay.

The same Annabeth who comforted Nico in The Last Olympian. When everyone else refused to acknowledge him without haste, disappointment, or aggression. And therefore was the only one who was actually able to get Nico to listen to her.

The same Annabeth who didn’t even know Nico, but was still worried about him after he ran away.

The same Annabeth who got the hippocampi to fall inlove with her off the bat because of how kindly she treat them.

The same Annabeth who felt protective over Nico because she could see that he was vulnerable and alone, and she knew exactly what that felt like.

The same Annabeth who Nico “Could seem to hate” because no matter what happened she always made sure to check on him and make sure he’s okay.

The same Annabeth who charms strangers, gets animals to fall inlove with her, never give up on the ones she loves, who cry’s in almost every book- is NOT the same Annabeth that the fandom portrays.

Annabeth is sweet. She’s a total nerd, (she went to the Lotus Hotel and turned on the nature channel while Percy and Grover ate junk food.) She loves the people in her life, she’s sensitive, insecure, and overly-proud. She’s terrified of being left behind. And the day people allow complex characters to be more than one thing at a time, is the day I can finally rest.

One thing which genuinely bothers me is Annabeth's perception in the fandom. How she's seen as this cold, stoic, emotionless, reserved and intimidating girl. When in reality, she's a character full of love.

Annabeth, who immediately cried and felt attached to Cerberus after playing with him for a few minutes because she wouldn't get to play with him again.

Annabeth, whose deepest desire, which the Sirens lured her with, is saving Luke and having a good relationship with both her parents.

Annabeth, who believed in Luke's goodness, even after all the countless terrible things he did simply because she had faith in his humanity.

Annabeth, who cried in Percy's arms before entering the labyrinth and refused to reveal the last line of the prophecy because it said to lose a love worse than death and the idea of losing any of her friends is too painful, heartbreaking and worse than dying.

Annabeth, who kissed Percy before parting with him in St. Helens because if he's going to die, she at least wants him to die knowing she loved him.

Annabeth, who took a poisoned knife for Percy during the war because she'd rather die herself than let him die.

Annabeth, who convinced Luke to switch sides by reminding him of the promise of family he gave her. Which in turn, influenced Luke's decision to end himself to destroy Kronos. Hello, she saved the world with the power of love.

Annabeth, who spent months after months losing sleep and searching desperately for Percy when he went missing.

Annabeth, who kissed Percy to eternity in public at their reunion, not caring what anyone is going to say or think. An asteroid could've hit the earth, and she wouldn't have cared.

Annabeth, who told Percy “I love you” when falling in Tartarus because if she was going to die, she wanted them to be her last words.

Annabeth Chase is a sweetheart, who has always felt things deeply and she's so full of love. And I think it's time we let go of the “cold-hearted annabeth” headcanon because it's not true, that's not her.

[date-everything-has-taken-over]

Headcanons pls for Celia,Dorian,Eddie and Volt,Koa dealing with Homeowner relatives who came to visit and are nosey kind who moves,fix or touch stuff around the house without permission

Ooooo I love it (Fukin HATE it when people do that btw)

Celia(can't find a good emoji for her😭)

●She’s hella annoyed

●Not only is your family disrupting the flow of the house, but they're causing extra stress for you

●She becomes pretty busy with the influx of complaints from other members of the house

●Not to mention the panic that occurred when your mom tried throwing away your "broken" record player (everyone in the dining room becomes extremely vigilant and keeps an eye on Rainey after that)

● Despite her new hectic schedule, she makes sure to set aside time for you

●Her office is open if you need a quiet place to escape your family

●You can rest your head on her desk as she does her work, occasionally placing a comforting hand on your head

●Unfortunately you can't stay long otherwise your family will come looking for you

●Since you (the only human) have your hands full with your family (specifically keeping your little cousins and their crayons away from Wallace) , she decided to handle the dateables

●After your family leaves, everyone breathes a sigh of relief and begins to put everything back the way it was (there was a serch for Mateo who had been "put away" by your aunt when you wernt looking)

●You, Celia, and Florence go room by room to undo all the rearranging your family had done

●Once everything is settled, Florence makes tea, and you all get the chance to finally rest

●I feel like after your family visits, she makes a plan for if they come back so they're more prepared

Dorian🚪

● Much like Celia, he's also pretty annoyed, but he's also disappointed in himself

●His job is to provide security and make sure there's no shenanigans going on, and as far as he's concerned, he's failing

●Your family is going around the house, snooping in places they shouldn't, moving objects around, and he can't do anything about it

●He makes a mental note of everything that got moved so he can help put everyone back once your family leaves

●Fully glaring at your cousin who snooped around your room (she left after feeling like someone was watching her)

● He watches as you try (and fail) to wrangle your family and the stress it's causes you

● Sinces, he's in every room he works with Celia, giving her the list of every chance that was made to a room

●He breathes a sigh of relief when your family leaves.

●As you close Front Dorian, you look noticbly drained as you lean against him

●He wraps his arms around you and lets you stay there as long as you need

Eddie & Volt⚡️

●The Breaker Box was actually closed while your family visited since they were using so much of the power

●They are both throughly unamused

●One of your uncles NEVER turns off lights after leaving the room. Then there's your cousin who has a bunch of things plugged in at once. Another family member had Hector on overtime blasting the ac

●They don't have much time to keep track of others as they're extremely busy bringing power to the house

●That doesn't stop them from seeing you, though

●At the end of the day(most likely after everyone is asleep), you head over to check on them(and to make sure Eddie's workaholic ass isn't pushing himself too hard)

●Eddie makes you a drink, and Volt sits next to you, draping an arm around you

●They listen as you rant about your family. How they invited themselves over and shoved themselves into your business

●"Well, live wire, you've certainly been busy today, and you are certainly ready to rest here as long as you need"

●Much like everyone, they are relieved when your family leaves (You and Volt have to force Eddie to take a break after all that)

Koa🛋 (Stright up couldn't find a picture of his love banner)

●My guy is STRESSED

●Your aunt got really into funchway and decided to move the furniture in the living room around when you weren't looking

●From the moment your family walked through Dorian. It's non-stop talking and arguments (mostly arguing)

●Your cousin uses his cushions and some blankets to make a pillow fort. He doesn't mind that, actually

●His main problem is your family's constant arguing. He sees how much stress you're under and feels awful

●When you take a brief nap on the couch, he tires making himself as comfy as possible

●You don't get the opportunity to talk much since the living room is out in the open(and talking to your couch would make you look crazy)

●But you're still able to enjoy a little but of quiet time together

●When your family leaves, he breathes a sigh of relief, enjoying the silence

●You take a well needed nap on the couch, and you enjoy much need quiet time together

[scannainscanrula]

salvation and rebirth

sir jimmy crystal x virgin!reader (18+ mdni)

After getting lost on a scavenging outing and ending up alone, you find yourself taken in by a group of tracksuited hunters and their eccentric leader...

author's note: hope yous like this one it's different from what i usually write and very very dirty warnings: dead dove do not eat, psychological manipulation, light horror elements, dubcon, breeding kink, fingering, masturbation, f/m sex

You knock an arrow in your bow, back against the trunk of a tree. You can feel the crags and knots of the wood even through your thick jumper and your sturdy jacket. 

You shouldn’t be here. Not alone. 

You and your cousin Thomas went foraging for baby supplies three days ago. He’s not really your cousin, just the son of a woman who was once a dear friend of your mother. She took you in after your mother passed, and Tom’s been like a brother to you ever since. His girlfriend Liv is pregnant and he wanted to surprise her. 

But you kept being pushed out further and further from the causeway, from safety and home.

You know the rules. 

Poor Tom, you think, looking wistfully at the trees where you put an arrow through his eye. 

“Nock an arrow, duck.” 

“No, no, Tom, please-”

“Nock an arrow, now.”

“Tommy, I can’t-”

“You shoot me right fuckin’ now!”

And so you did. 

It hurt for a moment, but then you had to run. So you took his quiver and his knife and ran. 

You found a moment of peace, able to transfer his arrows to your own quiver and secure his knife to your belt. 

He had carved a little smiley into it, and it made you sniffle. But then you heard a twig crack in the distance.

So here you are, scanning the treeline as you prepare to send an arrow at whatever comes running. 

You take a sharp breath. Your lungs burn from running and your body is hot, though the air of October is cold. 

You see one body and aim, then see another. Two more. Three more.

Run.

You bolt in the opposite direction, bow over your shoulder as you weave through trees. You come around a rocky corner and find yourself blocked by a rock-covered knoll you would have to climb.

“Ooh, look what I found, Jimmy,” a voice calls. You see a blonde girl in a tracksuit on the ridge.

“Please, help me up!”

Another blonde girl in another tracksuit kneels down and grabs your hand to yank you up as your legs try to aid her, pushing with your boots. You look back.

You run together until you find an old barn. The three of you scramble up to the loft and wait ford the infected to shamble by. You take a shaking breath and look at them.

“Thank you,” you whisper. “I really thought that was it.”

“You all alone?”

“Now I am,” you admit.

The two look at each other.

You give them your name, puffed out in a quick breath.

“Jimmy Ink,” the one in red tells you.

“Jimmy Jones,” says the orange one. 

“You’re… both called Jimmy?”

“We’re all Jimmy, babe,” Jimmy Ink says, eyeing you.

“Y-you’re from a village?”

“Not far from here,” Jimmy Jones supplies with a smirk. 

“Please, c-can I come with you? I brought some food, I can trade-”

“Ah, you gotta see the boss about all that.”

“The boss?”

They just grin at you, and don’t elaborate.

You don’t have much to trade anyhow. You’d picked up a crinkly baby toy and a milk bottle with the tip. An absolute score for your cousin’s girlfriend, who’s five months pregnant. 

The three of you try to fall asleep together. The two of them are snuggled up, but not like they’re in love. More like the way you would’ve slept next to your cousin. For warmth and comfort. 

In the night you hear them talking.

“Fuckin’ killer find, Inky. He’s gonna go mad.”

You wake up in the morning to a gentle hand on your shoulder.

“Let’s go,” Ink says. 

You nod, gathering your things and following them. You meet another tracksuited individual, this one clad in black and white.

“He’s called Jimmy Snake.”

You wave nervously. You continue on the road, collecting more Jimmys until you’ve got a veritable clan of them. Blonde hair, matching brightly coloured tracksuits, funny names. You wonder if maybe you’re having a nightmare, and you never really left Lindisfarne in the first place. Maybe you’ll wake up in bed, cozy and safe. And you’ll make breakfast for Liv and talk about what “baby” wants to eat. 

“Ah, she’s a bit rough, but she’ll do,” Jimmy Fox mutters to Jimmy Shite. 

“Strong though,” he responds.

“Yeah, but he don’t like ‘em strong,” Jimmima adds.

You follow them over a hill and to a derelict abbey. Your ma was religious before the virus, but not much after. Your aunty told you she was a kinder woman. The world around her made her rougher. You think about your aunty and Liv back on the island all alone. Without Tom, without you. 

One of them whistles from behind you, and Jimmima takes your hand, tugging you forward as you enter the cold and empty courtyard, a fountain full of murky water at the center. 

“Oi, you didn’t find her,” Jimmy Jones hisses, wrenching your hand away. She and Jimmy Ink lead you forward. 

A figure appears. Blond, tracksuit clad. Fingers littered with rings, cross chain around his neck, and a tiara perched in his white-gold hair.  

The Jimmys crowd around you, like they’re presenting you to him. 

“Oh, my,” he murmurs, approaching you.

He smiles, showing that he’s missing a tooth.

“Now where did these mad cunts find you?”

“I-I was running, um-”

“Me ‘n Inky helped her out,” Jimmy Jones chirps. 

“Oi. Don’t interrupt our guest,” he chides gently. “Ye come with me, love.”

It’s a command, not a request or an invitation. He says it sweetly, though. 

He takes your shaky hands in his, leading you to the church. The Jimmys don’t dare follow. 

He takes your hand and presses a kiss to your knuckles.

“I’m Sir Jimmy Crystal.”

You give him your name as you sit in a pew. He repeats it. He says it like he’s always known it, like it’s a realisation. Or a prayer. 

He gestures for you to continue your explanation.

“I… I was out scavenging… we were looking for…”

You choke on the words. You went out to look for any baby supplies. Liv is still pregnant. Still alone. Still waiting. 

“We?” 

“My cousin, he… I had to-”

He clicks his tongue, shaking his head.

“Awful shame, that.” 

He leans in.

“Lookin’ for what?” he murmurs, brushing hair from your face.

“B-baby supplies,” you manage to say, tears pricking at your eyes. “His girlfriend, she’s pregnant.”

