#THIS GOOD BOY CAN FIT SO MUCH PROJECTION AND ANGST INTO HIM

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

Hi Hal!

Congratulations on finishing all the requests (there were so many good ones!!) and thank you for opening them up again!! I’m excited to see what you have in store for us with all your other projects, bestie!!! 😊😊

I was unsure of who to request at first because there are so many good ones but then I saw Hesh’s name and an idea hit me.

If you’re ok with it, could you possibly write one for Hesh where the reader is part of the Ghosts has been taken/captured by the Federation and after some time, they get intel on where she is so they go out to rescue her and she and Hesh are reunited? I don’t know if you want it to be a pre-established relationship or one where they both admit their feelings after they get her back, so I’m leaving it up to you. But I need a little rescue/reunion fic to fill the void in my heart that the ending of Ghosts made.

As always, feel free to change it up as you see fit and do whatever you want. I just think that Hesh deserves more love and I wouldn’t be opposed to seeing Riley again (aka: the best dog in the world)!!

Thank you and remember to take care of yourself and I appreciate you and your work!! 💕💕 Love you, bestie!!!!

Lengths Of Love

PAIRING: David 'Hesh' Walker x F!Reader

SYNOPSIS: You'd loved Hesh for as long as you can remember, and you'd pulled him out of trouble for even longer, but you'd never had the courage to tell him how you feel. Until you do. Until you're being dragged away from his broken body.

WORDCOUNT: 10.7k

WARNINGS: Major spoilers for CoD: Ghosts, heavy angst, blood, guts, descriptions of wounds, canon-typical violence, weapons and firearms, death, torture involving: drugs/hallucinogens, physical violence, mental stress, talks of PTSD, anxiety, paranoia, rescue fic, best friends to lovers plot, wounds that would 100% kill you that you live from (plot armor fr), etc.

A/N: Bestie, I don't know what you put into your prompts, lmao, but I always end up writing so much for you!! Thanks so much for sending something in <3<3

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

The beginning of the end started with good intentions and one statement. 

“You hear this? It’s Rorke. He’s here. They’re evacuating on the train system below.” Hesh’s green eyes darted to you and Logan, his painted face a collection of rage and surety. The three of you were, in an instant, in agreement of revenge—there was no question as to what had to be done. Merrick couldn’t stop you, not on this. 

Rorke had made one of the most dangerous decisions of his life, and that was underestimating the Walker boys and their partner in sinful crime. 

“Harp,” you look away from the body of the warhead as it enters the atmosphere, locking onto Hesh’s hard eyes; the ones that had grown steadily colder since the death of his father, Elias. But it wasn’t just him—the patriarch had been close to you as well. The knowledge of his passing, witnessing it as the rope restraints seared into your flesh, had lit an all-consuming fire in your gut.

Like hounds, the scent of blood had hit the air. 

“Let’s get the bastard. Now or never,” you ease out, and Logan darts his gaze down to you from behind his balaclava. 

“Damn right,” Hesh barks, nodding firmly to you.

Anyone would have missed the way your gaze lingered on him as he darted off and began rushing down the stairs from the control room, Logan ever quick at his heels. But they wouldn’t have missed the way your breath pushed out a soft sigh as your eyes kept locked on the back of Hesh’s head as you followed after. 

You’d been childhood friends since practically infancy, a neighbor to the Walkers. It was natural that Hesh would grow to be the object of your daydreams ever since grade school; a constant and digging knife into your heart when he’d repeatedly pick other girls over you.

But such was life. 

All that mattered now was bringing down Rorke, silly love could wait.

“Merrick,” Hesh yelled down his line, the world outside this building rampant with open war. “The missile’s away and we’ve got a lead on Rorke, we’re going after him!” 

The white double doors meet the three of you as you all rush to them, and the panicked man’s voice flashes down the line immediately. 

“Negative Hesh! You three get back here and return to the rally point. We’ll track him down together.”

You call, “Isn’t an option, Merrick. We can’t let this one go.” 

You and Hesh ram your shoulders into the doors, Logan darting through first with his weapon drawn down the hallway. The brunette’s and your shoulders brush in a jostling of gear—pulling the back as your eyes lock. Cold light seeps from overhead, metal under your feet clanking in-key.

You look away before Hesh agrees and levels with the Ghost over the line to push your point. “Sorry, Merrick. Your mission is complete…ours isn’t.”

Federation heads pop up from behind makeshift barriers of barrels and other stacked items and as you all enter and clear rooms, alarms blare with the ferocity of fighting lions. Hesh keeps by your side, offering you openings that you greedily take as another soldier falls with a stiff twitch of your finger on the trigger. 

Darting behind cover, the man slams to the space beside you, calling over above the noise and the whizz of bullets.

“How long till impact?!” You shove a new clip into your FAD, brushing sweat and blood from your cheeks, smearing patches of your own paint. 

Glancing at the watch on your wrist, you hear Logan pushing the line. You dart out of cover to help—locking onto hostiles and backing up the younger brother with quick feet.

“Eight minutes, Hesh! You got a plan that doesn’t leave me with scorched hair?” He finds it in himself to laugh, clocking a soldier to your left and riddling him with bullets. 

“We need to get to that train, Harp. Don’t worry—I’ll kiss the burns away for you.” He rushes past and sends a smirk over his shoulder. You’re left stunned for a second, wishing that the teasing tilt to the older brother’s words was more than that. You blink, and the feeling is forced away.

Later.

“Keep pushing, Logan,” Hesh moves on. You all sprint down descending ramps, farther and farther underground with every step; adrenaline building to a breakneck level like weight slowly being added over and over to a chest. “We need to get to Rorke!” 

You didn’t want to tell him, but, while revenge was on your plate as well, this was a very reckless idea.

As you grab for a grenade from your belt and jerk on the pin, you chuck it down the way and call out a warning to the boys, who, like a well-oiled machine, dart and wait for it to detonate. Bodies fly, bloody splashes of torn limbs, and three Ghosts materialize from the smoke with masked and painted faces; eyes like fire and veins boiling. 

“Fire team suppressed in 3-1,” Hesh shouts through the line as you slide your knife into a man’s eye, his goggles breaking in a shattering of glass. “Advancing to loading bay!” 

There’s a large elevator ahead for transporting crates, and all of you jog inside as the gate creaks shut.

Merrick’s stiff voice replies, “Roger that.”

Silently, you click into the channel and mutter out as a moment of relative peace coats your body like a blanket, even if for a few small seconds. 

“I’ll keep ‘em safe,” a small twitch of your lips, “Commander.”

A deep and unimpressed voice wafts into your ear with a large sigh. “Know you will—just remember to keep yourself safe in the process, Kid…Don’t do anything stupid.”

You shift your gaze to Hash and find green already staring at you. Blinking, the man quickly darts his vision away and after a moment you turn your face back down to the connection and huff through a burning epidermis.

“Haven't you heard?” The elevator shows the train as it descends down, and you call to the boys, ‘six minutes’, with a firm voice. 

“Stupid seems to follow us three everywhere.”

Hesh points as the figures of more soldiers walk around below. “There’s Rorke’s train, straight ahead!” Sure enough, the worm of black and gray metal extends to your eyes across the large room

“He’ll be on there soon. Logan, take left.” You order and the brown-eyed man nods from beside you, shouldering his rifle and checking the clip. “Hesh?” 

“Taking right—you got Point, Doll.” He stares at you, licking his lips. “Clear the way?” You tilt your head at him as the elevator jumps to a stop, the barrier sliding away. It pains you to look away.

There were so many things you had to tell him. Too many things. 

“Always.” Shiting your face forward, you take a breath and take notice of points of cover, scoping the room in three seconds flat. Screeching wheels and alarms ingrain your eardrums. “On me.” 

As you head out first, fire the first bullet, the two peel off in opposite directions, Hesh only sliding up beside you and uttering into your ear.

“Be safe.” 

That comment makes you want to be anything but, if only he’d whisper into your ear like that again. 

Clearing the room, you can’t get your mind off the fact that this crush was overtaking nearly every part of your life—years of quiet agony and staying your tongue in fear of losing what great friendship you had. 

The stock set into your shoulder recoils with another burst of fire, Federation soldiers scream in pain, but you barely register over the shadows in the sides of your vision. 

“Damnit, Hesh,” you growl, bullet grazing your shoulder as you grunt and slip behind a concrete divider. 

“What’s that?” Your eyes widen comedically. Shit…had you forgotten to close the line? 

“Eh,” you clear your throat, grimacing at the small sparks of pain in your shoulder. “N-nothing.” 

There’s a bout of silence and then a panting voice, rough and growing more serious. “You alright over there, Harp?” You can’t even respond before Hesh quickly continues. “I’m comin’ to you. Stay there.”

You violently shake your head, although he can’t see it.

“Hesh, I’m fine! Keep right and clear that hallway.” 

There’s a deep grunt. “Fine, but if I see one scratch I’m makin’ Riley chase you down the Base when we get back.”

If we get back.

You roll your eyes with a growing smile, steeling yourself and slamming your weapon to the top of the divider before locking onto your targets. “Please, we both know he loves me too much for that.”

“Most I’ll have to do is put a treat in your pocket, Sweetheart.” His sly smirk is heard easily, and you swallow tense-like and breathe shakily. That low drawl in his tone left you more distracted than you could ever get used to. “Hell,” There’s a struggle over the line before the shink of a knife meeting flesh. A breathless chuckle that leaves your gut swirling. “Maybe I’ll just chase you down myself.”

Logan coughs over the line and you have to click off before you scream. Your face flares up until your ears ring and you have to duck behind your cover again before you get metal right to the forehead. 

Behind the barrier, you glare at the floor.

When did general teasing get so hard for you? Jokes and jabs carrying weight���since when? Sure you’d liked—more liked loved—Hesh since before all of this, but you’d carried on well enough. 

“Fucking hell,” you grumble, shaking your head to clear it and rushing. 

The brothers pop through the side hallways to flank the enemy, taking out the one or two hostiles that were still breathing after you level your barrel with the last standing head; firing with a burst of gunpowder.

“Train’s leaving, let's go!” Hesh screams, waving an arm quickly at you, walking backwards on quick feet. “Harp, C’mon!” 

You chuff, hopping the divider and sprinting as the metal object speeds up—there’s a moment where you fear you might miss it, Hesh and Logan both forced to hop on even in your absence.

“Harp!” Green eyes flash, one hand on the railing and the other extended out. 

“On it!” Snapping, you slam your palm into his and feel his strong fingers curl to clutch you. Logan grabs your collar and helps; the both of them easily yanking you over just as the wall of the tunnel engulfs you all in illuminated shadow.

Back meeting the train’s body, you pant and chuckle as Logan shakes his head, amused, and pats your shoulder. You wink at him jokingly. 

“Good save there, Walker Number Two.”

Hesh grabs the side of your neck, looking you over as he leans back with a breathless chuckle at the title for his brother. He blinks quickly at your shoulder, eye narrowing before he reaches out and looks at the blood on your gear.

“You mind telling me what this is, Doll?” You make a nose in the back of your throat as the smell of his musk hits your nostrils; the deadly concoction of his scent and his digging gaze.

Stuttering, you huff. “Eh…bullet graze?”

You’re leveled with thin lips, but Logan grabs his brother by the upper arm and peels him off you, motioning to his radio as the train gains even more speed. Wind whips past your face as Hesh clears his throat, quickly avoiding your eyes. 

The man’s splotchy paint shows his red skin under the darker pigment. 

“Merrick, we’re on the train,” he speaks, shifting past you without another look. “We’re going after Rorke.”

“Solid Copy.” You watch the brunette walk away and hold your breath, though you don’t know why—heart beating not just because of adrenaline. 

Embarrassment breeding in your stomach, you ignore Logan’s knowing stare and push off the wall, rubbing at your bleeding shoulder with a stiff hand. 

—

You break a man’s neck against the wall, hand on the back of his head before you slam it into the hard metal. There’s a crunch of bone and a broken rattle before the broadcasted feed from the screen on the train’s panel spits out a message in panicked Spanish to the already deceased men.

“Evacuation protocol C is in effect. All personnel secure cargo and supplies—”

Hesh interrupts ahead of you as you let the body drop, scowling at the heavy sound of its dead weight. At his angry voice, you perk and tune in.

“Tell Rorke we’re comin’ for him.” There’s a quick shove from the other end of the feed, the previous man disappearing as the individual that takes his place makes your eyes go to slits. A great growl like a wolf echoes from your heart and seeps from between your clenched teeth. 

Rorke’s scarred face appears with a smirk and a cocky voice.

“Why don’t you just tell me yourself?” You look at your boys, more concerned for them as you watch firsthand the trauma the death of their father brought them. 

Logan holds his weapon tighter, fixing his grip. Hesh is a bit more direct. He leans closer to the screen, bearing his teeth like a dog and snarling with rage and hatred.

“You’re done, Rorke.” All of a sudden he peels back a fast fist and sends it careening into the screen—making a shattering of glass and a hard thud emanate deep into your bones. 

Blinking quickly, you tense as it happens, not expecting that. But as soon as you try to make sense of it, the brunette is already banking off to the side door, calling a sharp, “Let’s finish this!”

He grabs the side of the train car and wrenches on the handle, grunting and pushing with all of his might.

“Hesh,” you try to reason, stepping in now before things get too hot. “We need to think of a plan before you rush into things. This could get us in a heap of shit that we might not be able to get out of.”

It’s like he doesn’t hear you, and you spare a glance with Logan for help. But he, too, has already joined his brother with a swish of gear on the handle. With one great push, the door opens to the outside brightness, making your face turn away for a moment. 

Along the far expanse of open sand dunes outside; mountains flanking the bridge this train flies across, you get the perfect view of a warhead meeting the ground in an explosion of fire and death. It bursts far across the valley, and you cover your eyes as the sharp ball of light burns your retinas. 

The shockwave hits moments later, and Hesh says easily as the train shakes and squeals like a metal pig, “Looks like Icarus got control of the rods!” The boys step out onto the platform along the train, and you have no option but to follow. “All that’s left is Rorke, let's go!”