You don’t notice Jimmy’s eyes lighting up at that word. 

“What a gift that is, to be with child.” 

“Oh, God,” you cry, all your feelings hitting you at once.

Jimmy cradles you in his arms, and you cry into the soft, worn fabric of his tracksuit. You feel the cool metal of the cross touch your temple and feel shameful suddenly, pulling back. You shouldn’t let a stranger hold you like that. 

“I’m sorry, I-I’m so sorry, y-you don’t even know me-”

He says your name again, taking your hand. 

“So, yer only owed comfort if I know ya?”

You sniffle. He wants an answer.

“Well, n-no-”

“Right. You stay here with me and my lads, eh? Get ye right. Patch up that cut.”

“Cut?”

You reach up and touch your hairline, feeling a sticky lukewarm substance you realise is your own blood. You spy a bloodstain on the white vest under his tracksuit where your forehead touched.

“I’m so-”

“Ye apologise again and I won’t let ya stay,” he jokes. 

“Thank you, Sir-”

“Just Jimmy’s alright, lassie.”

“Thank you, Jimmy.”

He grins at you.

“Can’t leave a thing like you out there in the cold ‘n wet.”

His knuckle brushes the side of your face.

“Yer too pretty for all that.” 

Jimmy leads you to a room, watching as you take every step. You peek into the Jimmys’ rooms, seeing that each of them sticks to their colour coordination very strictly. 

You look around corners and glance behind yourself every so often. He knows the lads can judge correctly. 

Not predators, scavengers. 

That’s what you are. Cautious, calculated. Precise. 

“No infected here, love,” he says, almost teasing you.

You let out a small laugh and pause before you apologise again.

“I…”

He raises his brows and you press your lips together.

“I’m used to being alert if I’m not home.” 

“I’m sure ya are,” he hums, eyeing you as you walk forward. 

You both turn into a simple room.

“This’ll do for now,” he says. 

For now. You don’t seem to catch it. 

“It’s all mine?” you ask softly.

“Unless ye want company,” he flirts. 

“I’ve never had my own room.”

You always shared. First with Tom as kids, then with your aunty after Liv moved in. 

The admission makes Jimmy’s head tilt. He has to hide a smirk. An animal that’s used to the storm goes mad when it’s calm.

“Well, I’ll leave you to it.”

“To… what?”

Jimmy looks at you funny. The lads are always begging him for a break. 

“Don’t you wannae… rest?”

“Oh, I feel rested. I’d like to help, if I can.”

He leans in the doorway, crossing his arms. 

“What can you do?”

“I can sew and I can cook. Very well, actually.”

“We need sewin’. Ye would think those lads run through barbed wire half the time.” 

“Are they… what are you?” you ask cautiously. “To each other, I mean?”

“They’re my flock. This is my parish, I’m their shepherd.”

“And you’re all Jimmy?”

“Right.”

“Why?”

“Why not.” 

You blink at him.

“Can ye read?”

You nod.

“We have a school in my village.”

“School,” he repeats. “What do ya learn at school?”

“To read and write. We learn maths and we learn how to kill infected.”

That catches him off guard. Maybe you are a hunter. 

“Have ye read the Bible?”

“I’ve never read it, but I know the stories,” you offer.

He hums and pushes himself off of the doorframe. 

“Right then. Follow me.”

You can’t shake the feeling of emptiness here. There’s no old people, no babies, no dogs or sheep. It’s like time is standing still, with just these strange track-clad people moving about in their trainers. 

You’re left to sew quietly, meticulously patching their suits. They were very particular about the scrap fabric matching the original colour as best you could. You see a few shirts stained with blood and you ask a passing Jimmy— the lad unfortunately called Jimmy Shite— and he and Jimmy Fox bring you a washbasin you can clean in.

Jimmy Crystal watches you from a distance. You’re so domestic. Women in this world don’t have the luxury, but here you are. Sewing, patching, doting over his flock. 

The word Madonna runs through his mind, only interrupted by you pricking your finger with the needle.

You wince and suck your finger in your mouth. He could almost groan at the sight. 

“What happened?” he coos, waltzing over like he wasn’t just watching. 

“I-I just pricked myself. It’s nothing.” 

“Let me see,” he says with the firmness of a father, extending his hand. He sees a tiny drop of blood on your index finger and clicks his tongue. 

He presses his thumb to it with a slight pressure that makes you squeeze your eyes shut.

“Ow…”

“Not used to pain?”

“I’m not used to any of this,” you admit to him.

“Any of what?”

“This.”

You gesture around you.

“I live on an island, we don’t go anywhere.”

“Ah, but ya did.” 

“I shouldn’t have. I’m not… I can shoot, yeah, but I’m no hunter. I’m a nurse, mostly. Or a midwife, whatever you’d call it. I help the pregnant ladies, the mothers with babies and wee ones. It’s been a long time but we have a few babies now. More than we have supplies for. I just… didn’t want Liv to be left out. She’ll be such a good mummy, I just know it.”

You’re sweet. He almost can’t believe it.

“And you’ll be an aunty?”

You smile at the thought, looking at your handiwork.

“If she’ll have me.”

“Ah, she’d be mad not to.”

That makes your cheeks heat. He takes away his hand. Blood has smudged on the pad of your finger, but stopped beading. 

“Voila. All better.”

“Thank… you,” you say softly, trailing off as you watch him lick his thumb clean. 

“You feel like cooking for us?”

You nod, still a little dazed. 

“Lovely.”

After dinner, which was met with glowing praise in the form of mouth-full compliments from Jimmy and his Jimmys, you retire. 

Jimmy walks you to your room and you thank him again before settling in to sleep. 

You’re cozy. You’re warm. 

You’re not freezing or soaked to the bone or terrified like last night. 

But you can’t sleep. You can’t sleep because nobody you love is in this church. 

Nobody you know, nobody who cares for you.

Jimmy lays back and sighs, his hand undoing the ties of his tracksuit. 

You’re perfect. He’ll have to find some way to reward the lads for finding you. 

You’re kind, you’re gentle. You can cook and sew. You help mothers with babies.

He’ll make you the Mother of the flock. The lads are itching to worship you, and so is he.

He spits in his hand, jerking himself as he imagines you doing it. He imagines your soft hand on his cock as he pushes two fingers into your soaking cunt. He imagines leaving marks on you, showing the lads and the universe that you’re his.

He brushes his thumb over the tip and hisses, palm to his face.

“Fuck, yes, c’mon,” he growls. 

He can imagine you on top of him, knelt at the altar as he baptises you in sweat and tears. 

He can almost hear your cries, feel your hands pressed to his chest as you take what you need from him. When you cum for a second time he’ll finally turn you over and drive his cock into you.

“Fuck, fuck,” he mutters, shivering. 

He’ll fill you with his seed again and again, he’ll tell you how beautiful you are and what a good girl you are. And you’ll thank him for it, because you’re just that sweet.

You are salvation, rebirth.  

You are the mother they need. 

You have a fitful sleep. You thrash under your blankets and kick them off. You dream of blood and drowning on the causeway and bodies running at you.

You wake in a cold sweat. You’ve been crying too, you find as you sit up and sniffle.

A knock at the door startles you.

“It’s me,” Jimmy says.

You don’t have your trousers on, and you had taken off your jumper before bed. 

“Erm… hold on,” you call. 

You pull on your clothes again and open the door, sock clad feet on the stone floor.

“Sleep well?”

“Not at all,” you answer honestly, shaking your head. 

Your candor surprises him.

“Why’s that?”

“It was too quiet. And… I had a nightmare. Or three, I suppose.”

“I’m sorry,” he coos at you. “You’re welcome to keep sleepin’.” 

You shake your head.

“I can’t.”

You sniffle.

“If I was home, I could just go help with the babies. They’re always awake, crying and wanting to be held.” 

“Would you ever want one?”

You nod.

“I just haven’t been lucky finding someone. The men on the island… they’re strong men, good men. They keep us safe. But they’re brutish.” 

You look at your hands.

“Fathers should protect, but… they should be gentle, too.”

“Aye. They should,” he lies.

He eyes you.

“Care to go for a walk?” 

You follow Jimmy over the grassy hills behind the abbey. You stop to look out at the world that seems to go on forever. He looks back at you and sees your eyes wide and full of wonder. 

“It’s so big,” you whisper. “I can’t even see the water.” 

“I’m sorry we can’t take you home,” he starts.

“No, I… I couldn’t put you lot in danger like that. Any of you.”

You sniffle.

“It’s my fault. I’m stuck out here.”

You catch his eye.

“I don’t mean to sound ungrateful” 

You wipe at a rogue tear and shake your head.

“I’m just homesick.”

“Maybe we can find somethin’,” he tells you softly, putting a hand on your shoulder. He reaches up to touch your face, swipes the hair away from your cheek and brushes his thumb over your cheekbone. You shift in place, but you let him.

You let him, he thinks. 

“Hm? Tell us what’d make this feel like home,” he murmurs, smiling at you.

He has to subdue the roll of his eyes as he talks so sweetly.

You sniffle.

“It’d be stupid to say babies,” you laugh weakly. “There’s so many children on the island.” 

“Oh, no. We want that. We want a community, a real village with families.” 

“That’s not such an easy thing to get.” 

You think for a moment, trying to visualise your room. You have a toy rabbit made of some previously scratchy half-plastic fabric that has softened over the years.

You don’t want to sound like a child, though.

“A fresh jumper?” 

“Fresh jumper,” he repeats, his eyes on your lips. “What else?”

“I-I don’t need-”

“I’m not askin’ about need.”

He cups your cheek in his hand.

“Want isn’t a sin, love. It’s human to want. It’s natural.”

In the next few weeks, you fit well into this little group. You are not a Jimmy. He makes that clear.

You do not get a tracksuit or a name or a special weapon. You don’t go out when the lads go scavenging or hunting or whatever it is they do out there. They always return dirty. He doesn’t want you leaving at all. Not without him. He takes you around the hills by the abbey, into every room. You’re even allowed into his room.

He brings you that jumper, and so much more. Little toys and trinkets, jewelry, books, even a nice dress. He tells you how much he wants to see you wear it, and you set out to repair it and make it nice. 

He is very hands-on. He’s always got a hand on your shoulder, guiding you with his hand on the small of your back. He likes kissing your hands, like he did when you first met. He’ll sit by you and listen to you read or watch you sew.

You sit by him, reading an article from an old magazine the Jimmys managed to find mostly in-tact.

“I wonder what I’d look like with that stuff on,” you say, pointing to the model with the strange paint on her face.

“You don’t need it.” “I still wonder.”

After dinner one night, after everyone says their prayers and goes to bed, Jimmy catches your wrist.

“Is yer dress finished?” You nod, smiling at him.

“I think I did a good job.” “I’m sure ya did.”

You hesitate and feel your heart beating. “Do you… would you want to see it?”

He tilts his head, grinning at you.

“Well, of course I would.”

You take him back to your room and show him the dress, holding it up. You point out the imperfections, and alterations you made and the patch you put in at the back.

“Would ye wear it for me?”

You blink at him.

“Erm… now?”

“Why not now?”

You shed your jumper and avoid his eyes as you undo your pants. You hesitate pulling them down and turn around to take off your shirt, left only in your bra.

“You don’t have to hide from me, love,” you hear him say. 

It only feels wrong for a second. Then your skin feels hot. You shove down your pants and step out of them, stepping into the dress. Jimmy watches you do up the buttons at the back and struggle with the one at the top of your back. He’s behind you instantly, his fingers brushing the nape of your neck as he buttons it. 

“Look at ye,” he murmurs, taking your hand, lifting your arm and spinning you around.

“It looks nice.”

“Ye look nice.”

Your face heats and you smile nervously.

“Thank you,” you answer his compliment quietly.

“Yer fittin’ right in. Most other people we meet don’t mesh with the lads so well.”

“They’re not as bad as they look. They need…”

You trail off, seeing his gaze. He looks so wanting.

“They need what?” he asks, tracing your face with his knuckles.

“A mother, I think. They’re like little children. They… do their chores and they scuffle and they shout and cry like children. They listen to father,” you explain, gesturing to him.

“They listen to ya, too.” “Oh, they’re just being nice.”

“They are not nice. They’re dirty fuckers, they fight like hell and love every second of it. They want you to be their mother.”

You blink at him, lost again.

“I’m not-”

“Ye could be,” he offers, meeting your eyes. 

He holds your face. 

“Y’like it here, eh?”

“I do…”

“Don’t you wannae stay?”

“Well… o-of course I do. I thought-”

“Yer such a good help, love. But a man has urges.”

You pause. You can do everything else. Cooking, sewing, playing nursemaid. Playing wife would be different.