“Hesh,” you try again, hissing out his name, and you’re graced with a quick glance.

“Harp,” he comments, “what is it? We can’t wait any longer—”

“What we can’t do is go in blind!” You shout above the wind, legs stanced to help you stay up. Green eyes twitch with confusion, perhaps even a little hurt. 

“Blind? What are you talking about, we push forward and take what’s owed.” You know how much this means to him—to Logan—but there was a point where pride and stubbornness outweighed sense. This was dangerous, especially for Hesh. 

You were always the one to keep him level; keep him from becoming too much like his dad. 

You’d promised that old bastard you’d look after his boys, albeit in a teasing sense, but to you, it had been a stark vow on your soul. Logan was a brother to you, and Hesh…Hesh would always be more, but that only made your love for them both grow. 

“You keep those two from getting in their heads, you hear? They mean well, but there’s no one I trust more than you to level them out, Harp. I’m proud of you. And I’m sure your folks would be too.” Elias had said that, and when he died you bottled it up and used so much force that coal had turned to diamond. 

You would keep Logan and Hesh safe. Safe, and level, and not hard-headed. 

For as much as you secretly loved your brunette, he sure was stubborn as all hell.

“If you want out, Harp,” Hesh calls to you, gritting his teeth. “Just wait back in the train car. This is something we can’t put off like everything else—this ends now; today. I’m not letting Dad’s killer survive.”

“Son of a bitch, that’s not what I’m saying!” You’re quickly losing your standing. Logan jogs ahead to scout, time ticking. “Hesh, you know that I loved Elias as much as you two did—not one is denying that this needs to happen. I'm with you. But this is too damn dangerous! We can’t rush into this without a plan of attack; of exfil! Do you even know how we’re going to get off of this thing?!” 

Hesh had been isolating the few days he had on the U.S.S Liberator, keeping to his room. The man idolized his father and put him on a pedestal of gold even when he was a teenager. He’d even pushed away from you, which all together was unheard of. Logan had nearly had an aneurism when you’d come back to the cafeteria and shook your head in disappointment after trying to get him to open his door. 

The two of you told each other everything. Always. That was just…how it was.

But the man that Hesh had donned the skin of was not the man you loved.

Hesh glares at you, eyes going alight with anger. 

“If you were with me, you wouldn’t be holding me back.” He turns and runs after Logan, leaving you behind in the open air as the train banks left and right with the sway of the bridge. 

Staring. Barely breathing. Mouth parted and eyes wide. 

When the man is at the end of the current train car, having to jump a small distance to the next, he pauses. His back is tight, and under him, his feet shuffle. 

There’s a moment you hope he’ll turn around and come back, take you into one of his hugs, and squeeze the life out of you. It wouldn’t be such a cruel way to die, you think, to be held in his arms. 

But the next moment you see the back of his head shake, and he jumps over to the next section, not even giving you a second glance.

You don’t want to admit how long you waited there, your mind jumbled and confused. 

Don’t take it personally, you try to tell yourself, sucking down a breath before slowly walking forward. He’s hurt. Grieving. He didn’t mean it.

Rationality was a tool of the level-headed, and you were anything but that nowadays.

Over the line Hesh’s voice makes you flinch as you slowly follow after, train car after train car.

“Rorke must be at the front of the train!” You step over dead bodies and lend merciful bullets to the ones still writhing, boots coated in crimson. Following a trail of wreckage with stiff lungs. 

Stay out of his way? Fine, you could do that.

You stayed back from the head-to-head fighting, laying covering fire and keeping off the comms—whenever Hesh managed to look back at you, you simply moved on to the next hostile. 

Eventually, you all ended up on the rooftops, the boys far ahead and yourself blank-faced at the rear. Logan was acting more concerned than Hesh was, glancing at you constantly in confused worry. But it was very much short-lived.

“Incoming!” The right side of the railcar bursts with fire, and you gasp before grappling for the opposite side of the train, keeping you there before the swaying beast leveled out. “Helos. Take cover and take out the gunners!”

You scoff, quickly making your way behind a connector joint to lean your back against it and catch your breath. Two helicopters fly alongside the train, Logan already firing at one, and Hesh…your eyes narrow with annoyance. Hesh was already running ahead of the pack, his low grunts and growls over the line giving way to his impatience. 

You click your jaw and try to remind yourself that this is the same man who held you close during movie nights and carried you to bed when you fell asleep. Made you waffles when your boyfriend in eighth grade broke up with you on Valentine’s Day.

Stitched your wounds before he gave them a teasing ‘kiss better’ and looked up at you through dark lashes. 

You wildly shake your head to force yourself back to the present.

The gunners are harder to hit not only based on wind and distance alone, but on the erratic movements of the pilots. It’s several clips before you down the second Helo, and Logan’s follows immediately after as they both collide and ram into the mountainside.

You both share a glance and rush after the misguided brunette. 

At the end of the train, only the engine remains. 

“Clear!” Hesh relays, jumping down from the roof of the railcar and hurriedly walking to the white door, leaning against the wall. “We’re at the last car, Logan. Rorke’s pinned, he knows we’re comin’.”

You gaze down from the top as Logan follows, silent and brooding. Your hands along your FAD tighten under your gloves. You don’t even look at the man. 

“Merrick, do you copy?”

“Copy, Hesh.”

“We’re moving in on Rorke.” You slide him a look, seeing him glaring those pretty greens into the ground. “If you hear the word “Checkmate”, you will fire on our position! Confirm?” Your eyes snap with horror, heart lurching.

Surely, you hadn’t heard that right.

Merrick’s voice echoes your frozen confusion. “Say again, repeat your last.”

You jump down and stagger for a moment, barking out a harsh, “What the fuck are you doing?” Inside of your chest, your heart rampages like it never had before. “That’s suicide!”

He was going to kill everyone to bring down Rorke, and you get no answer beyond a clenched jaw and a quick side-eye.

“You heard me, Merrick, on “Checkmate”, hit this train!” The connection is cut and Logan gets into position to shoulder the door open, you watch, stuttering. 

Hesh levels with his brother, “We can’t take any chances, Logan. Even if we fail, Rorke dies.” Panic builds, and you’re taking quick steps forward.

You keep those two from getting in their heads, you hear?

You have to stop them, you have to drag them away—but even you know that deep down the only thing that will stop these two is a bullet. 

Eyes snapping back and forth, you only get close enough to try and snatch at Hesh’s arm right as he finishes a countdown of three; at the end, Logan kicks down the engine room door with a violent connection of his boot.

Even with the drop on the three guards inside, it doesn't stop the bullet from ripping through your lower side, preoccupied and distracted yet again. You yell loudly, balking back into the door frame and hunching over as blood spurts out of you. Hesh’s head whips your way immediately, jaw going slack and a soul-deep hysteria takes over.

So now he pays attention.

“Shit, Harp!” So little time. 

Logan can’t take care of the last remaining Fed soldier by himself, and in a large act of self-sabotage, that very soldier just happened to have a missile launcher. 

The entire left engine explodes—the train jerks; everyone is sent in a back-and-forth motion, first hitting off the last train car before being sent right back through the engine room entirely. A transference of force gives you whiplash as your head bounces off the door frame. 

The world goes blurry, body hitting and slamming through layers of glass and pain before the control room is suddenly where you end up, using the body of a stunned guard as a cushion. 

There’s a second of muffled gunfire, struggling and yelling—and then it all comes back into focus like a sniper’s scope being correctly sighted. You gargle an expletive and shove the guard under you back down despite the searing heat in your side and head; struggling to unsheathe your combat knife as the world tilts. 

Hands push at your cheeks, grip at your neck futilely, but when you get the blade out and struggle the hands down once more, you hammer the point into his throat with a thump of your boot pressing for purchase on the floor. 

The man spasming, you push off of him and slam to the ground, coughing in great lung-shattering segments.

“You can’t win, Rorke!” Hesh’s voice brings you back from the swirling, and you hear your blood patter to the metal floor like rain.

“Shit,” you mutter, gasping for air. 

Gazing up you see Rorke holding Logan in a chokehold, free hand pointing a gun at Hesh. Your eyes bulged, trying to push onto your knees and reach for your weapon as you saw Hesh continually looking away from the target and worriedly watching you. His hands at his sides are loose, but when you lock eyes with him, they clench and shake. 

“It’s over—” He tries, but the loud gunshot bounces off the train’s enclosed space. You’re yelling before you can think, darting forward and leveling your gun right to Rorke’s head as Hesh’s form collapses to the ground.

Standing on unsteady feet, you pant and stumble, but the devil’s brown eyes hold you captive. Rorke smirks as you guard Hesh behind you. 

“Well, well, well, seems the girl’s just as promising as you, eh, Logan? She’s the other one who slipped her binds in Las Vegas.” He laughs. “Look at me, I’m surrounded by young talent.” 

“I don’t exactly care if you are or aren’t,” you growl, shuffling to keep Hesh even farther behind you as you instrumentally cough again. Your legs are wobbling. “Just that you put my fucking friend down.”

“You willing to die for him?” Rorke looks demented, with his scar and his intimidating build. Whatever torture he had been through to make him like this—a Ghost killer—it had worked perfectly. There was no coming back from this. He whistles lowly. “That’s some loyalty you have there.”

His mind was dead to all else.

You don’t hesitate in an answer, even as the man behind you grabs your leg, trying to move you with a wheezing breath.

“H-Harp,” his spine moves in a cough. “Don’t…please.”

“Always.” Interest alights in those dark, tiny eyes. Logan tries to give you messages with his gaze, but you ignore him. Ironic. “That’s not something I’ll break on. Unlike you.”

“Shit, Kid,” there’s a grand laugh, “now that’s heartless…but good,” Rorke glances at Hesh, raising a brow and chuckling. “I’ll love to see the look in his eyes when I—”

“Checkmate!”

“Checkmate confirmed.” You look down at Hesh and see him watching you, his gaze open and bare. 

“I’m sorry,” he gasps, but all you can do is watch. 

There’s no time to think.

“I love you,” you confess in a fleeting moment of bare nothingness, blurting it out. “I’ve loved you.”

Hesh’s body entirely halts, jaw slowly slackening in horror; something shifts behind his eyes but before he can open his mouth, a rageful bark bullies the smooth tone of his throat back.

“What did you do?!” Your form is bodied into the controls behind you, colliding as you snarl and are forced to recover. With a snap of your finger, you fire a shot into Rorke’s foot. 

He yells and whips his wrist back, slamming the butt of his gun into your temple. 

As the bridge ahead of the train explodes, Hesh drags himself to cover your body, muttering into your flesh words you cannot name as the darkness sets in.

“It’s over,” Hesh speaks grimly to Rorke, turning to look at him silently as he presses your head into his chest, sharing a nod and thin-lipped look with Logan still stuck in his arm. “It’s over.”

“Shit, Son…” The train gets thrown and broken in a wave of utter destruction and rebirth; and through it all, Hesh never lets go—not even when the water below comes up to meet you.

—

The beach’s sand is coarse, and it sticks to your gear with a fervent hold. To your skin, the paint, and blood, for the moment washed away as hands dragged you from the water, small puffs of breath and whimpers greeting you. 

“C’mon, Sweetheart.” Hesh. And he sounded frantic. “C’mon, open…open your eyes, dammit. Please, you just told me the best thing you possibly could. Please.” 

Water slips off your neck, and as you’re weakly lying back, propped against a rock, hands slip to your cheeks, moving the skin as a barely conscious body tries to make you wake up. 

A forehead hits against your shoulder, a deep groan of pain emanating from the man who grips at your gear.

“No, no, c’mon,” Hesh can barely keep himself sitting up, bloody and broken. Logan had to drag him from the water not seconds prior, and in turn, Hesh had grabbed what little strength was left and helped him get you. “Logan!” Green darts to brown, and the older brother pleads in a broken voice, “Help me!”

You bend your head forward and cough up blood and water, shoving Hesh away from you so you can collapse on your side and expel your stomach.

“Harp,” the man quickly mutters, dragging himself over and grabbing your shoulder to keep your face out of the sand. “Fuck, okay—it’s okay I’ve got you.”

“You,” your voice cuts out, and you shake as you gasp and sputter, “A-are a fucking idiot!” 

Hesh chuckles, and you feel his head hit off your arm, his struggling breath. “God, I know. I know, Sweetheart.” 

Logan crawls over to you, pushing you back against the rock and grappling for his medical pouch as Hesh patches into the comms. You grunt and look down at the younger brother, head swirling in colors and ears pounding with your pulse. 

“Merrick, do you copy? Merrick, come in.”

“Hesh! Hesh, is that you?” You weakly smirk at the shock and relief from the tone, letting your head tilt back as Logan hurriedly packs your gunshot wound with gauze. You wince and stare at the sky—blood infectiously tinging the sand below you. 

Hesh tries to help too, but you and the man are in far worse shape than Logan. The older brother’s shoulder leans into yours heavily, and you shift your eyes to the side as they flutter.

You haven't forgotten what you told him, what you confessed, but right now pushing back the black in the sides of your vision was more important.

And Rorke. What had happened to Rorke?

“Yeah,” Hesh watches you, face screwed with concern. “Yeah, I’m with Harp and Logan. We’re…we’re alive. Rough shape, but alive.”

“And Rorke?” You hold your breath.

“Dead.” Logan ties off a quick tourniquet and your spine tightens in agony, hissing out as your nerves spike with electricity. The brown-eyed man spares you a sorry glance but you shake your head in dismissal. “He’s dead.” 

Out in the water, the enemy warships are firing off missiles inland, some smoking and others already sinking. Merrick gives you the news as Hesh brings a hand up to your chin, tilting your head his way. You go willingly, skin on fire from the scrape of his gloves. 

Logan moves back, having done what he can, before he collapses back into the sand, panting with an arm over his stomach. His older brother’s forehead bumps into yours, eyes stuck. 

“Copy that. The Federation is in full retreat—the rest of the payload is inbound to finish the…”

Whatever else Merrick relays is lost and Hesh’s lips splay over yours, his nose letting out a long breath and body sagging, dead-weight. Cheeks hot and mind running, you let instinct take over and reciprocate, quick fingers pulling at his vest straps.

“Since when?” He asks, breathless when he moves back an inch. 

“After you introduced me to your first girlfriend, Cassie Albrook,” you smile, eyes crinkling. “Seventh grade. The one with the black hair? God, I was so jealous.” 

Hesh chuckles deeply, body jerking as he kisses you again, pulling back and holding your cheek in his hand. His eyes are wide and open.

“You mean to tell me, I could have been kissin’ you all the way back since seventh grade?” Your face moves with pure love, flesh going soft—even the pain diminishes somewhat. 

Merrick’s voice still gruffly moves down the line, and the last bits of his sentence are heard. 

“...Sit tight, Recon’s comin’ for ya.” Everything was looking up. 

Missiles slam into the Federation ships out in the water, the sudden burst of liquid and fire making Hesh briefly cover you with his side to protect you from the shockwave. When you turn to look, nothing but sinking metal remains. 

“I’m sorry,” Hesh tells you, and you don’t have the energy to pull away from his neck as you let your head rest—the thumping of your brain and the calming shadow of his form giving way to believe you had a concussion. 

“Hm,” you hum, letting him continue. His voice echoed in his breast.

“I…I’ve been an ass these past few days, weeks, I shouldn’t have said what I did—wanted to take it back as soon as I turned away from you.” You close your eyes and sigh long, sarcastic even now. 

“You owe me dinner and a movie, then I’ll see if I can forgive you.” Hesh chuckles, nose pressing down into your scalp. He kisses you there as water falls from his chin.

“Sounds like a plan, Doll.” The man lets himself rest, curled around you and waiting for the recon team as the sand and the water move. “I love you too…just so you know. Long time.”

Your failing mind lets off a scoff. But a happy one.

When you wake again, not remembering when you’d fallen asleep, it is to the sound of screaming. 

“Logan!” You jolt up and have to place a hand on your head to stop the pounding. Hesh is struggling to move, fighting to get to his younger brother who you turn as quickly as you’re able to face. “Logan!”

Your face voids of blood. 

Rorke is dragging the other man away, pushing him to the ground as Logan tries to fight like a dog on his back, with only one arm working properly. Growling, you try to stand—body falling and sliding right back down as Rorke kicks Logan’s combat blade from his hand, walking over to you and Hesh. 

He stands and pants, limping from your shot to his foot and a hand across his abdomen in obvious pain.

“Look what you did,” Rorke motions behind him to the still-falling missiles being disposed of from space into the ocean; atop the wreckage of what Rorke had been a part of. Falling to your side, you leave behind a raging Hesh who attempts to move and get to Rorke while you go to Logan. The devil wheezes and points from you to the boys, forcing a grunt of approval. “You’re good.”

Hesh is shoved back by a ruthless boot into the rock, and you snarl, coming over to Logan and his very broken arm as he weakly writhes on the ground. You place your body over his and bare your teeth as if a beast. 

“Rorke!” You bark. “It’s over! It’s done. Everything you’ve built is dead and recon is on its way for us…you’re finished.”

“Nothin’s finished, no,” Hesh tries to lunge again as Rorke’s body stumbles closer to you but falls into ragged coughs and stays on his side in utter agony. 

“Stay away from them!” The man you’d just confessed to hisses, hand grasping futilely at the sand. Green eyes run back and forth from you to Logan, desperate and breaking by the second. “Rorke! You son of a bitch!”

“Nothin’s ever finished.” Grabbing you by the scruff of your neck, you’re being tossed off Logan and thrown to the side in a cloud of sand, body screaming at you as you yell out loudly. 

Rorke bends a knee to look Logan in the eyes, shaking his head.

“You’d of been a hell of a Ghost.” Yelling, you wrench at the combat knife in your vest, set your feet, and tackle Rorke off of the Walker boy with a feral curse on your breath. 

“Get the fuck off of—” Your leg twists with a defining crack as you’re grappled and thrown off, only able to slice a nice long cut down his jaw and at the beginning of the man’s throat. 

Screaming you hear briefly Hesh’s rageful bellow, his calling of your name in high keens of helplessness. Promises of revenge and justice. 

Breath breaking as tears line the back of your eyes, Rorke comes over you and pins your dominant hand to the ground—you look up and grimace, trying to make your body function. 

Move!

Rorke laughs, great shoulders shaking with glee. He’s fucking demented as he continues his sentence from before your fruitless attack. 

“...But that’s not gonna happen, is it?” The man smiles and you struggle as Logan and Hesh rapidly try to assist. 

“Harp!”

“There ain’t gonna be any Ghosts.” Rorke’s eyes shift to Hesh, and you follow with a sense of dread and horror. The man’s mind had been made up when he turned back around, disregarding Logan entirely in favor of you and your ‘unbreakable’ loyalty. 

The joy it would bring him to destroy you and set you loose after such. Set you loose on Hesh. 

He leans in close to you, so you can feel his breath and his conviction. 

“We’re gonna destroy ‘em together.” 

“Harp!” You’re shoved back, knife grasped and ripped from your hand as your broken leg is grabbed and pressure is applied. 

You scream again, arms carding across the dunes as Rorke begins dragging you backward like a child holding onto a stuffed toy. Blown green eyes meet yours, Hesh reaching out and screaming at the top of his lungs for you. 

But he can’t move.

“Harp!” 

And you can’t feel your fingers. 

“I love you,” you whisper, perhaps for the last time and he sees your lips move. Hesh screams and slams his hand into the ground, Logan stumbling to his knees but immediately dropping back with a small cry. 

And Rorke chuckles.

—

You don’t know where he took you, but you do know the jungle floor is cold and wet, and the mud under your fingernails makes you feel gross. 

What you do know is that the earthen walls of the pit you are in are pointless to try to climb—the top is slatted with a covering of long sticks with wide square openings. You know it’s going to rain by the smell in your bloodied nostrils. 

You know that your leg is broken, your bullet wound is festering through the tourniquet, and your concussion is making you sleepy. 

In your head, you count these ‘knowns’ and sprinkle them like seeds as you stare blankly at the sky far above. Everything aches; hurts. When you breathe, it comes in and out with a wheeze. 

You know that Hesh loves you, and perhaps that’s the only fact you care about. Wherever he is, you’re glad he can’t see you like this. 

Rain patters against your head, the storm clouds finally rolling through. Leaves can be heard shuffling on their branches. You breathe in and out, rising and settling your lungs slowly. 

You can’t break—not like Rorke. 

No matter what he did to you, you can’t betray the Ghosts. Logan. Hesh.

Elias’s words echo as you curl into a tiny ball, shivering and whimpering as your wounds move and pull. 

...I’m proud of you. And I’m sure your folks would be too.

You know this game. Torture. They’ll pump you full of hallucinogens, starve you, beat you within an inch of your life; and through that you cannot give in.

But it’s easier said than done.

In the middle of the night, the top of the pit is pushed away and there are the voices of multiple people that dance above the rain storm. They jump down and in the state you are, there’s nothing you can do to stop them from hooking their arms under yours and hauling you up, limp and motionless. 

The words are in Spanish, and you still can make out some over the commotion and the way your hearing dips in and out. 

“Where do we inject….”

“...neck, I believe…arm could work too…”

“...nasty…was it? I heard…mix of drugs…Who knows?”

Your head is harshly yanked back, and the sharp pinch of a needle digs into your neck, the action making your good leg kick out in panic but there’s little you can do. 

A flood of thick fluid enters your veins and like sap seeping out of a tree some drops exit the wound and mix with the rain weighing down your clothes. They’d taken your gear, only your undershirt and cargo pants still clothing you. 

When they’re done, they let you drop back to the floor, where you flop and smash your face into the mud with a weak drag of your cheek along the sludge. With calls from above, a rope is tossed down and they all ascend. The top is clattered back over moments later. 

Laying still and groaning, teeth clenched, already you feel ten times more strange than before. 

“Ah,” you grasp at your head, which was bursting to begin with, as it gains a looseness to it—the mud below you shimmered with puddles, the chill got colder, and your clothes felt grating against your skin. “Not good. N-not good.” 

You pull at your shirt collar, coughing as your eyes bulge; your heart breaks itself as it immediately can be felt hammering into your ribcage far more sensitive than you’d ever experienced. It felt like your chest was going to rip open. 

Panicked sounds emanate from the back of your throat, fingers digging into your scalp as the drugs carry their venom through your blood. 

Your wounds blazed.

You start screaming, babbling for nothing, and pulling at your flesh, but the overhead striking of lightning leaves the desperation mute to all but the trees.

—

Hesh stares at you from the corner of the pit, but his eyes are not green. You watch, silent, barely moving, from where you curl into a tiny heap of bloodied flesh. You’d torn at your skin for days; time looped together with more injections and no food. Water you got from the sky.

They had offered soup, but you knew better even as you dug harsh lines into your neck. There were just more drugs in the broth. 

But Hesh. Hesh.

He wasn’t right—didn’t stand like him, or breathe like him; there was something off about his smirk as he watched you gaze at him in an addled stupor.

“Feelin’ good over there, Kid?” Not Hesh. Not. Hesh.

You’re panting, your body sweating profusely in the humidity and so, so hungry.

Not Hesh takes a step forward and his image tilts like the turning of a page with Rorke taking his place, but as soon as it happens it flips back on itself to your Love.

“N-not right,” you hurriedly whisper.

Not Hesh puts a hand to his ear, kneeling down in front of you. “What was that, now?” A long chuckle. His voice is…is…deeper. Your eyebrows flinch up and down. “Who do you see, Sweetheart?”

“Hesh,” you whimper out. “Hesh, what are you talking about? What’s going on? I…I feel like I’m…I’m twisted inside out.”

“Hesh, huh?” The man looks to the side, smiling. “Well, that’s better than I expected. This’ll be fun.”

“W-what—” A fist connects with your face and you get catapulted into the wall. Before anything else, your stomach is kicked, making your call of alarm get forced out as a gasp as your clotted bullet wound reopens in a great tear. A large hand grips you hard by the chin, snapping it forward to stare into those wrong eyes but the familiar face of Hesh. 

What was he doing to you?

“H…Hesh,” you can’t even stutter out his name before you break down into coughs and gagging; tears rolling down your cheeks, and blood and mud everywhere.

“Yeah, that’s right. You just keep lookin’ at me.” You dry heave and push at his hands, fingernails digging into his skin to create crescent moons. “Keep lookin’ at Hesh.”

—

It’s three months of the same, and you can’t go on anymore.

You lay in a near comatose state on the ground, flesh completely covered in mud and open wounds—maggots eat at your dead skin, wriggling deeper. Not having the heart to pick them out, or even move the few non-broken fingers you have, you lay in blank agony. Pain so deep you can’t scream or make a single noise. It would make it worse; it is making it worse. 

Breathing is becoming a chore.

“Is today going to be the day?! God, I sure hope so.” Hesh looks down from over the edge, fiddling with another syringe of drugs. “Enough blood down there to make a fuckin’ painting out of. Shit…You lasted longer than I thought, Kid.” You don’t look at him. At his dark, wrong, eyes. 

“I’m nearly impressed.” There’s a low chuckle and the crackling of branches. 

You close your eyes and try to think of a single kiss and green eyes, but the rest of the image is tainted to you. Your mind can’t call it forward without the corruption of the puppet ahead of you, this shifting specter of mist and smoke.

Memories that used to bring you comfort call to fear and spine-curling hurt. 

This couldn’t be Hesh, you told yourself for the millionth time, but…who else could it be? Your body was too broken to try and work through the hallucinations, to think or rationalize.

There’s a thump of boots and a grunt. Someone coming closer as birds speak far above. Singing. It's the first you can recall another living creature being this close to the smell of infected decay.

 “Now, now, let’s see that neck of yours.” You’re seized and pushed onto your back, head lulling and eyes fluttering. Hesh’s image shifts and bends into another, one you should be able to name but can’t quite recall. It’s hard to focus. “Just one more, and we can fix this. Together. No more Ghosts, huh? We’ll make it right.”

Birds songs. Birds and flying shadows. Rapid wing beats like an eagle or the pound of paws on the ground. 

There is an un-godly snarl and a call of rage. 

“Rorke!” The dark-eyed Hesh snaps his head away, his needle stilling in his grip only inches from your flesh. He’s grappled and ripped away, thrown up and slammed down into a full-body jerk of pure strength not a second later with a cry of shock. “Get the fuck off of her!” 

Shadows roll and wrestle, feral yowls like that of beasts bounce off your impaired hearing, mud stuck in your ears. You think your vision cuts out for a moment because the next there’s a different man gripping your shoulders, slightly shaking you back awake.

Blue eyes like the ocean. Your brow barely twitches in confusion. 

Keegan? 

“C’mon, that’s it. Right here.” A light is taken and directed right into your eye in the fading light. “You’re doin’ great, Harp. Just keep lookin’ at me.” 

The light passes over your blood-coated eyes and barely diolates. Keegan’s lips under his balaclava thin to an alarming degree. 

“Fuck,” he grunts, looking down at you before he darts his vision over to Hesh, the actual Hesh, who’s locked limbs with the former Ghost; fists to guts and primal anger. 

In his haste to get to you, Hesh had damned himself—he’d left no opening for any of the others to get a clean shot at Rorke. But no one could blame him, even if it was reckless; incredibly stupid. 

The man had been on your trail nearly every day since you’d been taken. Barely sleeping, eating little. A man possessed. 

The Ghosts had been half convinced something had taken over his image and scooped out his personality.

“Merrick,” Keegan patches into the secure line, looking back down at you. “Positive ID on HVT, three klicks West. Hesh has engaged—we found Harp.” 

There’s an instantaneous response, worried breath. “Solid copy…how’s she doing?”