Your eyes flick down quickly and see a sizable bulge in his pants. 

You try to move away from him, but your face is in his hands.

“You wannae stay or not?”

“I can help,” you offer him weakly.

“Oh, I don’t know if ye would be any good-”

“Let me help you, please.”

You’re getting teary-eyed, which makes his jaw clench.

“Can ya be a mama?”

You nod, tears rolling down your cheeks.

“Please, I want to stay,” you cry, shaking your head in his grasp. “Don’t make me go out there all alone, I-I’m not strong enough-”

He shushes you, his thumb wiping the wetness from your cheek.

“So pretty. Wouldn’t ye just be so lovely with a baby?”

“Your baby?” you ask him, sniffling.

“Well, who else?” he jokes, grinning at you.

He leans in closer, his breath puffing against your lips.

“I’d never make ya leave, love. Ye would stay right here in this wee sanctuary.”

You’re so cute, pouting as you think about it. He wants you so full of him that you can’t think anymore. You’ll say yes. 

You nod, eyes closed as you sniffle again.

He kisses you, and you don’t expect it. The feeling of his lips crushing against yours and the firm grasp he has on your head make you wince. 

He pulls back to admire you for a moment.

“I’ll find you some more dresses.”

Jimmy claps to get the attention of the Jimmys. 

“Lads, I’ve some news for you.” 

They gather around him and he grins.

“Our lovely guest has agreed to play mother for you terrible cunts.” 

They grin and clap, cheering and whistling.

“Right, shut up. Now… everyone is gonnae fuckin’ behave tomorrow, that clear?”

They nod. 

“Good lads. We’ll have a new member joinin’ us very soon.” 

The next day, you’re told that Jimmy wants you to wear your dress again. 

You do, but you pull on the too-big, plum-coloured jumper Jimmy gave you— because, of course, it matches his own tracksuit— over it. You walk to Jimmy’s room and knock on the door, trying to keep yourself from tearing up again. You fiddle with your sleeves and wait for him to answer.

“Come,” he calls. 

You push the door open and avoid his eyes. His smile falls when he sees you in the jumper. 

“Why are ye coverin’ your dress?” 

“It’s cold…”

He’s done being nice to you. He knows what he wants and he’s going to get it. 

“Take it off.”

You grip the hem and pull it off, holding it. He takes it and tosses it onto his bed. 

“There she is,” he coos, grabbing your face again. “Can’t ye just see it?”

He presses one hand to your stomach.

“All round… full of life.”

He grins at you.

“You’ll be makin’ new life in this world. Isn’t that a blessin’?” 

He kisses you, then your cheek.

“I’ll bless you, love,” he murmurs, kissing your temple. “I’ll bless you a hundred fuckin’ times.”

His hand moves from your stomach and undoes your buttons behind you. Unsure of what to do with your hands, you shakily reach for the zipper of his tracksuit.

“Needy girl,” he chides you in a husky tone.

Your dress becomes loose around your shoulders and it slips down your body.

You undo his zipper, allowing him to shrug off the jacket, leaving him in that same white vest. You see a little pink spot where you had bled on him the first day.

He follows your eyes.

“That’s where ye marked me, remember?”

He smirks. 

He sits on his bed, tugging you down and settling you on his thigh, slotted between your legs as you kneel on the bed. 

You gasp, feeling the pressure increase when he flexes his thigh.

“Keep making noises like that and I won’t last long,” he chuckles, cruelly joking with you.  

His big hands grip your waist and you feel him push you down.

“Oh…”

“Been a while?”

You really can’t help the tears this time. 

“I-I… I’ve never-”

He sits up straight, cradling you.

“Never?”

You shake your head.

“Oh, why didn’t ye say so? I have to make it special for ya, love,” he coos, sickly sweet as he sits you on the bed.

“Never been fucked… the lads have really got a keen fuckin’ eye. Lay back.”

You do as he says, staring up at him. He kneels at your feet and his hand skims up the side of your leg.

“I’m gonnae make ye a temple,” he vows, leaning down to kiss your knee.

He moves up your legs, knuckles tracing a winding path his lips follow diligently. 

“An altar to worship at…”

His eyes flick up as he kisses your cunt over the fabric of your underwear. 

“Don’t ye wannae be worshipped?”

You swallow hard, panting as you do.

“Say, ‘yes, Jimmy’,” he directs you, mocking a high voice. 

“Yes, Jimmy.” 

“Say ‘thank you, Jimmy’,” he mocks again.

“Th-thank you, Jimmy…” 

“Good girl,” he murmurs. 

He kisses your stomach.

“Gonnae put a baby in here. Fill you up right.”

He continues pressing sloppier kisses up your body, unhooking your bra and tossing it behind him. He groans, squeezing your breast with his hand and licking your nipple, biting the skin around it.

You yelp, jolting.

“Just imagine these all… all fulla milk,” he can hardly get the words out. “Leakin’ when the baby cries…” 

He groans, and you can feel his hips rocking against your leg. 

“Fuck…” he mutters.

He sucks on your other nipple, lifting your hips up and putting them in his lap.

He tugs off your panties and holds them up to his face. He inhales deeply as he grunts, bucking his hips into you.

“So sweet. Yer gonnae be so sweet for me… with your cute round belly…” 

He slips two fingers between the folds of your cunt and drags them up and down, collecting the slickness from your hole.

You cry out, covering your face with your hands.

“Cover up again and I won’t be so fuckin’ nice,” he snarls at you.

Your hands dart down and rest on your core, which tightens up as he pushes one finger into your now soaking hole. He moans, his eyes closing. 

“So tight, love. Gonnae hafta stretch you out real good.” 

“J-Jimmy-”

He adds another finger and you wince, twisting your upper body like you’re trying to crawl away from him.

As if he would let you. 

His cross dangles over your face as he pushes his hips against his hand, fucking his fingers into you. 

“Look at me,” he commands.

You don’t listen and he mashes his thumb against your clit. You sob, your hips bucking away from his touch. 

“Fuckin’ look at me.” 

You turn over again and meet his eyes, crying as you see his cruel smirk.

“So fuckin’ pretty when ye cry… you’ll be a weepin’ mess the whole time ye got my baby in here,” he presses a hand to your tummy, making you moan at the extra contact and pressure. 

“This cunt is a bloody weepin’ mess too, fuck me.”

You feel him spread his two fingers and stretch you, making you whine and squirm in his grasp.

“Th-that hurts…”

“Only for a second. Then it’s gonnae feel like heaven.”

You grip the blanket on his bed as you cry, tears rolling down the sides of your face. His thumb brushes your clit again, gentle this time. 

“Sweet thing,” he coos at you. “Yer gonna be such a good mama.” 

His thumb rubs tight circles on your slick clit, making you mewl and gasp for air. You hiccup as he fucks his fingers into you rapidly, pushing your frame into the squeaky spring mattress each time. The idea that the Jimmys can hear you is mortifying, but you can hardly feel shame when all you feel his Jimmy curling his fingers to stroke a spot inside of you that makes your vision white out. You scream— worries for the Jimmys be damned— and scramble for purchase, something to grab. You grab his forearm and your nails poke into his skin as he grunts, still fucking you through your orgasm.

He grins at you and pulls his fingers out. You wince at the empty feeling, quickly satiated by the grind of his clothed cock against your clenching cunt. He licks his fingers clean, sucking on them and moaning at the taste of you.

“Fuck, you’re so sweet, lovey… I’m gonnae fuck ya so good, sweet thing. Yer not even gonna know yer own name after.” 

He laughs cruelly, eyeing your body with a greedy hunger. 

“Ye can have mine if ya like,” he teases. 

After shoving down his waistbands and freeing his cock, harder than he’s been in years and red at the tip, leaking precum as he slips it through your folds.

“Ye want it?”

If he asked you that before this moment, you would have cried and said no. But you need it. You’re desperate, your body is screaming at you.

“Yes, yes! Please, God- please, Jimmy,” you beg him, knowing that’s what he wants to hear. 

He chuckles and lines himself up, pushing into your virgin cunt.

A new sound rips through your throat. Something animal and unnatural at the same time. You sound wounded. You feel wounded, the stretch is a searing pain. 

Until it’s a warm and welcome sensation. 

“Ah, yer so fuckin’ tight,” he pants, his hot breath on your neck. 

He doesn’t slam in, he fucks in and out as he works his cock into you inch by inch. 

It pushes whiny, breathy noises out of you each time he buries himself in, and finally bottoms out with a particularly hard push, his balls meeting your ass in his lap. 

He leans over you and snickers at the way your mouth falls open.

“So big, huh?” he teases. “So fuckin’ big. Feel me right there, lovey?”

He presses a hand over your tummy and thrusts out, then in— feeling a slight change against his hand.

“That’s where I’m puttin’ the baby.”

You’re so sensitive and he’s fucking you raw and hard, not caring about the way you cry out and grip his bicep.

“You keep cryin’ I’ll fuckin’ give you somethin’ to cry about,” he threatens you, making you squeak and pout.

He scoffs. 

“Oh, is Daddy bein’ mean to Mama?” 

He sees something in your eyes change, hears your breath hitch.

“Did ye like that, Mama?” 

You moan, feeling him push in all the way again. He laughs at you, full-chested and mean. 

“Fuckin’ look at ye. Beggin’ to get bred. Look, yer fuckin’ keenin’ for it! Ye want my cum? Ye want Daddy to fill up yer cunt?”

You can’t speak, your mouth open as he fucks you, watching your breasts move as he slams into you again and again.

But Jimmy expects an answer. 

“Yes, Daddy,” you breathe, reaching for him. 

He scoops you up in his arms, holding you close as he fucks into you. He kisses your collarbone, which is almost tender. 

“Ye needed this, didn’t ya? A daddy to take care of ye.” 

He kisses you. It’s sloppy and wet, and a string of spit connects you when he pulls away.

“And I needed a mama just as much. The lads just know the boot. They need some love.”  

“Jimmy, I-I’m- ngh-”

You bawl, thrashing in his arms as you cum a second time. He continues to fuck you, his eye twitching at the feeling of you milking his cock. 

He stares at your stomach again, biting his lip at the visual of you pregnant, your belly swelled with his child. His hips stutter and he grits his teeth, pushing in as deep as he can as he jerks forward, cumming inside of you.

You feel the spurt of hot seed against your cervix, making you whine. You have little energy left and your cunt is a livewire, sparking and shocking you as his rough strokes don’t stop.

He keeps rocking until he twitches inside of you and pulls out.

“Look at that,” he murmurs, watching his cum dribble out of your hole. 

He pushes it in with two fingers. You make a desperate noise, trying to twist your hips away. 

“No wastin’ all that. That’s fuckin’ salvation, love.” 

Your head is swimming.

“Huh?”

“Fuckin' salvation and rebirth.” 

You try to sit up and he pushes you down.

“We’re not done.” 

“B-but-”

“We’re done when I put a baby in there.”

He leans down to give you a wet kiss on your cheek.

“Settle in, Mama. We’ll be at this all night.” 

[wlwsoccerfics]

You should know(LucyBronzeXOnaBatlleXKidReader)

A/N: Wedding based short Fic Number 4/5 to celebrate 400 followers.

Summary: you give your mommies a Run down of Things they didn't notice at their Wedding.

You ran into your mommies bedroom. It was a few days after their Wedding and you needed to let them know what they have missed at their own wedding. Which was alot. At least in your mind. You were just three years old. So you didn't Care that it was 6am on a sunday. You wanted them to know everything.

"Mami! Mama! Quiero decirte algo." You announced. Trying to climb into their bed. It took you a few tries cause unfortunately you weren't blessed with much height. (Mami! Mama! I want to tell you something.)

"Dulce niña, son las 6 de la mañana." Your Mami stated after checking her Phone for the time. ( Sweet girl, it's 6 in the morning.)

"she is quite late compared to Last Weekend when she woke us up at 4am to announce that the night is over and she wanted to do a Puzzle!" Your Mama said.

"you liked doing the Puzzle with me Mama! So no quejumbrosa!" You stated.

"i am not complaining sweet Girl!" Your Mama replied with a soft chuckle escaping her lips. You giggled.

"good." You answered.

"so what do you have to tell us Angel face?" Your Mami wanted to know.

"you missed alot at the Wedding! Uncle Jorge had a cake eating competition with me!i Had three slices." You told them proudly.

"¡Eso explica el dolor de barriga!" Your Mami whispered to your Mama. You grinned cutely cause you have heard everything. ( that explains the tummy ache! )

"it Sure does!" Your Mama replied.

"the cake was worth the tummy pain!" You informed them. Giggling more. Your Mama grabbed you and tickled your right side. Which made you laugh now.