“We need MedEvac immediately. She won’t last another night.” There’s a curse on the other end, a loud and quick call to the rest of his squad. 

“Copy! I’ll call it in!” Keegan tries to stabilize you as Hesh and Rorke rip each other to shreds, and Hesh, who had the upper hand in the beginning, is quickly losing it.

“Awe, look who tracked ‘er down!” Rorke snatches at Hesh’s collar and lays two jabs to his ribs—there’s a definitive crack as the younger man shouts in pain. “Young love! So fucking pointless.” 

“I’m going to rip you into pieces,” Hesh bares his teeth, eyes wild and unrestrained. For a moment Rorke looks taken aback by the utter conviction in his green gaze. “And make you choke on your own damn teeth! You hear me?!” 

Ripping away with a tear of fabric, Hesh bends low and tackles the former Ghost to the ground, splaying him out on his back before his fist is snapped back and brought down; again and again and again. 

“Hesh!” Keegan shouts, pressing deeply into your wounds and trying to give you fluids with one hand. “This fucking kid.” The Sergeant gives up, shaking his head. 

Trust had to be given, and Keegan knew that at this moment he had to trust Hesh to hold his own. He needed to keep you conscious. 

“Easy, Harp.” You can feel the cracks in your dry throat as the water seeps past them, and you cough up droplets before the blue-eyed Sergeant tilts your head and helps you. “Easy, Sweetheart.” 

Keegan doesn’t even want to look at your body as the brutal sounds of a fist on bone continue, clothes scuffling and gargled breaths—the savagery and barbarous remnants of mental and physical torture too much even for him. 

“Christ,” he hisses. 

You gulp down water slowly and let it fill your stomach like a brick. 

Hesh reduces Rorke’s face to a mess of flesh and busted bone, sweating and not even stopping as his knuckles split under his gloves or his fingers dislocated from their sockets. His eyes burn, his face goes red—he looks insane. 

He looks like a spirit of utter revenge. 

Only when Logan and Merrick drag him off the spasming body does he stop, but not after he tries like hell to fight out of that hold as well. Whipping around, he attempts to land a punch on Merrick before Logan is forced to put him in a restraint hold. 

Hesh’s cheek meets the mud, face being sunk into it as his right arm is twisted so far behind his back it nearly breaks. The older brother growls, free arm and legs moving—back sliding. 

“David!” Merrick barks at him, face pulled in a sneer, enraged at the man’s lack of sense. “Shut this shit down. Look at her, dammit!” Logan gets bucked off, but the youngest Walker boy has enough sense to wrestle him back down and grab onto his chin; forcing those green eyes to lock on you and Keegan. 

The second he sees you, he entirely freezes.

Merrick sighs out harshly, jogging over to you and already checking in with the MedEvac that Kick’s flying in. There would be no resistance—all the other hostiles were dead. 

“Jesus Christ,” the Commander breathes, kneeling by you instantly and studying your body. 

Hesh’s reaction is slower, but the spread of vile tears burns the back of his eyes. Logan lets him go at seeing this, standing and holding out a hand, but the brunette stays on the ground a moment longer; utterly still. 

Hesh’s mouth opens and closes. 

All at once he’s rushing over and limping up at your side as Merrick grabs more medical supplies from his packs to help you. 

“Oh my God,” Hesh breathes, and Keegan sends him a glance. You’d drank all of the water. “Harp, hey, you’re going to be okay—it’s gonna be alright, you hear? I’m right here, Logan and I are gonna get you home. Back to California, okay? Riley’s waitin’ for you, Doll.”

You flinch at that voice, and Merrick looks sharply at the blue-eyed Sergeant. Their eyes lock, holding for a long moment. Logan’s brows tighten in confusion. 

The brunette seems not to notice it at all, hands finding your cheek before Merrick can give him a warning. Your eyes slowly shift to him before they peel back with fear.

Hesh’s vision goes glossy, clenching his jaw. “Shit, what did he do to you—”

“Hesh!” 

You yell and yerk back, shoving the man off of you with a fear-filled sob. 

“No!” Keegan and Merrick grapple to keep you down, not wanting to aggravate your wounds as Hesh falls to his ass, hands slapping behind him before he hisses and brings them back up. He blinks quickly in confusion and panic.

Logan rushes over and hides him from your view, beginning to understand what was going on. 

“No!” You call again, Keegan having to hold your head into his chest to hide you away. Merrick yells down his comms to hurry the Helo up, and that he doesn’t care about anything else. “No,” your voice gargles off as you sob into Keegan. “Please, no more.”

“Shh,” the Sergeant mutters, looking over his shoulder at a pale and shaking Hesh. “Nothin’s going to happen to you. Not anymore.” 

“Harp,” Hesh whispers, jaw slackened. “I…I don’t…”

“Hallucinogens,” Merrick says grimly, watching you shake and wail. Logan has to look away, his fists clenching. “Who knows what she’s seen. Reckon it wasn’t anything good.”

It’s like he doesn’t hear anything besides your cries. Whenever you gasp Hesh tenses as if he wants to run to you—comfort you the best way he knows how. 

Hallucinogens? He thinks and feels tears dribble down his cheeks as he blinks, rubbing at his jaw and shakily placing a hand over the back of his neck. Logan puts a heavy grip on his shoulder, weighing them down even more.

—

Rorke’s death should have been a time of celebration—of honoring the fallen. Elias Walker, Ajax, and countless others. The Federation was nothing more than broken factions now. Dust to the wind. 

But no one can celebrate when they’re trying to fix one of their own.

You were being kept in the secure medical ward under twenty-four-hour surveillance and around-the-clock care; only Keegan was allowed in, seeing as you were the closest to him outside of Logan and Hesh and had no adverse effects to his presence. 

Merrick had said he didn’t want to risk Logan going in, as it might worsen things. Hesh was taking it hard. 

He just got you back, how was this right? How was it fair that you’d had to go through that right when it was supposed to be over and done with? The man got sick over it, thinking about what Rorke had done to…break your mind like he had. 

Two months. 

Two months of nightmares plaguing him, of your eyes when you looked at him. If Hesh had just been stronger, then that bastard would never have dragged you away on that beach. He resulted in working out more, running laps around Fort Santa Monica with Riley at three in the morning—he grew bags under his eyes. He grew quiet. 

When all of his broken ribs and fingers healed, the artificial wounds, he was offered awards for taking down Rorke; even a summon by the President. 

He’d denied all of them. 

If a medal was going to get you better faster, he’d have taken them in an instant. But he wasn’t that stupid. Hesh was withering, and everyone saw it. He loved you more than anything—more than fame or recognition. The man lay awake at night fearing that you were too cold or uncomfortable in the far-off ward, he was paranoid about your safety. 

More often than not, the nurses found him and Riley fitfully sleeping outside of your door on the hard ground, arm used as a pillow. They didn’t have the heart to move him.

In the last two weeks before the third month of your isolation and evaluations, in his nighttime routine, Hesh finds your door open. 

He stares at it now with a blank expression, fatigue once burning his eyes all gone for a deep and pounding panic. With a hand gesture, Riley halts and sits, and, sensing his handler’s mood, lets his ears go straight up in attention. 

Hesh reaches for the gun in the back of his pants, peeling it out slowly and taking a nearly silent step forward. Ready, his ears strain for a sound…but there is none. 

His free hand reaches for the door, the short sleeves of his gray sleep-shirt bunching. A moment later, he lightly taps the barrier farther out before entering the room with the gun drawn.

He said he wouldn’t get distracted, but it would be a lie to say his eyes didn’t immediately go to you. 

You were there, asleep, curled up on the far recliner chair instead of the bed. Head lulled to the side and knees kept close to your chest. But it was the scars that broke Hesh.

They were large and long—on your face and arms; legs. All moving and stretching like a child’s drawing up your sleep shorts and shirt, disappearing only to reappear somewhere else. Healed over but still fresh.

Hesh drops the gun and turns his body slightly away, staring at the side wall before he takes an unsteady breath. He re-hides his weapon and turns to leave, not seeing anyone else.

Maybe Keegan had forgotten to close the door…he’d have to chew him out for that. Already a dull point of anger was making his jaw clench at the sly older man.

“Bastard,” Hesh mutters.

Before he can exit and close the door softly behind him, he hears a broken squeak of alarm. He halts as you stare heavily into his back—awoken by the sound of nearly silent feet. In a steady motion, the man’s hands are by his sides, open and visibly holding nothing. 

“I was just leaving,” Hesh whispers, not looking at you. His heart hammers. “I’m sorry, I thought someone else was in here—the door was open, okay?” 

Your hands twitch, body still and breath held tight.

“Hesh?” He flinches, eyes closed tight. 

Don’t look at her. Don’t turn around. Leave.

“Are you really…him?” You ask silently, eyes darting nervously around the room and quickly waking up fully. 

It’s a moment before he answers you. 

“Yeah,” he forces out, voice tiny and sad. “Yeah, it’s me, Doll. Just David Walker.” 

Your throat bobs with a thin swallow. Treatment was still ongoing, but it’s not every day you wake up to find the man who you had nightmares about standing in your room. 

Breathe, you have to remind yourself. It was the drugs. Not Hesh. Never Hesh. Rorke.

But you were still scared. 

“I…I need to see your eyes,” you say. 

Hesh turns carefully, staring hard at the floor. His heart lurches, hands going clammy. 

What if she has a setback? He asks himself. What if I mess this up…Shit, Hesh, you couldn’t have minded your own business?

Oh, but he never could when it came to you. 

“Then look at me, Sweetheart.” The man breathes slowly, darting his eyes up to your face. “They only belong to you.”

But your gaze can’t slip to his sockets, only able to glare fearfully into his neck. But this Hesh felt different, more like the one you grew up with—those memories still coming back but tainted; you need to see green, but it was hurting you to think that you might not.

“I’m scared,” you admit, shakily. The man’s thighs tense, but he stops himself before he can go and take you into his arms. That wouldn’t help. “I’m…I don’t know what’s real anymore.”

“I’m real. I swear to you, Harp, I’m real. I’m right here and I’ll wait for you as long as it takes. Even if it’s years, I will always be right here.” He pleads, hands still at his sides and going nowhere if you don’t tell him to. It’s like a floodgate opens, months of internal pain and heartbreak spilling out. You needed to know this, even if he never got to see you again. 

“I have loved you since I saw you get jealous over Cassie Albrook in seventh grade and tried to hide it because you thought she made me happy—she could never make me happy, Harp. That was you. That was always and will always be you. I…I can’t breathe when you’re not near me, I don’t know how to act right when you’re hurt. Seeing you hurting is…is…” Hesh’s voice breaks and he falls silent. 

“Please, if you need to look into my eyes, I’m beggin’ you, Sweetheart, please, do it. Even if it’s only one glance.” Your breath is stuck in your throat, tears welling and sliding down your cheeks. 

In your skull your brain pounds, bordering on hysteria and an urge to flee. There was so little that you trusted anymore. Keegan, yes—the nurses and doctors? You had no choice there. 

You knew that the Hesh you’d seen in the pit was Rorke, Keegan had explained it all to you after the drugs had been pumped from your system; you understood that part. But it didn’t make the sickening confusion any better.

Symptoms of severe PTSD, paranoia, anxiety—you’d seen the charts when the nurses thought you weren’t looking at them. 

You still wouldn’t let anyone with a needle anywhere close to you, had to be put under for it. 

But you’d been so lonely here. A simple kiss seared into your mind before the horror set in, a stain of a smile on your lips. A chest vibrating with a content purr. 

Hesh. You want your Hesh back. 

Taking a stuttering breath, your eyes dart upwards. You push through your misty gaze and lock on a color that can only be described as a grassy field of verdant growth. Great open plains of viridescent being—showing you a world bathed in tender belonging. 

Home. 

You sob and rush from the chair on legs that still hurt even now, meeting Hesh in the middle as he takes a step forward and wraps his arms around you. You’re covered and kept in a hold so tight it’s like he’ll never let you go, heart pounding and his face loose with shock.

But he says nothing beyond a loud shuttered exhale of relief, pressing you to his chest and burying his face into your scalp, breathing you in; taking you down like a sinner in church until all that remains is you. Your fingers digging into his shirt, your face in his neck, how you call his name as if calling a ghost back from the dead.

“Oh, my Girl.” Hesh chuckles through the tears in his eyes. “My Girl. I missed you so much, you won’t even believe it.” 

You push yourself into him tighter. 

Riley, at some point, had come to stand in the doorway, his dark beady eyes seeing only the colors in gray, brown, yellow, and blue, though that never truly mattered. Color was only half of the picture. 

And the rest of the image in front of him was seeped with the pigment of love. 

The dog’s tongue lulls from the side of his mouth, and in the air behind him, his tail moves back and forth into a soft arch.

TAGS:

@luuvbuzz, @emerald-valkyrie, @anna-banana27, @blueoorchid, @cryingnotcrying, @writeforfandoms, @homicidal-slvt, @jade-jax, @frazie99, @elmoees, @littlemisstrouble, @alpineswinter, @phoenixhalliwell, @idocarealot, @lavalleon, @facelessmemories, @h-leigh, @20forty9, @glitter-anon-asks, @emily-who-killed-a-man, @neelehksttr, @aeneanc, @escapefromrealitysm, @i-d-1-0-t, @pparcxysm, @hawkscanendme, @caramlizedtomatos, @waves-against-a-cliff, @sanfransolomitatm, @maelstrom007, @jemandderkeinenusernamenfindet, @pheobees, @glitterypirateduck, @uselsshuman, @fan-of-encouragement, @halfmoth-halfman, @ghostlythunderbird, @I-inkage, @pukbadger, @kopatych11, @0nceinabluem00n, @cocrorapop, @knightofsexyness, @abnormalgeil, @smallseastone, @jacegons, @330bpm-whiplash, @simon-rileys-housewife, @4-atsu, @tiredmetalenthusiast

[nayziiz]

Witness | CL16

Summary: In the shadowy world of Monaco's elite, the Leclerc family reigns supreme. Charles Leclerc, the charming middle son, maintains their pristine public image—until one rainy night, during a fit of rage, Charles does the unthinkable. A young woman witnesses his actions, and her terrified eyes haunt him. Consumed by guilt and fear of exposure, Charles embarks on a desperate search to find her before she can destroy his family’s legacy. As he delves deeper into Monaco's underbelly, Charles must confront his own darkness and the lengths he will go to protect his family.

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x OC (Marie)

Warnings: Violence, blood, angst

Author's Note: This is a slow burn fic, so please be patient - the good stuff is coming, I promise!

Masterlist

Chapter 9

Max had been in Charles’s life ever since he could remember. Max came from an influential Dutch family with ties to several businesses in Monaco and France. Their fathers crossed paths often due to business. Charles’s father, a humble mechanic, was determined to build an empire for his young sons. In contrast, Max’s father was a tycoon with connections all over the world. Their paths crossed by chance, but it was a meeting that would shape their futures. When the Leclercs began succeeding in Monaco, Hervé, Charles’s father, enrolled his sons in a prestigious private school. He wanted to give them the best possible education, help them build solid foundations, and make influential connections. This school was a world away from the modest life Charles had known, filled with children of politicians, businessmen, and celebrities. It was there that Charles first met Max.

That’s when Charles and Max met. Max was quiet, reserved, always in his own bubble during class. Charles saw him sit alone during their lunch breaks and decided to befriend the young Dutchman. They got along like a moth to a flame. But, they were also fire and water when it came to their personalities. Charles was kind-faced and kind-hearted. Max was stern, often appearing unapproachable, but was yearning for attention. His father worked so much, he never spent time with him and when he did, he constantly critiqued the young boy for every small mistake. Not even his accomplishments were ever good enough. This treatment from his father manifested a darkness in Max. He started acting out of character, at least from Charles’s point of view, trying to win over his father’s favour.

Charles, noticing Max’s isolation, approached him one day during lunch, “Hi, I’m Charles. Mind if I sit here?”

“Sure, go ahead,” Max looked up, surprised, but nodded. Charles sat down next to the solitary figure and offered a friendly, dimpled smile. 

From that day forward, Charles made it a point to include Max in his activities, whether it was group projects, sports, or simply hanging out after school. Max, despite his reserved nature, found himself opening up to Charles. He was drawn to Charles’s warmth and genuine kindness, traits that were starkly absent in his own life. As their friendship deepened, Charles learned more about Max’s home life. The constant criticism and lack of affection from his father weighed heavily on Max. He shared his frustrations with Charles, who listened without judgement. Charles’s unwavering support provided Max with a sense of belonging and acceptance he had never felt before.

However, the stark differences in their personalities often led to conflicts. Charles’s easygoing nature and inherent goodness clashed with Max’s stern demeanour and growing bitterness. Max’s desire to prove himself to his father led him down a path of ruthless ambition. He began to see the world in terms of winners and losers, and he was determined not to be the latter. Charles, with his strong moral compass, often found himself at odds with Max’s methods. While Charles believed in hard work and integrity, Max was willing to use any means necessary to achieve his goals. This fundamental difference in their outlooks created a tension that simmered beneath the surface of their friendship. Max’s behaviour grew increasingly erratic as he tried to win his father’s approval. He became more competitive, more willing to cut corners and use others to get ahead. Charles, ever the peacemaker, tried to steer Max away from this destructive path, but his efforts were often met with resistance.

The first time Max and Charles butted heads was in their sophomore year of high school. As fate would have it, both boys fancied the same girl. Charles had expressed his interest in her to Max, trusting his friend with his feelings. He described how he planned to ask her out, detailing every aspect of his intentions. Max listened intently, but his eyes held a glint of something Charles couldn't quite place. A few days later, Charles was stunned to see Max making a move on the innocent girl. Max, with his smooth talk and confident demeanour, quickly won her over. Charles watched from the sidelines, his heart aching with betrayal and confusion. He couldn't understand why his friend would do such a thing. Despite his hurt, he held back from confronting Max, hoping it was all a misunderstanding.

However, it wasn't long before Max broke the girl's heart, ending their brief relationship with a cold detachment that shocked Charles. The girl, devastated and confused, confided in Charles about how heartless Max had been. This incident planted the first real seeds of distrust between the two friends, and Charles began to see Max in a different light. Yet, his loyalty kept him from severing ties completely, hoping that the Max he once knew would resurface. The second major incident came after a party during their junior year. Both boys were drunk, unable to drive themselves anywhere. Despite their intoxicated state, Max insisted he drive them back into Monte Carlo. Charles, ever the voice of reason, protested vehemently, emphasising the dangers of drunk driving. But Max, using his manipulative charm, convinced Charles that everything would be fine. He played on Charles's loyalty and trust, making him feel guilty for doubting him.

Against his better judgement, Charles agreed. The drive was tense, with Charles gripping the seat, eyes wide with fear. His fears were soon realised when Max lost control of the car and they crashed. Both boys were injured, but Max played the victim perfectly. When the authorities and their parents arrived, Max's father immediately pointed the finger at Charles, accusing him of distracting Max while he was driving. Charles was stunned by the accusation but remained silent. He didn't want to create more trouble for Max, despite the injustice. His loyalty, his greatest strength, also proved to be his biggest weakness. He took the blame quietly, enduring the harsh words and disappointed looks from his parents.

This incident, however, left a deep scar. Charles began to see the true extent of Max's manipulative nature. He realised that Max would go to any lengths to protect himself, even if it meant betraying his closest friend. Yet, Charles's loyalty persisted. He couldn't completely turn his back on Max, hoping that their shared history and the bond they once had would be enough to redeem his friend.

Hervé, deeply concerned about the growing influence Max had over Charles, pleaded with his son to cut ties with him. He saw Max as a bad influence, someone who could lead Charles down a dangerous path. Hervé’s worries were not unfounded; he had witnessed the negative changes in Charles and feared that Max’s manipulative tendencies would eventually overshadow his son's values.

“Charles, you need to distance yourself from Max,” Hervé implored one evening. “He’s not the friend you think he is. He’s a bad influence. You need to focus on your future, not on someone who’s dragging you down.”

Charles, feeling torn between his father’s concerns and his own loyalty, lied. He had no intention of severing his friendship with Max. A mistake, perhaps. The bond they had forged was too deep, too complex to unravel easily. He believed he could still influence Max positively, hoping his friend would eventually change for the better.

As they moved on to college to complete their degrees in Business Management, the strain on their friendship became more apparent. Max’s disdain for the structured, academic environment was evident from the start. He loathed being tied to a desk, working on assignments and studying for exams, a stark contrast to his father’s expectations. The college experience, meant to be a time of growth and learning, became a battleground between Max’s rebellious nature and the demands of his academic pursuits. To avoid the drudgery of studying, Max found a more insidious way to get through his courses: he cheated off Charles. At first, it seemed like a harmless arrangement. Max would glance over Charles’s notes during exams, or sometimes they would swap answers in a discreet manner. Charles, while uncomfortable with the deception, couldn’t bring himself to refuse his friend’s requests for help. They never got caught, but each instance left Charles feeling uneasy, plagued by guilt and a growing sense of moral compromise.

Max’s reliance on Charles’s academic performance became a regular pattern. Despite his disinterest in studying, Max managed to maintain decent grades, thanks to Charles’s diligent efforts. The arrangement, while keeping their friendship intact, slowly chipped away at Charles’s sense of integrity. Each act of cheating seemed to further entrench Max’s dependency and blurred the lines between friendship and exploitation.

The final nail in the coffin came after yet another party - a lavish, high-energy event that promised excitement and excess. Charles, having grown wary of the chaotic aftermaths of these gatherings, decided to drive himself and stay sober. He had seen too many nights ruined by alcohol and was determined to avoid another disaster. Max, on the other hand, embraced the night with abandon. He was drunk within hours, revelling in the attention of several women and engaging in a wild, hedonistic spree. Charles watched from the periphery, his discomfort growing with every reckless action Max took. As the night wore on, he noticed a darker side of his friend that he had been desperately trying to ignore.

At some point during the evening, Max’s behaviour took a disturbing turn. Charles saw him corner a man in a dimly lit corner of the party venue. The man, dishevelled and clearly terrified, was being berated by Max. It became clear that the confrontation was about money - the man owed Max a significant sum, and Max’s patience had worn thin. Charles watched in horrified silence as Max, consumed by rage and a thirst for control, began to physically assault the man. The violence was brutal, fueled by Max's unchecked anger and a sense of superiority that had grown over the years. The scene was so shocking that Charles felt paralyzed. He had seen Max act out before, but this was a new level of cruelty. He could not stand by any longer; his sense of moral obligation outweighed his loyalty. When Max eventually dragged the beaten man into a secluded area, the reality of what was happening set in. Charles knew that something had to be done, but the situation spiralled beyond his control.

Later that night, Max approached Charles with a grim, urgent request. He needed Charles’s help to dispose of the body, to cover up the crime and ensure that his father, Jos Verstappen, would never find out. Max’s fear was palpable; he knew the consequences if his father learned of his actions. In a moment of cold, calculated desperation, Max sought to pull Charles into his moral abyss. Charles was revolted. He felt the weight of his past actions and the loyalty he had been forced to compromise. The request was too much; it was the final breach of his ethical boundaries. After a brief, tense confrontation where Max’s threats became clear, Charles made his decision. He refused to participate in the cover-up. Without a word, he walked away from Max, leaving him to handle the fallout of his own choices.

In the days and weeks that followed, Charles’s decision to distance himself from Max had severe repercussions. Max, fueled by a mix of betrayal and fear, saw Charles’s departure as a threat to his own safety. Fearing that Charles might reveal his criminal actions to Jos Verstappen or the authorities, Max began plotting revenge. He worked tirelessly to destroy Charles’s reputation and life, employing all his resources and connections to ensure that Charles would suffer. Sometimes, he would leave Charles be, but Charles was always aware of the impending threat, and now Max had something on Charles - solid proof of wrongdoing, all Charles had was his word.

Charles lay awake most nights, staring at the ceiling in his darkened bedroom, haunted by the same relentless nightmares. The images from that fateful night replayed in his mind with cruel clarity. Max’s violent outburst, the fear and desperation in the man’s eyes, and the harsh reality of what Charles had chosen to ignore plagued his thoughts. The guilt of not reporting the crime gnawed at him, a constant reminder of his moral failure and the betrayal of his own values. The weight of his decisions bore heavily on him, twisting his thoughts into a web of remorse and self-reproach. Charles understood all too well the crushing burden of guilt. It was this understanding that fueled his desire to protect Marie from the same torment. He saw in her the potential for the same endless cycle of regret and anguish that had consumed him.

Charles knew that what he had done was wrong. He had become exactly what he hated in Max - a murderer. It was a decision made in a moment of fear and self-preservation, a reaction to the intense PTSD he had suffered for over five years. The psychological scars from that night, combined with the subsequent attacks from Max, had turned his life into a continuous battle of moral and principle. His efforts to help Marie stemmed from a place of deep empathy and a desire to atone for his own mistakes. He recognized the look of fear and uncertainty in her eyes, understanding the unspoken anguish that came with being in a dangerous situation. Charles wanted to offer her a chance to avoid the kind of guilt that had become his constant companion. He hoped that by helping her navigate her own challenges, he could give her a semblance of control and peace, something he had long since lost. He also knew he wasn’t like Max. He felt remorse, Max did not. Charles wasn’t protecting himself, he was protecting his family. Max only ever cared about himself and not being inadequate in the eyes of his father.

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

Taglist: @headinthecloudssblog

[number1mingyustan]

Expiration Date (2/2) ☾✹

GIF by shatsusik

artist!joshua x model!fem!reader

Genre: smut, hurt, angst

Warnings: cursing, brief smut, explicit smut, mentions of pregnancy/miscarriage, arguments, a lot of angsty sad stuff

Summary: there’s only one way to go from here

Word Count: 4.1k

_______________________________________________

part 1

Out of the 206 bones in your body, you don't have a doubtful one that believes Joshua Hong is not your soulmate. Everything in you believes you were meant to be together.

You'd bet money that it was written somewhere in the stars.

He loved you and you loved him.

When you first met, everything fell into place with him so easily. He was kind and caring and things were simple with him. He would never shy away from compliments, often painting you because he thought you were so beautiful.

His muse.

It wasn't until he started painting you that his career really began to take off. His previous work was less abstract and interpretive, often capturing different colors and shapes. He never painted people, but of course that all changed when you came around.

His work was known before you, but his popularity skyrocketed, gaining worldwide attention and giving him much more credit within the art world.

You became a large part of his art. He's often mix different shapes and colors with your features. Your eyes, your breasts, your legs, everything he found beautiful about you really.

It gained a lot of attention and people grew curious to know who the mystery woman that appeared in all his new art was. Much like Joshua himself, they too thought she was beautiful.

But that was then. When your relationships still made you feel like you were floating and the honeymoon phase felt like it would never end.

You and Joshua Hong were meant to be part of each other's lives, you don't question that. However, you do question how long you were meant to be together.

---------------Two Years Ago ---------------

"I'm just so glad you guys were able to come down here and visit," Mrs.Hong says for the fourth time since the two of you arrived in LA.

You smile at her excitement.

"I hardly hear from my son since he moved all the way up to New York," she continues, shooting her son a glare.

Joshua rolls his eyes playfully. "I call you every week. Don't be so dramatic."

"It's not the same," she frowns. "I like having you here with me."

"Yeah well I've been busy with my art and everything," he sighs, pulling you closer to his side. His hand is on yours, thumb drawing small circles on your knuckles.

You lean into his touch, breathing in his natural scent. He's so warm and comforting. "Yes... extremely busy," you pout. "He does so much nowadays I can't even keep up with it all. All kinds of projects and interviews, don't know how he does it."

He smiles at you. "I've got the best support backing me up," he pats your head lightly. "With you by my side, I can handle anything."