"was it kiddo? You didn't think so when it started hurting first!" Your Mama playfully said. Which had your Mama chuckle.

"Mama Stop! That tickles! Okay it was Bad!" You admitted. You really had the worst stomach ache ever. It for Sure was your worst one! Your Mama stopped tickling you and kissed the top of your head.

"what else did we miss cutie pie?" Your Mama wanted to know.

"uh...oh auntie Jess(Park) said a Bad Word on Accident and cousin Matilda kept repeating it!" You informed them. Matilda was the daughter of Meadema and the same age as you. In fact you only were a month apart. She was the older one of the two of you.

"oh. I bet Beth and Viv gonna Love that one!" Your mama stated.

"well i hope you never say the bad Word!" Your mami let you know.

"i won't say fudge!" You said softly. Your Mama was laughing quite hard now. Your Mami tried not to laugh.

"sweet Girl that's Not a Bad Word! That's something to eat actually!" Your Mama explained. You looked at her and giggled.

"oh then it's all good! Also Mama? Mami? While you said your vows auntie LJ let me watch Peppa Pig and auntie Ale gave me chocolate. Bestest day ever!" You replied and sighed happily.

You went on for another twenty minutes before you let out a yawn and cuddled up to your mommies falling asleep again for two more hours. Your mommies were quite thankful for that.

[the-maddened-hatter]

Ok so I put each category into a random number generator so I could talk about Ladybird

👕Appearance 1: What is your character's favorite physical trait they possess?

I think she'd really like her hair once it grows out more and she starts to care for it better. Her partner braided it for a while to help her break the habit of covering her face with it and while she probably doesn't do it as often now she still likes it for special occasions

📦Objects 10: Is there a type of object your character doesn’t like?

Glass top coffee tables.

🍽️Food and Drink 9: Does your character like to try new foods?

Absolutely! She's autistic but often enjoys strong sensory experiences and is always willing to try something new in a safe way like strong or contrasting flavors. She doesn't always like what she tries, but enjoys the experience.

🌤️Weather and Nature 7: Does your character have a good sense of direction?

No. No she does not. Couple that with the fact that she enjoys going for nature walks and it starts to make sense why she wears heavy-duty hiking boots everywhere

🤝Community and Relationships 20:' What would it take for your character to get into a fight?

It would have to be Bad. She probably used to be a little bit more willing to scrap with her half-siblings/cousins when she was younger prior to the incident, but even then she was fairly gentle and reserved and that timidity cranked into high gear after it.

She could get into a fight for her brother Errol, to protect him or if someone was cruel enough regarding him, but she also wouldn't want to do anything that would put him at risk of being removed from her care and placed into a facility just to satisfy her rage.

She honestly deserves to beat up her dad, Bobby Oades, for her siblings and for herself, but I don't know if she'd do it. Not for moral reasons, he certainly deserves it and she honestly knows it, but I don't know if she'd be able to shake the fear of the potential consequences

💓Mind, Body and Soul 3: Is your character more prone to fight or flight?

Between the two the answer is flight, but I think her actual most common stress reaction is to freeze

🎲 Hobbies and Activities 14: What is your character’s opinion on cheating in games?

I think with the Oades siblings cheating at games (most especially board games) is to be highly expected, though often enough it's more because they start messing up the rules and the actual objective of the game become more and more unclear as it goes on.

I can't say that she'd be overly opposed to doing it once Johnny and/or Fenella start cheating, but she wouldn't start it. She might be one of the people to misunderstand a rule and start the dominoes of failure though

If you're interested please send in an ask for her! She's still in development a little personality-wise, but I love her, the Oades family is so fun to make ocs for! <3

🌸My Super Long Hopefully Fun Character Ask Game:

👕Appearance

What is your character's favorite physical trait they possess?

What would your character wear if they were told they had to gussy up?

Is there something about your character's appearance that they would change if possible?

Does your character have a favorite material they like to wear?

What are your character's opinion on scars?

How much interest does your character take in trends?

Is there someone your character tries to look similar to?

Does your character have a physical trait that they're known for?

What does your character smell like?

If your character could splurge on a particular garment, what would it be?

Is your character's favorite color a color they wear often?

Has your character gone through major stylistic or physical changes?

What is something your character would refuse to wear?

Is there a style your character is afraid they can’t pull off?

Would your character wear something someone else picked out for them?

Is your character's appearance more telling or deceiving?

What are your character's thoughts on wearing costumes?

Does your character have a favorite outfit?

If your character had to get a tattoo what would it be?

📦Objects

Is there an item your character doesn't like to leave without?

What gift would your character give to someone they didn't like but felt obligated to?

What type of object is likely to catch your character's attention?

Is there an item your character liked that they can’t get back? 

Would your character ever try to haggle?

What is something your character is proud to own?

Does your character ever spend more than they have?

What would it take for your character to give up an item they really like?

Does your character prefer to give or receive gifts?

Is there a type of object your character doesn’t like?

What might an acquaintance think is a good gift for your character?

Does your character personify objects?

What does your character most enjoy shopping for?

Is there an item your character is embarrassed they own or want?

Would your character prefer something bought or made personally?

Is your character willing to ask for things?

What is most important to your character when shopping?

🍽️Food and Drink

What flavor would your character say their personality is?

Would your character prefer baking, cooking or mixing drinks?

Is there a food or drink your character is unwilling to try?

How big is your character's appetite?

Does your character consider eating fun?

Would your character eat or drink something they didn't like to appease someone?

Is there food that has made your character sick?

What is your character's favorite food group?

Does your character like to try new foods?

What is a childhood meal your character cherishes?

Is your character food motivated?

Which mealtime is your character's favorite?

How much does your character care about wasting food?

Does your character prefer restaurant food or home cooked food?

What food or drink does your character consider a treat?

Is there a food texture your character doesn't like?

What kind of drinks does your character prefer?

🌤️Weather and Nature

What would your character do if they were suddenly caught in the rain?

Has your character had a meaningful encounter with an animal?

What season would your character say they're most similar to?

Is there a natural phenomenon that scares your character?

Has your character ever had an animal phase?

Would your character enjoy sky gazing?

Does your character have a good sense of direction?

What type of environment does your character like best?

Is your character good with animals?

How would your character react to snow?

What part of nature would your character most resonate with?

Could your character survive in the wilderness on their own for a week or more?

What element best represents your character?

Does your character prefer hot or cold weather?

Is there a creature that scares your character?

What celestial body would interest your character the most?

Is your character good with plants?

How willing would your character be to nap outside?

What animal would your character say best represents them?

🤝Community and Relationships

Does your character prefer company or solitude when sick?

What is your character's favorite kind of social event?

How comfortable would your character be singing and dancing in front of others?

Is your character upfront about their feelings?

Who would your character first seek if they needed medical help?

How willing would your character be to go to a party with people they don't know?

Who is your character most honest with?

How likely is it for your character to initiate a friendship?

Where is your character's comfort place?

Is there a habit your character has that they learned from someone else?

Does your character have people they think would worry about them if they got injured?

How would your character react to being put in a position of leadership?

Would your character be good at providing medical assistance?

Who would your character say knows them best?

Is there a person your character would turn to for backup in a fight?

Who would your character most want to sign their cast if they got one?

How well does your character work with others?

What is your character's favorite form of affection?

Does your character enjoy celebrating holidays?

What would it take for your character to get into a fight?

💓Mind, Body and Soul

What is a habit your character has that others might find cute?

Are there particular sounds your character is fond of?

Is your character more prone to fight or flight?

Does your character believe in myths and fairy tales?

What words could tear your character down?

How well does your character act under pressure?

Is your character good at practicing self-care?

What scents does your character find comforting?

Does your character have any allergies?

Is your character a light, medium or heavy sleeper?

Does your character have strong willpower?

Is your character more likely to give advice or seek it?

How does your character relax?

Is there a secret thing your character longs to hear?

Does your character have a sleep routine?

Would your character feel confident in a fight?

Is your character more energized in the morning, afternoon or at night?

How often does your character have nightmares?

Are there scents your character dislikes?

Is there a fear your character wants to learn to overcome?

If your character had to act in a play what role would they think they’d best perform?

Does your character have a high pain tolerance?

🎲 Hobbies and Activities

What kind of games does your character most enjoy playing?

Does your character have a secret hobby?

What is a talent your character wishes they had?

Is there an activity your character used to enjoy that they now dislike?

Which does your character try to prioritize more, work or hobbies?

Does your character work better with creative or technical endeavors?

What is a talent that your character is proud of?

Is your character more outdoorsy or indoorsy?

What is a topic your character would be excited to talk about? 

Is there a skill your character doesn’t know they’re bad at?

Does your character have any injury stories?

What kind of music does your character enjoy?

Has your character ever made something for themselves or someone else?

What is your character’s opinion on cheating in games?

How good is your character at following through on projects?

What’s an activity that reminds your character of someone else?

Does your character prefer music or silence?

What is a topic your character wouldn't want to talk about?

[bearbackyard]

Wild Card - Bobby x Reader | Chapter One: How It's Done

Forgive me, dialogue is hard. Not a lot of Bobby this chapter, but there will be more in the next!

No warnings

Summary:

Music, sound, it was your everything.

So the day you found your baby cousins notebook was the day you knew she’d be something golden.

or

Zoey's older cousin, her main supporter throughout her teen years, ends up befriending and falling for her manager.

Word count: 1536 here for ao3 link! part 1 2 3

June 1st, 2025. SoFi Stadium, Inglewood, CA. Huntr/x World Tour, North American leg. 3rd show.

You’d been to a lot of concerts and worked twice as many. From punk to blues to classical to electronica to musical theater. The electric feeling beneath your skin when you felt as you let the speakers drown out your thoughts.

This was different. Tonight was different. 

You were near the front of the stage. Far enough ahead that you could see clearly but far enough back that Hummingbird wouldn’t know you were there. Despite the seats, everyone was up, jumping up and down. Their Huntr/x light sticks had been programmed to match the venue's lights, colors blinking all around the stadium as the girls on stage captured the hearts of the fans. 

Knocking you out like a lullaby

Hear that sound ringing in your mind

The two young girls next to you squealed with delight, their parents even joining in. (You’d heard them earlier when they had been complaining about the late night concert. Music changes minds) The couple behind you screamed the lyrics out while three Mira fans copied her moves in the space they had.   

Better sit down for the show

'Cause I'm gonna show you (I'm gonna show you)

(I'm gonna show you) How it's done, done, done

I don't talk, but I bite, full of venom (Uh)

Spittin' facts, you know that's

How it's done, done, done

You never got to meet Mira in person. Zoey had told you all about her and she’d say “hi” when she walked in on your calls. The same went for Rumi. She was very nice, you remember that, but a lot of the times when Zoey would call you it would be either very early for the girls or very late for you. It never bothered you when she called. You missed her a lot and you were so, so proud of her. 

Okay, like, I know I ramble

But when shootin' my words, I go Rambo

Took blood, sweat, and tears, to look natural (Uh)

That's how it's done, done, done

Like the Zoey fans around you, you erupted into screams when she rapped. That was your girl! You remembered when those lyrics were just a thought and now here she was. Singing, rapping, in a sold out stadium on a world tour.

“Yeah Hummingbird!!” You yelled out. She wasn’t going to be able to hear you, which kept your cover for the time being. 

Hear our voice unwavering

'Til our song defeats the night

Makin' fear afraid to breathe

'Til the dark meets the light (How it's done, done, done)

Damn that girl can sing. Despite the lights being programmed to a flashing purple, you swore you saw blue. You need to talk to the light and sfx programmer because that was unreal!

When the show ended, you felt an adrenaline rush like you’d never felt at any other concerts. As people began walking out, some running to the merch table for any last minute purchases, you began to walk towards the backstage area. You pulled the backstage pass Zoey had sent you a few weeks ago. She’d been hoping you would be able to make it. You told her you’d try, pretending you hadn’t already gotten tickets when the tour was announced. 

After showing the guard your pass, someone helped lead you to the girls’ dressing room.

“Great show tonight girls!” A voice you could recognize as Rumi said. “We’re getting closer and closer to gold, I can feel it.” There was a mix of squeals and chatter before you heard Zoey speak.

“I’m so happy we get a mini break though. I love our fans, but I think I need a break from everyone. No fans for just a day.” She exhaled as the others agreed.

“Not even your number one fan?” You leaned your shoulder against the door frame, arms crossed as you smiled at her.

“Y/n!” She rushed towards you as you stood up straight and opened your arms. “You came!”

“Of course I did!” You said as you squeezed her as tight as you could. “Wouldn’t have missed this for the world.” Letting her go after kissing the top of her head, she turned, grabbed your arm and jumped up and down with excitement.