He opens his mouth to speak again, but he's interrupted by the ringing of his phone.

"Oh- one second. Angel is calling," He excuses himself from the table and exits to take his phone call.

Angelina Yoon, his manager. You absolutely despised her. She was a great manager, you give her credit for that. She's incredibly smart and good at her job, but on a personal level? Couldn't stand her.

You didn't like the way she talked to you or the way she talked to Joshua. She flirted often and acted rudely toward you. Of course any time you brought it up to Joshua, he brushed it off. He'd tell you 'you're being dramatic' or 'she's just doing her job.'

Fucking Angel.

Not a very fitting name for her.

"Soooo where's the ring?" His mother asks, grabbing your hand and inspecting your fingers.

"Ring?" you ask.

"He hasn't asked yet?" she raises an eyebrow.

"I'm not sure what you're talking about."

"Aishh this boy," she sighs. "Four years and he still hasn't popped the question."

You retreat, pulling your hand back slowly and pushing your hair behind your ear. "Oh yeah... I mean it's fine. He works so much you know? I think he's just waiting for a better time.... did he mention anything to you about it? L-Like is he planning something?"

"No, I'm afraid not. If he is planning for it, he hasn't told me about it yet at least. I just assumed after all this time he would have done it already. I'll have to talk some sense into that boy," she scoffs.

Your heart breaks a little, but you don't let it show. It's already been a few months since it was first brought up. It was in a similar manner, his mother had brought it up in conversation months prior and put ideas into your head. But that time, Joshua was sitting at the table and he didn't seem too keen on the way his mother had suggested it.

You asked him about it that night and he explained to you how it wasn't the right time with his career taking off. It hurt, but you were understanding. It was something you strayed away from even bringing up.

It stung though.

When Joshua's art first started to gain popularity, Angel suggested keeping your relationship and identity a secret. No one knew who you were, they just thought you were pretty and that Joshua captured your beauty perfectly.

It would create more buzz for him to be capturing some sort of mystery woman. Angel talked about how much it would help his career to keep you in the shadows and him in the light. So you did it.

For nearly the first three years of your relationship, you were a secret. A mystery, a pretty face on a canvas with no name, a nobody. It wasn't easy, having to sneak around and keep your entire life private.

Part of you thinks you lost yourself in those first three years, but that's an entirely different issue.

Thankfully, after you did finally go public with things, the modeling agencies came flooding in and you were in high demand.

"Don't worry about it... I don't want to put any more pressure on him," you give her a half-smile.

She feels for you. "You're too nice sweetheart."

Before anything else can be said, Joshua walks back into the kitchen with an excited smile. You and his mother both look at him as he sits back down.

"So.. Angel just told me there's a huge art exhibit coming up in Sydney, Australia and their main exhibit just fell through so they want me to replace them," he beams.

"That's so great Joshie!" you smile and hug him. "I'm proud of you."

"Thanks honey, they want me to do all new pieces though, and they need me in Australia in two days. The exhibit is in three weeks," he explains.

"But we're supposed to stay down here for another week... and then we have our trip planned for Aruba. Josh... the whole point of this trip was so that we could spend our time together and with family. I cleared my schedule for this Joshua." you sigh. "Besides how are you gonna put together a whole exhibit's worth of pieces in two weeks."

"I know baby... but this is important work stuff. You understand, right? We can always plan another trip, but this is a big opportunity for me. My work would be extending all the way into Australia," he places his hand on your shoulder. "Besides I'll probably just use those sketches I've been working on"

"I mean yeah... it's really great Josh, for you. What about me? I cleared my entire schedule for this," you frown.

"I know baby, I'm sorry. I'm sure we can just book two tickets and you can come with me if you want," he suggests.

"I think I'd rather we just go home. You'll be working a whole bunch in Australia anyway," you bite the inside of your cheek.

"There's no time to go back to New York honey. They want me out there in two days. If you want me to book you a flight home, I can do that if you really wanna go back, but I can't go with you. I'm gonna have to leave straight from here. I was hoping you'd come with me."

You frown. "I don't really want to fly alone."

"I mean, you can stay here with mom, until I get back of course. I won't object to it, but I've got to book my flight in the next few hours. So just let me know ASAP," he leaves a quick kiss on your head and stands back up.

"Sorry ma, I'll come visit soon," he hugs his mother and kisses her cheek. "I promise... love you"

His footsteps grown faint as he makes his way upstairs for the night. Your heart breaks a little more. His mother glances at you, she really feels for you.

"I'm getting tired... think I'll go join him," you tell her with a sad smile. "Thank you so much for dinner, I appreciate it."

You give her a light hug before disappearing into the bedroom with Joshua.

_____

He got you pregnant that night. He was much more excited than you were, he couldn't keep his hands off of you. Pulled you onto his lap not long after you walked into the room.

He was quick to strip you and pin you down onto the bed. You were still upset, but the pleasure was a temporary fix for the pain.

Sweaty and passionate lovemaking between the thin sheets of the old bed. His hands were all over you that night. You let the pleasure consume you, allowed it to pull you away from reality.

He told you how much he loved you as he drilled his cock inside of you, even had to cover your mouth with his hand to keep you from being too loud. He whispered dirty words and sweet nothings into your ear and left purple hickies along your skin. He pounded into you over and over again that night, switching positions halfway through.

The bed was old, creaked and shifted every time he thrusted his hips into you. You came twice, once on his fingers and once on his cock.

And when he came, he came inside of you. It wasn't unusual for him to do so, but for some reason your birth control wasn't very effective that time.

You wouldn't know it that night, but you realize that was the best and worse night of your life.

Because as quickly as it came, it went.

You stayed with his mom in LA for the next month while he was in Australia. He didn't call you every day the way he said he would, but that wasn't the least bit shocking. He ended up having to stay another week after the showcase to meet with different people about his work.

While he was sitting in meetings and being interviewed, you were pacing around the bathroom anxiously awaiting the results of the pregnancy test sitting on the edge of the sink.

You didn't tell him until you went back home to New York. You ended up flying alone anyway, Joshua thought it was pointless to fly to LA and then New York when both of you could just go to New York and see each other at home.

He was beyond excited when you did tell him and foolishly got your hopes up about what the baby would mean for the two of you. You'd convinced yourself that having the baby would make Joshua more involved. You thought his excitement would translate into him being more present.

But then you lost the baby two months later and it caused you two to drift more. The doctors told you it was a miracle you were even able to conceive in the first place. They said you were basically infertile and if you were ever able to somehow conceive again, the fetus wouldn't even make it through the first trimester. You fell into a depressive episode, making reckless decisions driven by hurt and pain.

You had to quit modeling and be admitted. The next 9 weeks you got treated and you got better. Although things got better, you'd never say they reached the level of good.

Better is simply and improvement, not necessarily success.

Joshua never saw it that way. He didn't see the way you were still hurting and suffering. He thought you getting treatment and getting better meant that everything was okay. He thought that because you saw a therapist twice a week, that you would just be okay. Because you took two small pills every morning, he thought you were no longer suffering.

It's your own fault partially, you played the role. You hid your hurt well, contributed to his thoughts about you being fine. At first, it seemed like he cared a lot more. But with him constantly asking "Are you Okay?" it was easier for you to just say yes. It was easier for him to believe it too. He threw himself back into his art and didn't put in the extra effort to ensure the well-being of your mental health after that.

It took two years and a very heated argument for him to really see it.

---------------Modern Day ---------------

The bed is empty when you wake up in the morning. It's not a foreign feeling, unfortunately. But with everything that occurred last night, it feels worse than usual.

You're not sure where your relationship stands right now. There's a tightness constricting in your chest and you're dreading the idea of getting out of bed.

After nearly ten minutes of you rolling around in the bed and avoiding it, you finally got yourself out of the bed. You wince when your foot first meet the bedroom floor. A reminder of everything that occurred last night.

After you go into the bathroom to brush your teeth and wash your face, you walk cautiously and quietly through the penthouse. The temperature dropped again and the marble floors are cold on your bare feet.

When you reach the living room, you don't see Joshua anywhere. His blanket and pillow are still on the couch, but you don't see him anywhere.

You let out a breath of relief. You're really not ready to speak with him yet.

You walk into the kitchen, seeing that the glass is still shattered on the ground. You reach down, picking up some of the larger shards.

"Don't worry about it, I'll clean it up," Joshua says from behind you.

You jump at the sound of his voice. You weren't expecting him to come up behind you and startle you. However, you remain silent.

"You need to take your meds, it's past 11. You were asleep for a while," he says and begins picking up the other large shards of glass.

You stand to your feet and nod. You don't look at him, you can't. You simply walk around the island and open on of the cabinets to grab your medicine.

"You have been taking your meds everyday, right?" he asks.

It feels even colder in the kitchen suddenly. The tension in the air hasn't subsided. If anything, it's grown thicker.

"Yes Josh," you say.

Even after all those nights of sleeping alone, Joshua greeted you with a good morning and a kiss. At the very least you could expect some sort of greeting.

But now? Nothing.

"Don't forget to eat something," he reminds you quietly.

You nod. "Right."

You pop a slice of bread into the toaster and wait. It only takes two minutes, but it feels like an eternity. Joshua grabs the dustpan and broom to sweet up the glass.

It's uncomfortable quiet. Your stomach is turning in knots and your leg is bouncing anxiously.

"Where did you just come from? I didn't know where you were," you finally break the unbearable silence.

"On the balcony, needed some fresh air," he says, continuing to sweep up the remaining glass.

"It's thirty degrees outside."

He shrugs, disposing of the glass properly. "Just needed some fresh air. It's not much warmer in here anyway, damn thermostat is broken."

He avoids eye contact with you, stepping away from the kitchen quietly. Your heart rate spikes.

"Joshua..." you start. "We have to talk about-"

You're cut off when your toast pops up.

"Your breakfast is ready," he says shortly and fully leaves the kitchen.

Your eyes follow him. He walks back into the living room, grabbing the blanket he slept under and folding it back up. His footsteps fade as he disappears into the penthouse toward your bedroom.

You sigh and take a few bites out of your toast. You don't have much of an appetite with the way your stomach is churning. You chase the two small pills with a sip of water before walking toward your bedroom.

When you step into the room, Joshua is already in there making up your bed. He's cleaning to distract himself, to avoid you.

" 'Shua," You say quietly, leaning against the door frame.

"Wait," he continues folding the blankets on your bed. "I'm doing something right now."

" 'Shua," you say a little louder.

"Did you wash your dishes? I know you used a glass for the water," he asks.

"Joshua." You say firmly.

He sighs, giving up and sitting down on the bed. He runs his hands from his face up to his hair. You sit down on the bed next to him. In reality it's only a few moments, but it feels like an eternity of silence.

"I'm sorry," he starts.

"Don't apologize... we both said some hurtful, but truthful things last night," you bite the inside of your cheek.

A beat.

"You were right... I did give up on us a long time ago. But it wasn't unprompted, and I want you to understand that. I gave up before you could."

"What?" he asks, turning his head to look at you.

"You work so much... and so hard. I had no idea artists did so much until I met you, but your work has always been your priority. I love that you're passionate about your art, but you'll always put your work before me."

"That's not true," he defends.

"It is."

A beat.

You and Joshua Hong were meant to be, not meant to last. You shared your best and worst moments with him. You spent nearly 6 years creating unforgettable memories and sharing experiences you hold dear to your heart.

Your love was like a candle, it was once lit and burned with fiery passion. But it eventually burned out and faded into nothing but melted wax.

Fire may be pretty to look at, but touch it and you get burned.

"But I love you,"

"You don't.... not anymore"

"Don't try to tell me how I feel."

"Josh-"

"I don't know what it is you're trying to get at or do here, but it's fucked up. If this is you're way of trying to make excuses for falling out of love with me or something, then that’s just wrong Y/n.”

"Joshua! This relationship is not the way it was five years ago and you know it. You couldn't even thank me in your speech last night."

"You told me you were over that. I told you tha-"

"Stop cutting me off and let me speak!" you shout. "You forgot to thank me in your speech while I was standing in front of you with a painting of me displayed in my background. I have become an afterthought in your life and not a priority anymore. You managed to forget about me while looking directly at me... and a painting you did of me. If you loved me, if you really loved me, I would have been the first person you thanked. I wouldn't have slipped your mind Joshua. It may have been a mistake, but it told me everything I needed to know."

He frowns.

"You think you still love me because you love the idea of me. You-you love the way I look on a canvas and in exhibits. You love that even after 5 years of painting me, it still makes you money. But those fucking paintings don't have feelings he way I do," your eyes start to water. "You love the way Angel validates your artwork of me and is constantly working to get your work out there. You would never forget to thank Angel, because she's not just an idea or an afterthought to you. She gets you what you want and I just... don't."

"Oh my gosh how many times do I need to prove to you that I'm not fucking Angel?" he groans and stands up.

"Are you seriously still not listening to me? Not once did I accuse you of fucking her, and that's all you took away?! Fuck's sake Joshua!" You exclaim and stand to your feet. "I'm done."

"What do you mean 'you're done?'"

"It means... I can't do this anymore."

"So what... that's it? You wanna break up because of an argument?"

"IT IS NOT JUST AN ARGUMENT!" You scream. "I don't know how many ways there are for me to say it. I am exhausted, mentally, physically, emotionally. Last night... you said you weren't the only one who lost the baby. But when was the last time I modeled Joshua? I didn't get that chance to just jump back into my work after the loss. I'm sure it affected you, it was a horrible thing to go through, but I didn't just throw myself back into my work and move on. I am still struggling every day and you don't love me anymore. I have no reason to stay here with you."

The truth is... Joshua knows exactly what you're saying. For the first time, he's really really listening to you. He knows what you're saying is true, but he's having a hard time accepting it.

Joshua has never been good with criticism, being an artist and all.

The room is silent aside from you sniffling as you wipe away your tears. Joshua feels the knots twisting in his stomach and it's making him feel uneasy.