“Oh! Oh! This is Mira! And you remember Rumi.” Zoey led you closer to the girls. “Girls, this is my cousin Y/n! Formally. You know, not on call.”

You let out a few soft laughs at Zoey's behavior as you waved at the other two. “It’s nice to see you both in person.”

Mira nodded at you. “It's nice to meet you in person. Zoey’s always talking about you. Love your work.”

Rumi smiled. “Yeah, you helped us get out of more creative blocks than you know of.” 

“You girls are so sweet. I know you guys must be tired, but-”

“Girls, that performance was the best of the tour! You guys are off the charts!” A voice cut you off. A man, a bit shorter than you, walked in. He had black, shaggy hair and was wearing a grey blazer with matching pants and a Huntr/x t-shirt. His eyes were glued to his phone as he walked in with a huge grin. “The latest TWICE single has hardly made an impact on these numbers. You guys are killing it out there!” His gaze finally moved from his phone to the four girls in front of him. “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t know there was someone else in here.” 

Zoey let out another excited squeal. “Bobby, this is my cousin, Y/n! The Wild Card. The one that does all that super cool audio mixing and stage tech-y work.” She turned to you. “This is our manager, Bobby!”

You felt Zoey push you a little towards the man, Bobby, as you now know. “Hi.” Extending a hand, you introduced yourself politely. “It’s nice to meet you.” You couldn’t take your eyes off him. Managers are fickle creatures, most of them being the devil incarnate to stars, especially Kpop managers. Something about him felt different though. He seemed kind, loving. The way he spoke with enough excitement to rival Zoey, or maybe the fact his compliments sound genuine and not just number hungry, or maybe it was the warmth you felt from his soft hands when he shook yours.

“Its nice to meet you too.” The world seems to shift a bit when he smiles at you and your gaze lingers on each other for a little too long. 

Clearing your throat and pulling your hand away. “Oh, uh, before I forget.” You turned your gaze back Zoey. “I know you guys must be crazy tired, but since there's no performance tomorrow your dad wanted to know if you and the others would want to come by. Everyone misses you a lot and they want to meet the others- as family!” You felt the need to clarify. “Not, like, a crazy fan swarm meeting. The whole block misses you. Claudia misses you a lot more than me.”

After finding her notebook full of lyrics, Zoey ended up at your apartment more often than she was at her own house. You were lucky enough to get a smaller place on the block you grew up in, just a bit away from your parents. The neighborhood get-togethers always meant music blasting until sunrise and anytime she’d have a new song finished, the block was the first to hear. Claudia ended up taking a huge love to her songs. Not that you were jealous (you were). 

“All three- four-? Of you are invited. As well.” Kill me, kill me, kill me, kill me. Why couldn’t you talk normally?? What has happened in the last ten minutes that has removed the ability to talk like a normal living person?

“Only it’s alright with you guys?” Zoey looked at Bobby and then to the girls. 

“Sounds fun.” “I don’t mind.” 

“That’d be great…” Bobby trailed off. He couldn’t let the shake weird, almost embarrassing like feeling off of him. He tried keeping his eyes on the girls but for some reason it just kept falling back to you. 

Clasping your hands together. “Great. I’ll, uh, send the details over. I mean- I know you already know where it is but you know. And any dietary restrictions just let me know and we’ll handle… it.” You took a quick glance down at your watch. “Oh shoot, I need to- to go. I don’t know how to get out of here…” 

Bobby straightened up and stepped a bit to the side to let you walk through first. “Oh, I can show you.”

“Really? Thank you so much.” You turned to Zoey one more time and gave her a quick hug. “See you tomorrow, Hummingbird.”

With that, you nervously followed Bobby out of the backstage area.

Zoey watched as you both left, seeming a little concerned as she tilted her head. “Did they seem like they were acting weird to you guys?”

Mira snickered, “Yeah, totally weird.” 

“Definitely a little weird.” Rumi said as she fought off her own laugh. “Like schoolkids.”

-

tags -

@joyfulllittlething

@blackstar-gazer

@minkyungseokie

[wildflowersandvibranium]

A Cozy Fourth Of July

I recommend listening to the song COZY by JEREMY ZUCKER while reading as it’s inspired by it <3

Pairing: TFATWS!Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader

Summary: On a chaotic Fourth of July , Bucky Barnes battles old memories beneath fireworks , but finds safety and solace in the unwavering love who never stops reaching for him.

Word count: 2.1k+

Content: hurt / comfort , angst and fluff , mentions and scenes of of PTSD , anxiety / panic , kissing

a/n: hai my loves! tysm for all who voted on the poll this was made from! If you were hopin for the other prompt my inbox is open for requests hehe

I hope you enjoy and have a safe and happy fourth for all who celebrate! see you on the next one bbys!

my masterlist is pinned!

The warm savory scent of grilled street corn and charcoal smoke from the grill drifted on the early evening breeze , laughter rising in spurts from the backyard as giggling kids chased each other with sparklers and sticky fingers. 

A classic and joyful Fourth of July party. Patriotic decor and flags hung lazily over the wooden porch railings , music from a bluetooth speaker floated out over the large freshly cut lawn , and someone was already breaking out the potato salad. It was a perfect evening.

Bucky Barnes stood just inside the open glass sliding door , a golden beer bottle in one hand , the other brushing lightly against yours as you scanned the yard full of people. Your family was loud , chaotic in the most loving way and a little crazy. 

There was always someone talking , someone yelling for a dish to be brought out or the ice chest to be refilled , someone laughing hard enough to make their whole body shake. He should’ve felt overwhelmed already , but you had a way of keeping him anchored.

“You doing okay?” you peered up at him , nudging his arm. His knuckles brushed yours. That simple touch had become something of a tight tether.

“Yeah ,” Bucky glanced at you then added a little nod. “I’m alright. Just... watching.”

“You’re allowed to sit , y’know. No one’s making you stand guard.” You nudged and whispered so only he heard.

His lips curved into a half-smile. “Old habits.”

“I know” You led him out into the yard , easing him into a lawn chair near the picnic tables while a few younger cousins gathered at his feet , inexplicably drawn to him. 

Kids had a weird magnet type radar for soft-hearted people hiding behind stoic faces , and Bucky—despite the dark stubble and biceps and history , was no exception.

“Did you really fight aliens?” asked your little cousin Mateo , green eyes wide as saucers , mouth sticky and wet with watermelon.

Bucky smirked at the kid. “Yeah.”

“Were they , like, hugeeee?”

“Some of ’em.”

“Did you punch any of them?”

He nodded solemnly. “Yep.” Popping the “p”.

Mateo’s whole body bounced with excitement and awe. “COOOOL!”

You tried not to laugh too loudly at the boy. He was trying so hard to be normal and calm.  And this? This kind of attention? It helped. Watching him gently mess and pull down Mateo’s baseball cap playfully  , answering question after question , even showing the metal arm when asked ( kids loved the metal arm)—it was progress.

Then came your grandmother.

“James ,” she said , her voice like honey and pepper , hands on her hips , she was one of the very few people who refused to call him by his nickname. “You still haven’t eaten anything. My granddaughter told me you were strong as an ox. Oxen eat,  you know dear.”

He blinked at her ways , then chuckled. “Yes , ma’am.”

“Oh nonse, enough of the “ma’am” , Eat!. Get yourself a plate before I start piling it on myself. You won’t like that. I don’t believe in small portions.” She winked walking away back to the food tables.

Bucky leaned toward you as she left, whispering in your ear, “She scares me a little.”

“She should ,” you grinned, grabbing his bicep. “She once made an ICE agent cry.”

As a hazey purple dusk settled in the sky and the first firework went off—small , whistling up into the air before bursting with a polite pink pop—you instinctively touched Bucky’s hand.

His jaw twitched. “I’m okay,” he murmured.

“You sure?”

“Yeah. These… these are okay. When I know they’re coming , it’s different. When I can see the people lighting them. It’s the surprise ones that—”

He trailed off , but you nodded. You knew. And when the sky flickered pink and green with another burst , you kept your hand right on his thigh , grounding him with nothing more than your presence.

More people showed up. Chairs shuffled. Fire pits flickered to life. A group of teenagers was setting up a bigger batch of fireworks , the kind that boomed louder , lit up more sky brightly. You didn’t love those for your own reasons , but Bucky…

You kept checking in. And then it felt like pure chaos burst right open.

Mateo tripped near the stone path to the front door , catching his little knee on the edge of rock. He screamed like he’d been stabbed or broken and bone , and a crowd gathered in seconds. 

You rushed to him as you were closets , hands already reaching into your pocket for tissues and wipes. The scrape wasn’t too bad , but he was inconsolable in the way only six-year-olds could be. Between soothing him and shooing off hovering worried relatives , it took a minute before you looked back to where you and Bucky had been sitting.

Gone. Empty.

You stood up , eyes sweeping the yard and street. Fireworks were going off now in steady booming waves. People were whooping , cheering. An older cousin shoved a Roman candle at his buddy nearly missing him making an older unt curse at them for being reckless. 

Bucky wasn’t at the picnic tables. Not sitting on the porch. Not in any of the lawn chairs.

“Where’d Bucky go?” you asked no one in particular. They were too busy watching the show in the sky.

Panic set in , low and heavy in your chest.

You turned and ran straight toward the house. Not walking. Sprinting.

The house inside was quieter. Not silent—the muffled cracks of fireworks still bled in through the walls—but it was dim , still , and closed off from the relentless chaos outside.

“Bucky?” you called out , crossing to the kitchen. No answer.

You moved fast , checking the guest bathroom , the study.  Nothing. You headed down the hallway toward the your bedroom your family had lent you for the weekend.

Your chest was tight now with fear and worry. That pressure in the center of your ribs you only got when you knew something was wrong before you saw it. 

You creaked and opened the bedroom door slowly.

“Bucky?” you say again , softer now.

Silence.

Until a barely audible—a sound reaches your ears.

You crouched looking for the noise. Peeking under the bed.

And there he was. Your love.

Curled in on himself. Shoulders shaking. Fists clenched so tight the metal one was digging into the hardwood floor. His eyes were shut , hard , tight , like he was bracing for the impact of something destructive and terrible.

Your heart immediately sank to your knees. You dropped to him , flat to the floor , then slid and rolled under the bed with him , not caring if the dust stuck to your clothes or if the wood frame pressed into your hip.

“Bucky,” you reach out but stopping just short of touching him. “You’re safe. You’re not back there.”

He didn’t move. He didn’t hear you. Or maybe he did , but his brain was still locked in that place , wherever it had yanked him right back to. That place with screaming and metal and chaos and death. That place he didn’t talk about in detail.

You scooted closer and cupped his scruffy cheek carefully , your voice firmer now , but steady and calm.

“James. You’re home. You’re not in the past. You’re not a soldier tonight. You’re not alone. Look at me.”

Still nothing. You inhaled sharply. Two words shook him out of his trance.

“Sergeant Barnes.”

His eyes snapped open like a switch had been flipped abruptly.

Wide. Unfocused. Searching.

But on you. Never leaving you.

“Hi ,” you whispered , your voice breaking. “I’m here. You’re safe. I got you.”

Bucky’s eyes filled with moisture. The tension that had been holding him upright collapsed all at once, and he lunged—not violently , but desperately , into you. His hands found your shirt , grabbed tight , and he pulled himself into your chest like he needed to disappear into you.

You cradled his head against you , wrapping your arms around his trembling frame. Still beneath the bed. Still dark. Fireworks still going off outside. But in this small space , it was just you and him.

His voice was barely audible muffled by your body. “I couldn’t breathe.”

“I know”

“I couldn’t tell where I was.”

“I know , baby.”

You stayed like that for some minutes , maybe ten , maybe thirty. His breath evened out but he didn’t let go. You didn’t ask him to.

Then a louder more intense bang then crackle went off outside. Closer this time. Bucky flinched so hard he nearly hit the slats with his head under the bed.

“Okay,” you whispered quickly. “Okay. One sec.”

You slid out from under the bed , but didn’t let go of his hand. You reached up blindly and grabbed your headphones from the nightstand , then the weighted blanket you slept with every night.

You crawled back under and slid up beside him , slipping the headphones gently over his ears , kissing his temple as you did. You tapped your phone , pulling up a playlist you’d made for him , songs he mentioned he loved. A quiet vintage piano melody filled the headphones. You could hear it faintly through the foam coverings.

Then , slowly , you draped the soft grey weighted blanket over the both of you , cocooning him and yourself in that soothing safe pressure and warmth.

He closed his eyes again—but this time , not in panic. In rest.

You pulled your phone out again and opened the family group chat. Being mindful not to turn off the music as you typed up a message.