“I’m sorry… I know I should just accept it but I can’t. I’m hearing you, I really am. I just don’t want to let go… I won’t just throw away the last five years between us.”

“We can’t keep doing this Josh… holding onto nothing. There’s nothing that could really fix us at this point.”

“We could do therapy..” he suggests.

“Pay $200 a week just to have someone tell us what we already know? C’mon Josh, you know you don’t have the time for that.”

“I’d make the time.”

“You haven’t for the last few years… let’s not kid ourselves”

“So… you just wanna give up? You don’t want to try anymore?”

“I have been trying Josh. But it’s exhausting and there’s no point if there’s nothing worth holding onto anymore.”

“So… you don’t love me anymore either?”

“What?”

“You don’t love me anymore, do you? It’s not just me, right?”

“Yeah Josh, it’s mutual.”

His heart aches when you say it. The words leave a bitter aftertaste on your tongue.

"Okay," he says finally.

"Okay what?" You sniffle.

“Okay then… we’re done. There’s no point in staying together anymore.”

He runs the palms of his hands from his face to his hair and inhales.

“I hate that is had to come to this,” you say quietly.

“Yeah… me too” his voice breaks. “I can be out of here by tonight… you can keep the penthouse.”

“I couldn’t afford to live here on my own anyway, I’ll probably just uh- go back with my parents” You sniffle.

“You don’t-“

“It’s better that way, really.”

Silence fills the room. There’s so much to process. You really just ended things with the love of your life, your soulmate, your Joshie.

He sits on the floor with his back against the bed. He tilts his head back and sighs. You join him, sitting in an identical position next to him.

It doesn’t even feel real yet.

You’ve spent the last 5 years by his side with your mind filled with thoughts of how your story would unfold.

The aching in your heart hasn’t stopped, but you know this is for the best. It was long overdue, past the expiration date.

Much like a carton of milk, you can only drink it until it expires. Once it expires, it's no longer good and there's no way of restoring it to the way it used to be.

_______________________________________________

© number1mingyustan - Do not repost without permission.

[theresoneicouldcallking]

ok my thoughts on GMMTV2025, somewhat chaotic but i tried;

we're getting a firstkhaotung cat café series?! this is way too adorable and they deserve every bit of this! finally a lighthearted, fluffy romcom for them. i mean there's gonna be some drama and angst cause we all saw khao's lip quiver doing the works, but still! firstkhaotung and cats. it's perfect!

only friends season 2 YAAAASSSS gotta be honest; i blacked out after i saw boston cause he is my favorite dysfunctional child so i had no idea what happened in the trailer after i saw him. had to rewatch it a few times on the tube lol. but earthmix?? jossgawin?? ohmleng?? count me in please! also i need cameos from the OG cast, and especially mark cause i need my bostonnick happy ending (again people; i will die on this hill!)

forcebook mystery series!! gmmtv saw the response to their PP episode and listened!! man force and book are gonna nail their roles. i have zero clues as to what this series is about but it looks hella interesting and it's forcebook so let's go!

joongdunk crime series THANK YOUUUU another cp graduating from university bl and diving straight into a much more mature one. this one looks really intriguing and i can't wait to see what joong and dunk will bring to this.

period drama for greatinn and aouboom 🙌🏼 greatinn are perfect for this, epsecially inn just has that perfect look for a series like this. gmmtv also hasn't done enough period dramas so i am really looking forward to this, despite all the hurt it's gonna bring us. now about aouboom, i'm not gonna lie; i am really disappointed gmmtv decided to shove them in the side couple role AGAIN, especially after seeing two other (newer) cp's getting multiple series next year. aouboom have proven themselves more than enough and they deserve their own series. BUT if they have to be the side couple again, i'm happy they're doing this period drama because they fit in so well! and i've wanted them in a show like this for ages so i'm looking forward to seeing them in this!

jimmysea in a fantasy series was not on my bingocard!! in fact; a jimmysea series in general wasn't on the table for me, so i was really pleasantly surprised to see them get another series. and man this one looks to be just as beautiful as last twilight. they are such an underrated cp and incredible actors. i'm sure i'm gonna cry again.

a goofy yet heartbreaking perthsanta series! i'm so happy to see perth getting a role like this! he's always cast and pictured as the brooding bad boy type, and i get it. but did people forget he started out in love by chance?? he can do roles like this, too, and i'm so happy he gets to play in a series like this one with santa. it's a very interesting and peculiar story, but i think they can pull it off, if handled with care by gmmtv.

nanisky series that maybe most likely isn't another bromance?! and it's about fate and destiny?! oof YES PLEASE. obviously there isn't much to go on yet because it was essentially just one long scene, but it looks really intriguing and this trope always piques my interest.

serious drama-heavy offgun series directed by nuchy anucha?? oh we're back!! i really enjoyed cooking crush and thought it was incredibly cute, and offgun probably wanted something lighthearted. but we're going back to the not me-era and i'm here for it! this is their strength and speciality and it's going to be fantastic. gun can really do anything, that man is a chameleon.

winnysatang as a prince and outcast? this looks adorable and right up winnysatang's alley! so happy they're getting their own series now, they've earned it. and of course satang plays a prince, he's perfect for the role! and the beach scenes gave me the eclipse vibes so that's definitely off to a good start!

i know there are a few more series but currently, these are the ones i'm looking forward to the most. could change entirely when the real trailers get released tho. i'm also really happy to see neo and jj getting so many projects like YES they are so talented!!

[skylee-spider-lillis]

#8 Headcanons for Charles? ╰(⸝⸝⸝´꒳`⸝⸝⸝)╯

Sorry for taking time to answer!

Ohhhh. Charles my love!

Well this aren't my personal headcanons but they're one that I adopted.

Well demiromantic Charles, I talked about this before and I think this posts explains it pretty well and I completely support it.

Also using suspenders as a replacement for belts because belts reminds him of his dad.

ADHD Charles! Oh I love this ADHD messy boy and I resonate with him so much.

Also dyslexic Charles!

I think those hcs makes the fact that he and Edwin has their thing where Edwin is reading him stories even cuter.

I totally see how no matter how hard he tried to overcome his disabilities he was never good enough which made his home life more difficult (projecting? Whattt).

Oblivious bisexual Charles rights. Not really a hc but yeah, that boy is dumb he's just completely oblivious in the moment he just never considered that because of the heteronormative society he was raised in, it just never crossed his mind. I'm a full believer he's just slow in understanding stuff and he wants to take things slow with Edwin.

He's screaming bisexual we all in the fandom clocked him right away it's nothing special really. We all know he's bi. That's a bisexual disaster if I have ever seen one. (Emphasis on the disaster).

Also, Charles kept the lantern from when Edwin found him! And that was the lantern he used when he went back to hell. And another detail I didn't see anyone talking about he also kept the book Edwin read to him without he knew. Actually he kept following the next books coming out in this series.

I also love any type of hc that gives him any artistic hobby- artist, dancer, or anything really, any reason that he didn't fit the stereotypical masculine gender roles, and made him even a larger disappointment in his dad's eyes. Anything that made it harder for him. I'm a slut for angst what can I say. (Like I'm a Charles Rowland kinny it's pretty much obvious).

This is pretty much it I think!

Mostly I just love the work the show did with him. I don't feel like large and elaborate headcanons are needed him- the canon is already amazing. I just love some small pieces that gives even more depth to the canon lore.

This show is so good I don't need really big headcanons. I don't think I can top the canon.

I love people sending me asks! Pease send my more if you have any🫶

[persphonesorchid]

Connotations Of Sin - JHS x Reader || Teaser ||

Summary: At your lowest, you’ve been living on the streets for the past couple of months. When you decide to leave your only safe haven and find yourself lost in a mysterious fog, an angel stretches out a hand of mercy. Little do you know, black taints his once alabaster wings.

Genre: Fallen Angel au | Angst, fluff, smut, horror ( V Lowkey, i swear)

Warnings: None for the teaser besides a little intimidation :) Full fic warnings will be on the official post ^^

Notes: I accidentally posted this last month LMAO (I cried) Thankfully I think only like one person saw it. Okay!! hi, hello, welcome! This is what i dropped off the grid to write hehe, it's a labor of love....or something. This bad boi here gets very dark, but, I will warn accordingly on the official post ^^. This fic is also in collaboration with the loml @hwaslayer !! Her new Seonghwa series takes place within this universe and I'm so so so happy to have been part of the project! (We've been slaving for months lmao) Please look out for the drop of her series (It lands in June) and be excited because she has so much planned! Tags are open for this fic if you'd like to be notified!

POSTED - HERE

You don’t understand him. In the short time you’ve known him, he’s like a square that’s trying to fit into a circle. The circle is too round to accommodate his sharp edges, but he somehow manages to get just half of the square through, even if the circle is struggling to contain it.

Not to mention the weird things that’s happened within the half hour you’ve been awake, things he’s yet to explain to you. Matter of fact, strange things has been happening since you left Abigail. The police officer, the fog, and whatever the hell was out there in it with you. You’re not even sure if that was real either.

You feel like if you focus on it, you’ll go crazy. So your mind does the only thing it can do to protect itself – pushes it away into a corner to mull over later along with everything else.

“I’d rather not.” You no longer feel the need to show him gratitude. You feel stupid, for one, why did you think trusting a random stranger would be a good thing?

Hoseok shrugs, dropping the half-eaten toast back onto the plate. He walks around you, close enough that the hairs on the back of your neck stands on end, that the warning bells are going crazy in your head again.

It’s uncomfortable being this close. The reaction is visceral, unable to ignore and you wonder why you hadn’t felt it the night before. Why you’d manage to follow him all the way here and not noticed. Maybe you had, briefly and in little moments that were small enough for you to brush them off.

You watch him watch you as he circles you like a vulture, “What are you?”

“Would you believe me if I said I was human?” He asks from behind you, and it feels like a terrible idea to have your back to him. He sounds amused, like this is nothing but a little game to him – just something to pass time while he’s bored.

As he rounds your right, your eyes meet the darkness of his. “You’re not.” It would be strange if you still thought he was after everything that’s happened already.

Hoseok hums, a twinkle lighting his eyes, “Perceptive, aren’t we?” There’s something like pride in his voice but you’re not sure what it’s for, “What do you think I am?”

“You expect me to guess correctly?” The difference in your height does nothing to stop you from glaring at him. He tilts his head at you, dark locks of his hair swaying against his forehead gently.

“No.” Hoseok smiles, “But it’ll make things interesting. I like games; play along.”

A shiver runs down your spine at his tone and the darkness in his eyes. He takes a step away from you and it feels like you can finally take a breath. His movements are fluid as he pulls the dining chair out from below the table. He sits gracefully, propping his chin in his palm as he watches you expectantly.

“Do you want a hint?” He asks, smiling sweetly.

“Why don’t you just tell me?” Your voice was barely above a whisper. You’re tired of whatever game he’s playing at, sick of the fear that keeps you standing still as he stares you down.

Tagging: @allhobbitstoisengard @dontstoptime @astormunchar @eren-fall @taestefully-in-luv @bangtansmauyeondan @xpeachesncream @blog-name-idk @madbutgloriouspond @eoieopda @mssukeyna @euphoricfilter

[saturday-byte]

Thinking about the angst potential that specific building quirks have . Please let me elaborate ,

(boy I'm yapping in here you're warned)

So the bots have pretty much embraced their silly and nonhuman nature right but the "wanting to be human" thing doesn't really seem like something that you could get rid of that easily, especially since they were designed to be as human as possible and trying to fit in is already as difficult as it is. Now imagine that you're literally The only person that feels like you Actually

Getting into the specific part, all the bots Do have the same purpose but their ways of achieving/approaching it are all different (this is where I get into the Making Shit Up part) - The Jon feels like the one that was designed to be the most human-like in functionality (runs on Pepsi [humans drink that right?], human fingers [probably the one that can feel the most physically]) and Peter leaning into that while building him just feels right but that would be so fucked up for him

Do not fact check me on this one but do we even know how good the senses of the bots are bc imagine he's literally the only one to actually be able to smell things or feel textures well (I'm not making sense please bear with me), his siblings just think he's making stuff up most of the time and those are the ppl he's supposed to relate to in this kind of problem. This is also why he's all fucked up inside he doesn't know how much Feel is normal

Hatchworth's years or being a butler + trapped in vault probably fucked up how he perceives relationships in general - He's your friend ! He's at your service ! PLEASE GOD AM I USEFUL ENOUGH . AM I WORTH HAVING AROUND THIS TIME . I PROMISE I WON'T BE A PROBLEM <- ok no that's the projection showing . But abandonment issues (and claustrophobia/fear of the dark) are definitely there, plus aromantic hatchworth is literally canon to me sorry that also affects how different he feels about people than his siblings. Literally programmed to be useful but doesn't know how to interact with people in a healthy way woww

Upgrade was definitely designed to be just visually great to me, she's stiff not because Erin is just really good at what she does but because her insides aren't as polished and thought out, this robot moves by miracle. She's obsessed with being pretty because she thinks this is the only thing she could ever achieve and being intimidating can only hide so much

And Zer0 . Sigh Zer0 there's so much I could say about him I think about him so much it's really baffling to me I never draw him </3

First just the cultural shock of being freed from the basement must have been INSANE that's already so fucked, but all the upgrades basically gave him a fully new body and that just adds to the whole 'new thing' fear/anxiety. He does not know what is going on and he can't even ask his siblings because he thinks these are normal things his body is supposed to be doing - most of the time they aren't. He doesn't know how to regulate shit and breaks way too often to learn what's healthy for him

I could yap about the spine's and rabbit relationship with humanity all day and how that relates to how they work but I'm not gonna bc this is already barely coherent and I'm so tired

[im--never--happy]