>>> Hey , if anyone needs me and Bucky , text me. Please don’t come inside our room. He’s okay now , just needs quiet.

Then you tossed your phone aside and wrapped both arms around him under the blanket , your head tucking under his chin.

You didn’t say anything for a long time. Just stayed. Placing a few kisses here and their to his chest and shoulder every once ina while.

His fingers found yours eventually through the third or fourth song , linking and lacing tight.

The playlist looped through soft piano and ambient strings , a lull beneath the weight of the blanket and the world surrounding.

Under the bed , it was cramped and getting warm but neither of you moved.

Bucky’s breathing had evened out into a slow pace , chest rising and falling steadily. His grip on your fingers and hands never loosened. He held on like you were the only thing tethering him to this century , to this very moemnt. Maybe you were.

Eventually afte the fireworks began to calm for a moment , his voice cracked the silence. Low. Fragile.

“I’m sorry.”

You turned your head up to look at him , your eyes meeting his ocean ones. “What for?”

He hesitated running a hand up and down your back , soothing him and you. “Ruining the night.”

You scoffed , gentle but real keeping your eyes on him. “You didn’t ruin anything..”

Another pause. Then again.

“For scaring you.”

“You didn’t scare me ,  Buck.” Your thumb rubbed over his metal knuckles kissing each one , a gesture you did to show you weren't afraid of that part of him.  “But I hate seeing you hurting like that. This is not your fault. Your brain’s just... wired to panic when it hears war outside.”

He exhaled , shakily. “It’s so stupid. I knew there’d be fireworks. I prepared. I told myself I was fine. But then I wasn’t. And I couldn’t control it.”

“ PTSD is not something you logic your way out of. It’s not about being strong.” You said plainly.

“I should’ve told you I felt it coming on.”

“You didn’t have to. I could tell.” You smiled softly , even though he wasn’t looking at your eyes anymore. “That’s why I kept checking in. You don’t have to carry that alone anymore , Bucky.”

His eyes shifted toward you. 

You continued your words. “You’re not some broken thing we have to fix. You’re healing. And that’s messy. Some days there are fireworks. Some days are quiet and peaceful. Either way , I’m here. Right here. I’ll always be right here.”

He blinked hard , trapping the tears that formed behind his eyes , then nodded , swallowing against the tightness in his throat.

The blanket shifted slightly as he leaned in closer , pressing his forehead gently to yours. His voice was rough. “I don’t know what I did to deserve you.”

You didn’t answer. Just kissed the corner of his mouth , his nose then back to his lips , slow and light , your hand brushing over the stubble on his cheek as you did.

Outside , the fireworks kept cracking. Bright colors flashing through the curtains lighting up the room. People still shouting , cheering.

But in here—under a bed , wrapped in a heavy blanket and the softness of your love—Bucky Barnes was safe.

And for the first time in a long time , he finally believed it.

-end

Comments , Reblogs , Likes and Requests are always loved!

(although if you liked this fic please consider reblogging so it can reach a wider audience)

They let me know that you are enjoying what I'm publishing and gives me motivation to write more and more! :33

[syndrossi]

And for the last of the prompt fills (I'm capping it at the first 10), we've got Regnal AU! I opted for Alysanne finally getting to meet the babies. Note that Saera hasn't had her visit with the Volantene envoy yet, and the twins are still, as far as anyone knows, two normal little princes...

x~x~x

His grandmother’s arrival on the Silver Queen was more understated than Daemon had expected. Aside from his aunt Gael, only two of her ladies in waiting were in attendance, though the large galley that his grandfather had commissioned for her over three decades ago still hosted a sizable crew. Ser Clement had been chosen from amongst the Kingsguard to accompany the queen, commanding a half-dozen household knights and a similar number of men-at-arms.

Instead it was her baggage that gave Daemon pause. Chest after chest was lugged from the many wagons that had ferried her things from the ship, a volume that Daemon would have expected for a royal progress rather than a brief visit.

If Rhea finds my father’s visits excessive, she will be longing for them after a week of entertaining my grandmother. And that assumed the queen did not intend to stay for twice that—or, gods forfend, a whole moon.

His grandmother greeted Daemon with delight, kissing each of his cheeks as he bent, as though their last encounter had not consisted of him pleading for her to reconsider his match to Lord Royce’s daughter. She will be insufferable about it now, he thought peevishly.

His lady wife received the same treatment, to her obvious surprise and discomfort, and Daemon lifted his shoulder in a shrug as she looked to him in question. He had come to realize in his time at Runestone that the Royces were a house of stoics for whom displays of love were guarded as carefully as their hearts. It was quite the opposite for House Targaryen, aside from the king. If Rhea had thought his father the exception, she would soon be disabused of the notion.

And it was his father, who had flown in on Vhagar yesterday with little Rhaenyra in tow to be present for the queen’s arrival, who welcomed her with a kiss of his own before beckoning Gael forward for an exuberant hug that made her smile. His aunt, who struggled with courtly graces, stammered her own greeting to Rhea, and his wife returned it solemnly.

After a split second of hesitation, Daemon followed his father’s example, eschewing words for a simple hug, and he felt his aunt relax. Rhaenyra, who had been waiting several steps back with her nurse, eagerly ran to the queen, whose smile brightened.

“I did not know I would be seeing all of your grandchildren today,” she said to his father. “How did you convince your son to part with his daughter?”

“I promised Rhaenyra dragon rides and the opportunity to meet her cousins, then let her do the work for me,” Baelon said with a laugh.

“And where are the babes?” his grandmother asked, her eagerness plain.

“Asleep in the nursery, my queen,” Rhea said. “Would you like to see them first?”

His grandmother nodded. “I have thought of little else during the long voyage.”

“They sleep a lot,” Rhaenyra said with a heavy sigh.

His niece had complained bitterly about the disappointment of her cousins at first, but then she had met Rhea’s eleven-year-old sister, Elys, and become enthralled. Indeed, she had settled back at the girl’s side now that the greetings had concluded and the procession began moving toward the holdfast.

Runestone itself practically gleamed, the entire keep having whipped itself into a frenzy over the past few weeks preparing for the queen’s visit. Every visible piece of bronze had been polished to a sheen, and old Ser Ferrick, who wielded the family’s sword Lamentation, bowed at the entrance to the holdfast, stiff in his rune-bedecked ceremonial armor.

Daemon’s large bedchamber had been claimed weeks before to be furnished for the queen, and his things had been moved into the chamber beside his wife’s, rather than on the opposite side of the holdfast, where many empty chambers were available. He had not known how to interpret the gesture. They had not shared a bed since their consummation, and women needed time after childbirth to recover.

It was she who sent me skulking back to my chamber the last time, he thought, the humiliation of the experience still lingering even after a year. They had fulfilled their martial duty, and he had been dismissed moments later, like a common whore. If she wishes to share a bed, then let her be the one to ask.

His grandmother was effusive in her praise as they proceeded down the halls. House Royce’s runes were fascinating and she would love to speak with Rhea’s smith; the light, flowing dresses of the Vale were perfectly suited to summer; Rhea was aglow with motherhood, Daemon was so courtly, Ser Ferrick’s squire Willam was so handsome—

It was a relief when they made it to the nursery at last. His grandmother’s party had peeled off along the way, with most going to their chambers or to move the queen’s things into hers, so that it was only her and Gael now. Rhaenyra had been led off by Elys to play quietly in one corner, leaving the path clear for the queen to approach the twins’ cradle.

His father pulled a chair close, and his grandmother squeezed his arm in thanks, easing herself down with his assistance and handing off her walking cane. His sons had been stirred to waking by the arrival of so many, and they were blinking up at his grandmother curiously.

“Oh,” she breathed, reaching in to stroke their cheeks. “They are such beautiful little babes.”

His father moved as though to pick one up, but his wife gracefully slid in before him to take Baelon, cradling him in her arms. “This is our eldest, my queen. His name is Baelon.” She shot Daemon a look. “But he also goes by Jon.”

The babe was surrendered into the queen’s arms, and she held him with the practiced ease of a woman who had birthed over a dozen of her own. “I met your grandfather on our first royal progress, and I recall that he had the most striking grey eyes. He was called Jon, was he not?”

“Yes, my queen.”

His grandmother snorted. “I see your husband is as stubborn as mine when it comes to names.”

Daemon was not often compared to his grandfather, and rarely favorably, but this was one instance where they were in agreement. I have him to thank that Jon is merely a nickname.

His grandmother asked for Baelon’s favorite toy, and moved it about so that he had to reach to grab it, laughing when his fist closed around a pair of fingers. “He has a strong grip.” She kissed his hand, then his cheek. “Will you be a brave swordsman, like your father and grandfather?”

Baelon was handed off to Daemon, and his son cooed happily, his sticky little hands already closing upon a fistful of hair to tug. He adjusted his hold to minimize the damage, long since resigned to his son’s habit, and watched Rhea pick Aemon up next.

“Our younger son,” Rhea said, transferring him to the queen. “Aemon.”

In the four moons since their birth, the pale lilac of Aemon’s eyes had darkened some, to a shade midway between his uncle’s and his father’s. His hair remained nearly snow-pale, however, and his grandmother caressed it gently. “Aemon,” she repeated, watching him with a melancholy not unlike his father’s at times. “Your granduncle would have loved to meet you.”

Aemon seemed fascinated with her face, patting at her cheeks and hair, clumsily feeling her lashes as she peppered him with kisses. He cooed more readily than Baelon, almost lyrical in tone.

“I call him my little songbird,” his father said, failing to mention that those sweet chirps and hums could as easily turn to wails loud enough to wake the entire castle.

“Do they like it?” Gael asked.

Daemon looked at her, confused for a moment, before following her gaze to the cradle, where her embroidered blanket lined the bottom. “I place it on the floor at times, and they enjoy looking at the little dragons.”

No one had thought to offer her either of the babes, so Daemon brought Baelon over. She accepted him with a blinding smile, cradling him to her chest, which Baelon inspected with interest, seeking his next meal. “I should love one of my own someday,” she said shyly, and Daemon silently wished her luck in persuading his grandmother to allow a match.

Aemon seemed to grow quite attached to her when it was his turn, his whimpers when he was taken from her arms rising in volume until wailing became near-imminent. Rhea took him quickly, and he slowly calmed in her arms.

“It is fortunate that they are so near to Rhaenyra in age,” his grandmother said. “She would have a handsome match in either. And there is little Laena as well, should Laenor not suit her.”

Rhea’s glance in his direction was easy to read. “They are quite young to be discussing matches,” Daemon said.

“Let an old woman have her fun,” his grandmother retorted. “Doubtless you would prefer to discuss dragons?”

Daemon touched a hand to the dragon eggs in their cradle, feeling as always the warmth within. Every time he felt them, it seemed to him that they were days away from hatching. “They will have hatchlings before their sixth moon.”

“The king expressed his desire to have the dragon eggs returned to King’s Landing,” she replied.

His father frowned. “They are still young. The eggs should remain in their cradle until they are a year old at least.”

“They can still have the dragon eggs within their cradle,” his grandmother said.

Her meaning was plain. Does my father wish for us to spend time at the Red Keep?

“A tourney is being planned to celebrate the fiftieth year of the king’s rule,” she said. “It will be four moons hence.”

Daemon found himself straightening with sudden excitement. A tourney meant jousting, and perhaps a grand melee, or even individual challenges. He has yet to award Blackfyre. Dark Sister had been given to his father years before, but the king had stubbornly kept hold of Aegon’s weapon, letting it gather dust in the vault. Certainly Viserys had no place wielding it, even if he was heir after their father.

“It would be our honor to attend,” Rhea said, looking far less pleased.

Has she even been to King’s Landing? Runestone and the Vale had their merits. The rugged, mountainous terrain made for thrilling dragon rides, and Daemon enjoyed exploring the many remote caves with an equally intrigued Caraxes. But it could be unbearably boring at times.

“Ah!” his father exclaimed, turning to Daemon. “Your name day gift! It should have arrived with the Silver Queen.”

His father made it halfway to the door in his haste before Rhea cleared her throat and he realized that he was still holding little Baelon. “Alas, Jon,” he said, kissing the babe’s forehead before handing him to Rhea, “another time.”

[popp1n]

General Notes, Ideas, & Potential Scenes for Ghosting the Government

• Danny's Midwestern accent thickens when he's nervous or excited (as a human.) In ghost form the same happens with ghost speak.

• Dog audio buttons or a soundboard for lbm dani

• Jason and Danny meeting over text due to Tucker getting his code crossed (he's trying to piggyback off of a secure line. It's the batcomputer/oracles system.)

• Dan living a corpse au with his clone body. He has a pacemaker-type device regulating his nervous system visible on his person, it's integrated into his fake background. He doesn't go ghost often, being in Wisconsin and not wanting to fade out of the timeline, but it's useful for when he forgets he's not a ghost and does need to do things like breath.*

• He and Dani are vlad's heirs to Dalv.co. Dan and Dani have rocky relationships with each other, but ultimately care for each other like a sibling. Danny views the both of them like cousins. (Dani is that annoying younger cousin at family gatherings y'all). Dan and Dani also have rocky relationship with Vlad, but it's improved now that Vlad is making an effort to be an actual father rather than pursuing Maddie. (Clockwork scared him.)

• Vlad still makes comments about Maddie just to piss off Danny. It amuses him. Vlad will always be a bit in love with her.

* - when he goes ghost in public, to outsiders it looks like he passes out. If he's able to, Dan will plonk himself down somewhere inconspicuous like a bench, but sometimes he forgets that his human half separates, so he'll just quickly drag his body to a corner. Unfortunately, he's had enough incidents of funny sleeping spots and positions that it gets small time news coverage. (Checkpoint - "Danny's" face in a news source outside of Amity connecting him to Vlad.)

• Oracle notices them (Team Phantom) first. Duke first clocks them as out of towners as signal and gives some advice. Jason meets jazz at a bookstore (she was buying college materials). Damian first meets them (after a series of events and interactions he hears about in the batfam groupchat. He was so jealous for a while.) when they are taking lbm dani for a stroll.

"Why is this small creature in such a state? Why don't you have them properly leashed) ect. Ect."

"She's a rescue." (Danny panicked. It isnt a lie. They did rescue her.)

Damian is obsessed with this intelligent little mysterious creature (he is not a stranger to mythological/supernatural creatures. Goliath anyone? That dragon he has???).

Dani is obsessed back because this kid has a sword, smells yummy (junk food ectoplasm), and is respectful of her personhood while in this tiny, mentally and physically impaired form.

Masterpost

[rosie-posie1313]

Lando Norris Fic Recs 3

07/03/2025

Social Media AUs

⭒ TALES OF CANDOR by @povlnfour

lando’s girlfriend has a secret identity. she’s not quite the girl next door everyone assumed, and he might just be the inspiration for more than just her instagram captions.

⭒ .JPG (JUST PROPOSE GODDAMNIT)  by @/povlnfour

lando’s childhood sweetheart has long since been the subject of his photography account. fans just can’t wait to see one specific post from the couple in the future

⭒ HOW DO YOU TURN THIS THING OFF? By @/povlnfour

fans love when you make appearances in landos streams. it’s usually because he doesn’t know where something is, and the internet goes crazy over their favorite certified himbo. on one stream, you get a taste of your own medicine when lando tasks you with turning the live feed off, and fans get a little more of an insight into your relationship

⭒ come and see me  by @cl6teen

in which everybody knows just how whipped your long distance boyfriend is for you

⭒ what came first, the chicken or the dickhead? By @kindestofkings

f1driver!reader x lando norris  

⭒ don’t you ever grow up by @beiasluv

⭒ ALL COVERED by @nouvellevqgue

nobody knows about the relationship between lando and the famous cooking influencer is real, not until george and himself (accidentally) spoil it.

⭒ Delusional by @xhopelesslyromanticx

In which the internet once again is fooled by your slightly overdramatic side. Rumors about Lando dumping you circulate but luckily the Mclaren driver is just as delusional as you are.

⭒ american girl & british boy  by @emotionaldamages

sargeant!reader

⭒ Medusa by @thisismeracing

The one where Lando’s burner account gets exposed, and the internet goes crazy with how funny (or dirty) he could be.

⭒ Spilled coffees by @leclerclov3

⭒ birkin mom pt 2 by @lewisvinga

lando’s life after the birth of his daughter

⭒ tongue-tied (sunflowers) by @kindestofkings

⭒ TREAT HER RIGHT by @myysaints

⭒ levi’s jeans by @rosyblooom

y/n loves levi's jeans—it's all she wears, ever. so when lando has to draw her in a quadrant video, that's what he draws: levi's jeans. a bad attempt at flirting? maybe, but it gets the ball rolling.

⭒ L.L.N  by @changetyre

Lando doesn't mind you making fun and playing games just as long as you're aware of the truth...and he'll be more than happy to remind you. 

⭒ Sacrifice by @merchelsea

you and lando have a long distance relationship due to your hard work. you rarely have free time to attend to his races, the only one you actually attend every year is monaco's. you understand things will have to change when lando gets into a crash and that makes you want to be there with him at everytimes.

⭒ Pregnant christmas- by @charlesslut16

⭒ My Girlfriend is a Menace  by @uglyducklingofthe2000s

Lando's girlfriend finds anyway to embarrass or torment him but he loves her regardless

⭒ Her. by @/uglyducklingofthe2000s

Button!Reader

Jenson’s younger cousin attends the Monaco Grand Prix and becomes the centre of attention for half of the grid. But one lucky man gets her attention in return.

⭒ Karting Champions by @/uglyducklingofthe2000s

the Quadrant karting video with Keegan but with Lando's girlfriend taking to the challenge too.

⭒ Sick days  by @f1driverszona

Lando has made it his mission to care for you while you are sick.

⭒ MAKING ORNAMENTS  by @allywthsr

you and your kids make ornaments, lando is a supportive dad

⭒ FIGHTING BIRTHDAY  by @/allywthsr

Lando drinks too much and it gets out of hand, the birthday boy is angry at you

⭒ THE CRASH by @/allywthsr

Lando and you fight right before the Las Vegas gp, turns out your nerves couldn’t take it after he crashes

⭒ I COME BACK TO YOU by @/allywthsr

you feel anxiety from time to time when you see Lando in his race car (or basically the silverstone weekend with an anxious girlfriend)

⭒ Masterlist by @lnfours

⭒ half of me, half of you by @/lnfours

⭒ christmas morning by @/lnfours

christmas is here! time to break out the decorations and put the presents under the tree, some a little more meaningful than others.

⭒ london bristol boy by @/lnfours

⭒ Daylight by @/lnfours

⭒ false god by @/lnfours

fewtrell!reader

⭒ OUR WORLD IN YOUR HANDS by @amaranthineghost

they hadn’t planned for pregnancy, but it changed their life.

⭒ SINK YOUR TEETH INTO ME, MY DEAR by @/amaranthineghost

reader’s love language is biting, but experiences a feeling of insecurity

⭒ I don’t like coffee by @1nephthys

When Lando Norris pulled Lando NoRizz in front of his (and everyone really) biggest celebrity crush

⭒ Lando’s Biggest Fangirl (Part 2) by @norrizzandpia

She’s back at it again and ten times more aggressive.

⭒ Longing Glances and Whispered Confessions (Part 2) by @/norrizzandpia

In which the one person they thought would reject them completely is the person that forces them together again.

⭒ Boyfriend Lando by @/norrizzandpia

Where the chat goes wild for Boyfriend Lando.

⭒ A Sign Of My Love by @/norrizzandpia

In which Lando chooses the most obvious way to declare his love for his best friend and she is the only one who doesn’t get it.

⭒ 𝐏𝐥𝐚𝐲 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐢𝐭 by @heyhihellosworld

An innocent round of golf with your friend’s friends turns into a wirlwind of emotions and feelings

⭒ Be jealous by @leclercvsx

Lando gets all whiny because you never get jealous when he talks to other girls or around other girls and he WANTS you to get jealous as he gets jealous when you’re around other men

⭒ Masterpiece by @httpiastri

lando loves photographing you, but you’re not as big of a fan.

⭒ You belong with me by @theweasleytwinsownmyjuicyass

Nothing is more painful than two people being scared of how much they love each other.

⭒ Play with fire by @writting-stuff-sometimes

Lando x Y/n Fewtrell

⭒ big dad vibes. By @jamminvroomvroom

in which lando becomes a dad, and a series of moments that follow

⭒ Private Conversation by @moeyynorris

⭒ LITTLE LANDO NORRIS by @uramakimochi

⭒ YOU’RE OKAY by uramakimochi

⭒ LIFE OF A WAG by uramakimochi

⭒ TIKTOK COUPLE by uramakimochi

⭒ Misheard, Misjudged by @adventuringblind

Leclerc Reader

Lando overhears a conversation and thinks it’s about him

⭒ 777 by @jamminvroomvroom

⭒ Read to me. By @futurewdclandonorris

after a hard day, Lando knows he can always turn to you for some comfort… And then give something in return

⭒ Lipstick Kisses by @/futurewdclandonorris

on a night out, Lando and you can’t wait to go home and get your hands on each other

⭒ And it’s all too much for little Lando Norris by @elainavoid

⭒ New girl  by @thisismeracing

⭒ SLEEPY NIGHTS IN NOVEMBER  by @lovekt

where practice goes on for a little longer than expected, and you’re extremely jetlagged.

⭒ It’s just an inchident  by @procrastination-queenie

⭒ Paparazzi by @cheriladycl01

you are a university student in the UK, and the Paparazzi manage to find out where you go and stalk you due to rumors surfacing about.

⭒ At least I’m getting kisses  by @auggieblogs

⭒ Count my Heartbeat  by @chilichilichilipep

Lando insists he's fine after his big wreck in Vegas, but a nightmare may prove him wrong.

⭒ new date  by @/lewisvinga

due to low staff at work, y/n isn’t able to make it to an important gala with lando. that just means it’s up to him to find a new date and luckily, he has the perfect girl in mind.

⭒ Meant To Be by @dilemmaontwolegs

If you love someone, set them free; if they come back to you, it was meant to be.

⭒ THE ONLY ONE by @mirohlayo

lando and you are on a break because of an argument. but he needs you back.

⭒ A stream full of surprises by @4ln-stay8

you join Max for a stream that doesn’t go the way you expected to

⭒ Street racer Lando by @norrisleclercf1

⭒ Mini Lando by norrisleclercf1

⭒ New Addition by norrisleclercf1

⭒ THE COOLEST DRIVER by @goldsainz

when you introduced lando to your siblings, you didn’t think they would become so attached.

⭒ Toothbrush by @works-of-fanfiction

It’s still early days for Lando and the reader, but he’s ready to start seeing more of her.

⭒ Silly smiles by @i9messi

Lando loses his senses every time you are interviewing him, and keeping it professional is hard for him.

⭒ Jealous lando 6 to 1 series by @holllandtrash

⭒ Clingy by @hischierswhore

⭒ mr perfectly fine by @/hischierswhore

⭒ last kiss by @/hischierswhore

⭒ HOMESICK by @propertyofwicked

⭒ Sambuca by @/propertyofwicked

⭒ Family Of Four by @ccsainzleclerc5516

⭒ You texted… by @goldsbitch

Y/N and Lando are going through a rough patch in their relationship. Not really on speaking terms. This bad streak ends when there is a massive spider in her bathroom.

⭒ lucky charm by @katsu28

lando finds comfort in your presence as doubt starts to creep in before a race

⭒ truly madly deeply by @ln444

⭒ His Greatest Hater by @lqvesoph

you cat daisy isn't too fond of Lando but when he's sick that might change a little

⭒ 𝐇𝐎𝐌𝐄 𝐈𝐒 𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐇𝐄 𝐈𝐒. By @amaranthineghost

[eva-knits12]

Pete Brenner: The back patio of our summer cottage.

(Y/N) Brenner: The girls, Pete and I are spending the Fourth of July weekend here.

Pete Brenner: This used to belong (Y/N)'s aunt and uncle. (Y/N) would always spend her Fourth of July weekend here with her cousins when she was a kid. Last year, they sold it, and we bought it.

(Y/N) Brenner: One year, we were somehow able to cram my parents, my cousins, and my nana and papa in this place. Tons of board games and card games were played.

Pete Brenner: Now her aunt and uncle go camping for that weekend.

(Y/N) Brenner: We don't have the best wi-fi, but we love it.

Pete Brenner: It beats going to Disney every year. We usually save that for Spring Break.

[cacartoon]

Any headcanons for the vegimals? (As a unit)

Vegimals! (Specifically Tunip, Codish, Barrot, Grouber, Tominnow, Pikato, Halibeet, and Sharchinni/ A.K.A the ones who appear in the show)

• Tunip is the oldest Vegimals, though all of them are pretty much the same age (they’re all basically children)

• Most of the Vegimals go by any pronouns but Vegimals like Tunip, Grouber, Codish, and Barrot regularly go by he/him and Tominnow goes by she/her

• All of them consider Shellington their father and regularly call him dad when they’re one on one

• Shellington was the one who came up with all the Vegimals’ names once he figured out what fish/veggie the Vegimals were

• All Vegimals take regular English speaking classes to learn to speak English and communicate with the Octonauts and Octo Agents better, but Vegimalese is their primary language

• The Vegimals are the main cooks and cleaners of the Octopod, regularly prepping meals for all the Octonauts and handle minor chores while the Octonauts are busy with their jobs

• The Vegimals watch the Octonaut training videos the most, being the youngest crew members and are considered the back up team (As seen in a Very Vegimal Christmas)

• They all call Pearl “Auntie Pearly” and she melts every single time. They also consider Periwinkle their cousin and get along great with him.

• Their first meeting with Pearl was a mix of shock, questions, and instant love

• Fantastic gardeners, being taught by Shellington and Tweak

• Play the Octonauts Universe version of Dungeons and Dragons with Professor Inkling every Saturday

• Each Vegimal is partially attached to a member of the Octonauts (Shellington is an given tho)

• Each Vegimal was given their own custom built bed courtesy of Tweak

• Pikato, Halibeet, and Sharchinni tend to stay back and not go on missions, which their all fine with

If there’s more I’ll add on

[stewpidcheescatarinabluu]

“You always shine brighter, while I’m here burning.”

Synopsis: You loved a girl born to gold. She loved a boy who couldn’t afford to stay. In the end, it wasn’t the world that pulled you apart—it was the weight of it.

Word Count: 1,072

Karina X Male Reader

You’re a barista by morning, delivery staff by night. Karina is the heir to one of Korea’s largest conglomerates. You met by accident — a coffee mix-up, a chance conversation, a quiet connection that grew into everything.

But reality doesn’t care about love.

Her father calls you a phase. The tabloids call you a leech. Her friends smile too tightly when you’re around. You memorize wine lists just so you won’t look out of place at her family’s events.

You work harder, speak softer, laugh smaller — just to survive her world.

And Karina?

She loves you. Madly. Enough to burn bridges. Enough to be reckless.

But she’s not the one struggling to breathe.

You are.

You didn’t belong in her world.

That was the truth you kept swallowing like broken glass — quietly, cleanly, pretending it didn’t hurt when it always, always did.

You were the invisible one.

The one holding her coat at charity galas, smiling politely when a senator’s wife said, “It’s cute that Karina’s doing her rebellion era.”

The one the tabloids called “nameless” and “not at her level.”

The one who had to Google every wine pairing before her father’s dinner.

The one who skipped meals just to afford a rental suit.

You thought you could outrun the difference.

You really thought love would be enough.

It all snapped in a stairwell.

The party was still happening behind the marble walls, full of violins and glass laughter. But you couldn’t breathe anymore. Your lungs gave up somewhere between the shrimp appetizer and Karina’s cousin calling you “the house cat she picked up off the street.”

You walked out. Quietly. Always quietly.

Karina found you minutes later, heels clicking sharply before she pulled the door shut.

“Why are you out here?” she asked, already breathless.

You didn’t turn. “Just needed air.”

She took a step forward. “Talk to me.”

You looked up at the ceiling like it could hold your breakdown for you. But it couldn’t.

“I’m not angry, Karina. I’m tired.”

She flinched. “Of me?”

“Of this.” You faced her now, eyes shining. “Of pretending I’m not watching you shrink yourself just to love me.”

“That’s not true—”

“Isn’t it?” you snapped. “You defend me when I’m not there. Smile at your family when they insult me to my face. Apologize when I can’t meet your standards even though I never agreed to them in the first place.”

Karina opened her mouth. Then closed it. You could see the words forming, dying behind her lips.

You laughed bitterly. “They’re right, you know. I am a weight. You’re pulling me behind you while you try to fly.”

“You are not a weight,” she said, voice trembling. “You’re the only thing that keeps me grounded.”

You looked away. “Then maybe you were never meant to fly with me at all.”

You didn’t leave that night.

But you stopped dreaming.

And a week later—

You really left.

Karina was frantic.

She called twelve times. Showed up at your tiny rooftop apartment in the rain — mascara ruined, umbrella unopened, hair soaked and clinging to her skin. She banged on the door like her life depended on it.

You opened.

Her voice cracked instantly. “Don’t you dare shut that door.”

You didn’t. You couldn’t.

“I told you I’d fight for us,” she breathed, stepping inside, puddles forming beneath her. “Why won’t you let me fight?”

“Because loving me shouldn’t be a war,” you said.

You could feel your ribs ache. Your knees buckle. You were trying so hard not to cry in front of her. Again.

“I love you,” she whispered. “I’d burn every expectation. Every headline. I’d cut ties. I’d run.”

“And then what?” you said, voice breaking. “You’d come live in this apartment where the heater barely works? Wake up to the sound of traffic and regret?”

She didn’t answer.

So you stepped forward.

“I can’t give you the world, Karina. I can’t even give you a future right now.”

She stared at you like you’d just ripped her heart out.

“And I’d still choose you,” she said.

“But I wouldn’t choose me for you,” you whispered.

She didn’t stay that night.

Not because she didn’t want to.

But because you watched her leave. And didn’t stop her.

You loved her. That’s why.

And sometimes love means knowing when to let someone go where you can’t follow.

The Letter She Never Sent

She wrote it two weeks later.

Never mailed it. Just kept it folded in her drawer — creased, tear-stained.

Dear you,

You once told me I shine too bright for you.

But baby, I was only shining because I had someone to shine for.

I used to think power came from being feared. From walking into a room and having people stand straighter, speak softer.

But the first time you kissed me — god — that’s when I understood what real power was.

Because you made me feel loved without having to earn it.

And now I’m sitting in boardrooms again, alone, and everything feels cold even when I win.

So if you ever find your way back to me…

You don’t need to shine.

You just need to knock.

I’ll open the door.

Always.

Love,

Karina

A Year Later.

You see her in the bookstore.

Just like before.

She’s standing by the travel section, fingering the spine of a book about Greece — Santorini, to be exact. A place you once daydreamed about together. One of those stupid nights in your tiny apartment where you both fell asleep on the floor, talking about islands and sunsets and a world where you could just be.

You freeze.

She looks up.

And your eyes meet.

A beat.

Then another.

And nothing.

No letter in her hand this time.

No gentle smile.

Just the polite recognition of someone you used to know so deeply, their breath was once the first thing you looked for in the morning.

She gives you a small nod.

You nod back.

That’s it.

You don’t approach her.

She doesn’t cross the aisle.

Because sometimes the people who meant everything don’t come back.

Sometimes love isn’t enough.

Sometimes the pain wasn’t worth the risk again.

So you watch her go — her silhouette still graceful, still commanding, still her — and you turn away with a quiet exhale.

There’s no soundtrack. No slow motion. No last look.

Just two people who loved each other hard.

And then walked away.

[easyboyrecliner]

GRAVITY FALLS INTRO

ACT I. UPTOWN GIRL

JOLYNE MORGAN, born on a hot summer day in 93’, is the daughter of former rancher arthur morgan & his ex wife mary. the former couple lived on a ranch in montana, near darby. her winters were spent up in the mountains, trying to learn skiing but in actuality drinking too many hot chocolates and avoiding the cold. summers were spent plugging strawberries and tending the animals. she bonded with a giant shire called, perseus. he is her greatest joy.

her childhood was a peaceful one. surrounded by the people and animals she loved, christmas evenings spent at home with too many christmas presents to count underneath the tree, given by her uncles and aunts. during the cold evenings she’d be tugged underneath the blankets and would watch the animated rudolph the red nose reindeer movie.

she was always a quiet child, with interest in mythology. jolyne had always had pet geese and named them after the gods. greek, egyptian, hindu or norse, that did not matter. she also always had an abundance of cats and dogs. her two borzoi dogs are the eldest, they’re five years old. caesar and cleopatra. the youngest is a rottweiler called, rufus. her german shepherd, reinhard, is three years old. her two cats, ted and mikkel, are often seen lounging about.

though jolyne is no stranger to the weirdness of the town that is gravity falls. no, its strangeness is known all throughout the states. mostly because her dad is great friends with the legend that is stan pines. he adored young jolyne and promised her that one day she’d work at the mystery shack. … and that she’d learn to haggle and cheat at poker. that peaked her excitement for the day she’d work there.

but before that day could happen she had school before her. many interests were made and many friends along the way. tears where shed over a video game (out of anger and frustration) & jokes where made over a boy band that could’ve bought her from her parents (one direction reference). musicals were learned, dance choreography’s were studied and taught.

ACT II. YOUR SONG

“hey duffer 1..? 👀” “yeah duffer 2? 🤓” ☆ the first conclusion that was made about school: it sucks. the people? cocky and self obsessed. expect some cool people from the older grades. the ups and downs of a private school for rich kids.

jolyne quickly found some friends. same age or a bit older, or younger. ashley lachér & her brother crouton, their cousin shagford, sylvester ko-hen, jessica rose, katelyn jackson, claire willows, sebastian coleson, the eclair twins, devahir & jaxon. the twins including katelyn were super popular. like super duper. so why’d they hang out with the theatre, punk and goth kids? who knew. it is a very fun friendgroup, loud and tight knit. because who else would perform moulin rouge in the middle of the auditorium? watch creepypasta & fnaf videos during class and get away with it? read cringe one direction fan fiction and claiming that they can write better ones? they did. they were simply called the headache and that’s still their group chat name.

around that time jolyne discovered bloodborne, a terrible mistake but beautiful mistake. that game brought her to tears (not for good reasons). beautiful story, music and designs but the bosses…she doesn’t talk about the frustrations she felt while fighting them. (know that she’d groan at the mention of micolash or gehrman)

the craziest thing they could’ve done at that rich private school? join the german course. herr zeki müller was maybe the craziest but best experience they could’ve ever asked for. yes, they are still in contact with him. he cried during their high school graduation. they have a picture. purpose unknown. blackmail? who knows. the small german class, that mostly consisted of the friendgroup & some other poor souls, had the best excursions to other countries. they got lost in japan, almost imprisoned in the netherlands & made many memories they’d never forget. (the polaroid pictures aren’t talked about, they are peak drunk embarrassment)

but all good things come to an end…

ACT III. FRÜHLING IN PARIS

GOOOO TIGERSS ☆ the year is 2012 & jolyne is currently undergoing a midlife crisis despite only being eighteen years old. her parents divorced and they moved away. away from her friends and beloved mountains. to fucking oregon out of all the places. arthur sold the old ranch and has bought a smaller farm at gravity falls. at least she could see stan again. the old man was very funny.

arthur claimed it’s just because of stan and needing a familiar face to cheer him up with. jolyne knew that wasn’t the truth but she didn’t press. while she struggled with moving away from her friends, playing hades so often could only help little. listening to her favorite songs could help so little. jolyne spends most of her time recreating her friends in the sims while streaming the game process. it’s a mess (sylvester always ends up dying?). they spend a lot of time calling together, initially. after arthur had to warn them to stop screaming at 3 am in the morning, the calls became less; but the text messages doubled. she usually practices the dances from dirty dancing, because it is ashley’s favorite movie.

jolyne got the job stan pines promised her. and what a mistake that is to put a socially anxious eighteen year old at the cashier. but nonetheless she stayed. when jolyne isn’t working, she is exploring the small town and avoiding wendy corduroy’s friend group. robbie is rude, tambry is…tambry….and the rest of the boys she hasn’t seen much, maybe some glimpses here and there. but she has heard the crazy stories from stan, soos & wendy herself. gravity falls, in itself, is a beautiful town with many mysteries she wishes to uncover and explore. because last wednesday she saw a unicorn…?

the pines twins arrival is just around the corner and she is most excited about it (with stan of course). she has a feeling in her bones that the summer will be memorable.

side note: Yes if you know RDR2, it’s mary and Arthur. THEY DESERVE THE LIFE ROCKSTAR TOOK AWAY FROM THEM. The aunts and uncles are the rest of the Van der Linde Gang, tihihi. For German folks , i just had to script Herr Müller in.. we all need a herr müller in our lives. Hades and Bloodborne come out earlier because they’re my comfort games alright. They’re peak. And this contains some PRETTY MUCH IT references because it’s my fav YouTube channel.

playlist:

ALORS ON DANSE ; stromae

REMEMBER THE TIME ; michael jackson

NORDISCH BY NATURE ; fettes brot

EYES WITHOUT A FACE ; billy idol

TIME WARP ; rocky horror cast

THE ZOMBIE SONG ; stephanie mabey

SECRET ; the pierces

PROM QUEEN ; icp

HUNGRY EYES ; eric carmen

taglist: @briiverse , @bridalribbon , @salemisha , @katmikaelsendevotee , @miainbetween , @snoopysites , @sozhuo , @polyhymniae