I really fundamentally cannot understand how and why the avatar fandom has been sleeping on Mako. Especially with all the Zuko love. People love an angsty sad boi who just wants to do the right thing. And by god if that is not Mako I don’t know what is. Like. Mako as a character is soooo fucking angstable. So much angst potential right there. But fandom just collectively ignores him (or else hates on him for no fucking reason). Is he perfect? Of course not, but Zuko is so insanely far from perfect and all of Zuko’s wrongdoings so far surpass any of Mako’s. Yet fandom easily forgives Zuko, resident sad boi, for his actual fucking crimes (kyoshi village didn’t burn itself down, Song’s ostrich horse didn’t steal itself, Sparky Sparky Boom—I mean Combustion Man didn’t hire himself—lmao) in favor of focusing on his trauma and angst (don’t get me wrong I am an absolute slut for angst and complex nuanced discussions of trauma in fictional characters, and Zuko is such an amazing vessel for my insatiable thirst for angst. But. SO!! IS!!! MAKO!!!!!). But Mako doesn’t get that treatment. He’s vilified for his significantly less bad mistakes. And it makes no actual fucking sense. Because he is so primed for angst and he has insane amounts of trauma. And he’s so sweet. He just loves the people in his circle so fucking much, he just wants to do right by them, he just wants to protect them and keep them safe, and also fucking save the goddamn world. Jfc. He’s sooo GOOD. And the crazy thing is that he’d actually be a better fit for a lot of the specific angst and character traits people want to project onto Zuko that actually aren’t in line with Zuko’s character. Like when people write how Zuko is so humble and doesn’t think he deserves anything and is so intrinsically kind and patient and gentle. And that’s just… not canon Zuko at all. Canon Zuko is impatient and loud and shouts and so insanely fucking proud. He was raised a prince thinking he deserved everything because he was royalty. And yes yes so much abuse and lack of self worth and trauma. Yes obviously. But Zuko expects (or at least expected) people to give him things or do things for him because he was royalty. At least at one point. He doesn’t know how to cook or take care of himself or other people, because he’s always had people doing that for him, at least to a certain degree (I’m not saying the ship banishment was luxury but he still absolutely had a crew that did a lot of shit, like cooking and day to day grunt work for him). Whereas Mako IS humble and soft spoken and quiet and gentle. He never raises his voice with bolin and never lashes out in anger. Bolin and Korra say hurtful unfair and unkind shit to him, and he just fucking takes it. He doesn’t shout or throw insults back. He just accepts their anger and criticims and still fights to help and protect them. He is self reliant and raised his younger brother alone since they were both homeless orphans. He can cook. He also doesn’t think he deserves better when people treat him like shit, because he’s always been treated like shit. (Hello self worth self-loathing angst potential galore!!) Mako is everything that a lot of fandom want Zuko to be and he has endless potential for sad boi trauma angsting. But he gets hated for no fucking reason while Zuko gets idolized. And it makes no fucking sense and drives me absolutely fucking nuts

[lazystar]

Play Like a Gangster

Lee Felix x Fem!Reader 

University AU, Bad Boy!Felix Other idols mentioned: Other SKZ members, ITZY, Lily of NMIXX, Soobin of TXT Warnings: Alcohol consumption, use of unhealthy coping skills, negative self-image on reader’s part, Felix being a slight ass, Miscommunication!!! ANGST!!! Comfort tho is there! Word Count: 5K+ (~5400?)

Obligatory Note: please show your support by giving my work a simple reblog :) this is how tumblr’s algorithm operates and is an easy way to show support to your favorite writers on this site! a “hey this is so good” comment also works :) Thanks!

Your first day of year four of university had finally arrived. The hot August air weighed you down like a blanket of humidity, your thighs chafing as they rubbed against one another at the hemline of your denim shorts. You had chosen your classic first day of fall semester fit, a logo tee from the bookstore, and a pair of shorts along with your Converse. Comfortable, easy to fish out of your still packed suitcase, and cute. 

Fishing your schedule from your student portal app on your phone, you found your first lecture of the day. To your horror and dismay it was a gen ed course you had been dreading, Statistics 101 with Professor Park. You abhorred math more than anything and even more so when you threw in the Greek alphabet. You huffed and walked faster to the lecture hall to get a good seat, and when you arrived you guessed every other student had the same idea because the only seat left was one in the middle of the hall next to an intimidating looking boy with a sharp jawline, silver earrings and dusty blue hair. He looked the complete opposite of you. He was in all black, black tee shirt, long black cargo pants decorated with chains, and black converse. The shoe choice was the only identical fashion choice you both had made. 

“You gonna keep analyzing my outfit like this shit is project runway or are you going to sit down?” His deep Australian accent cut you out of your thoughts. 

“Oh sorry! Ummm I’m sorry — I already said that didn’t I? Anyways I’m Y/N nice to meet ya…” You stuck a hand out to him after setting out your notebook and laptop.

“You are far too cheerful for a 10 AM math lecture. Anyways the name’s Felix, before you ask I’m a senior graphic design major this is just a gen ed for me.” He seemed to notice you deflate as he answered your icebreakers before you could ask. He let out an almost placating gruff laugh after his introduction.

“I’m a senior as well, music marketing major so as much as I wish this wasn’t a required gen ed for me it sadly is. I fucking HATE math!” You sighed as the professor walked into the room. You didn’t notice Felix smile at your extroverted behavior. He knew he was about to become your friend, not by his own accord but he knew that he was now the familiar face in your Monday-Wednesday-Friday morning hour of hell. The professor droned on about the usual syllabus week materials and you began doodling some new logo ideas for your friends’ music group on your notebook paper. Your dissociation was cut off by the professor clearing his throat with an announcement. 

“Okay everyone! This lecture has 100 students, and unfortunately for me the department requires us to have you all complete a semester long project going over a trend of choice through data analytics. So you all will be working with the person sitting directly to your right! No, don't go switching seats, I see you in the back row!” You laughed as your classmates groaned around you at the news of being involuntarily being partnered up. You looked to your right where Felix was already looking your way with a raised brow and a smirk gracing his freckled face. 

“Please tell me you won’t be as high energy all semester” Your new statistics partner sighed almost defeatedly. “Now hand me your phone so I can put my number in it so we can work on this shit or whatever.” You laughed at his statement and handed your phone over to him. 

“Felix, just for the record,  I’m gonna change your contact to Grumpy Pants if you keep acting like this.” You stated as you looked at him through your peripheral vision as he texted himself from your phone. 

“Okay Bubbles.” He chuckled, handing your phone back to you. He had simply texted himself a ‘Hey :) – Bubbles’ making an involuntary grin stretch across your face as you turned to look at him.

“Bubbles?” 

“Powerpuff Girls? Did you grow up uncultured?” He raised a brow at your lack of knowledge of the cartoon. 

“I was only allowed to watch educational stuff as a kid.” 

“It shows.” 

“HEY!” You playfully punched his arm and flipped him off as a deep chuckle emanated from him. This was going to be an entertaining semester for sure.

The semester rolled along, like a slow cross country train ride. Throughout it you and Felix grew closer, much to the chagrin of your friends Lia and Yeji who had said the boy was “bad news”. You didn’t understand how they could judge him without knowing him like you did, how could anyone with such a beautiful smile be “bad news”. Sure he had some bad habits like sneaking a flask into the library for your study sessions, but could you blame him? Statistics would drive anyone to drink unless they were a math wizard like Pythagoras or Einstein. 

“Y/N are you texting him again?” Yeji groaned as she flitted about styling your hair for the party she insisted you attend with her and the other girls from the music group she and Lia were in. It was at the Sigma Kappa Zeta fraternity and you knew Felix was a brother of the frat, so regardless of your girls you always had an in. This though, was a secret from your dear friends as they had prejudged Felix and you didn’t want them to suddenly change their minds so they had an excuse to party.

“Yeah we have that project remember? Plus he was showing me this funny video from that one guy I like on instagram.” You fibbed. This seemed to satisfy her as you two finished getting ready for the ride to the frat house. Lia met you two in front of the dorm and your ride was outside just as you left. You were in for a good night, you could feel it in your bones.

Unfortunately for you, your bones were wrong. The stench of alcohol, weed, and body odor hit your nose like a freight train, you had lost your friends upon entering and Felix was nowhere to be found. One of his frat brothers, Hyunjin had saddled up to you as you made your way to the kitchen for a drink. 

“You’re Felix’s girl right?”He asked as he poured you a vodka and cola...very heavy on the vodka. Concerningly so actually You made a mental note to never ask him to bartend for you again, lest you want a new liver by twenty-five. 

“Oh no we’re just friends, we have a Stats class together, 101 with Professor Park.” You replied sipping on your drink and grimacing at the overly pungent taste of the cheap liquor in it. 

“Oh duh you’re Bubbles then! He always talks about how obnoxious you can be, he asked me once how anyone can be so… I shouldn’t have said that. Don’t-don’t listen to me,disregard anything I just said! I'm wasted.” Unfortunately for the panicking dark haired boy, you were not wasted. You were far too sober for this. Obnoxious? You? You were used to being sometimes a bit too extraverted for some peoples’ tastes but obnoxious? That stung. 

“Heh. No worries Hyunjin, I'll see you around.” With that the boy left. You stayed in the kitchen as your body went into autopilot, you downed your drink then snatched the vodka bottle up before wandering through the crowd to the back porch to find a corner to hide in. You didn’t know why you chose to chase the bile like feeling in your chest down with alcohol. You didn’t usually cope with your emotions in this manner. You were level headed, a marketing student, someone who dabbled with psychology courses for fun, someone who was the advice giver to her friends. Not someone who chose to use unhealthy coping mechanisms. But here you were bottle in hand walking to the porch to sip away the pain. 

“Y/N? Bubbles? What are you doing?” The Aussie you had been searching for before had somehow found you. His voice was riddled with concern, laughable amounts of it in your mind. How could a friend find you obnoxious but then act so caring? Friend, the word now made you almost nauseous. Fuck friends, fuck Felix, you thought. All you wanted was to be numb and alone. 

“Trying to not be obnoxious or something I don’t fucking know.” You grumbled taking a long swig of the liquor from the bottle. You didn’t even grimace this time as the taste had grown too familiar to you. 

“What’s that supposed to mean? Who upset you? Why the fuck are you chugging vodka like water? Who hurt you? I’ll kick their ass!” He barraged you with questions as he tried to slip down to sit beside you and take the bottle out of your hands. You fought back and held the bottle close to you, eventually he gave up seeing that you clearly were unwilling to let go of your vice. He was worried and he just wanted to see what was wrong. An uncomfortable silence filled the space between you two for a moment, until you cleared your throat and turned toward him with an unsettlingly dark look in your eyes.

“Felix, tell me why one of your frat brothers told me not even like twenty minutes ago that you found me obnoxious. Apparently you’re always talking about it. Fuck, the girls were right I should’ve just stayed your project partner and not your friend.” You hissed out and tried to stand, but the large amount of booze in your system made you stumble and nearly fall over like an unstable desk ornament.

“You’re not about to walk away from me in your condition in the middle of this conversation Y/N.”

“Fine then I’ll— I’ll fucking crawl away just leave me alone and find my friends for me. My actual friends who like me and don’t tell their friends I’m fucking obnoxious, too much, too loud, too happy, too bubbly, too ugh whatever you told your friends I’m too much of. Just. Leave. Me. The. FUCK. Alone.” The bite in your words made Felix physically flinch. He had never seen you so angry, especially not at him. You were usually so kind and uplifting to those you met. Not so, so aggressive. It hurt him to see your Y/E/C eyes, all tearful and rage filled. The beautiful eyes he was so used to seeing filled with unbridled happiness. 

“Okay, I’ll-I’ll go. Please just promise me one day you’ll allow me the chance to explain myself to you.” He pleaded, his head hung low, tears filling his own gaze. You have a noncommittal affirmation and he went off finding Yeji and Lia. While you clung to your knees with cries wracking your body, Felix was facing the wrath of the music group you knew as your best friends. 

Yeji, Lia, Ryujin, Chaeryeong, and the newest addition Yuna all glowered at him from the couch as he explained you had gotten mad at him over a mistaken confession he had made when you two had just met. He had not experienced such unbridled happiness from one person before you stepped into his world and he was unsure how to feel. He had chosen his usual method of brisk dismissal and annoyance when discussing you to the frat members those weeks ago. But over the course of the past month or so you had wormed your way into his heart and he had grown fond of your random animal facts, boisterous laughter, and bright sun rivaling smiles. 

“Lee, you fucked up and she was correct in saying we warned her about you. Remember you broke our other friend, Heejin’s heart? You lead her on. You’re not about to do that to our Y/N. She’s our angel, and you sir are some demon for hurting her now. We’ll let you try to make it up to her but I swear to all that is holy if you don’t, you’re fucking dead.” Yeji’s voice carried over the bass that was shaking the house, her voice shook Felix to his very core. “Don’t expect any help from us, ITZY protects our friends, and Y/N is our best friend. Girls go get our baby. I know she needs you right now, I’ll call the uber. Lee Felix you go fess up to Chan and the boys that you fucked up.” She gave Felix a dismissal with her hand and collected you along with the girls in a tight hug. She had her own plan, she was going to recruit her other friend Lily and their mutual friend Soobin into a “Get Y/N over Felix” plan. She had detested the Australian for leading her friend Heejin on the previous fall. She hadn’t known though that it was honestly just an unrequited crush on Heejin’s part and that the Aussie and the other girl had made up. She was so focused on playing the role of mother to her friends she forgot sometimes to look past the details of the story as it was on the page, she didn’t read between the lines. What she witnessed had to be the truth, right?

The days after the party felt like you were in limbo, you had emailed your professors that you had a family emergency and would be out for the subsequent week. Thankfully they all were accommodating and gave you the materials to study in your absence. Felix hadn’t called or texted regarding your project which soon would be having its mid semester check on your progress. You had done your share and emailed him your part so he could work off of your work, you had practically done all you could to avoid him. But now it felt like you were doing too much, caring too much about someone who you had misjudged as someone who was more caring than their hard outer shell. You had read between the lines of who he was a bit too deeply, you had looked to find some sort of positive in someone who had portrayed himself as harsh and cold. Maybe he was just that, cold, uncaring, harsh, a liar. Yeah that’s what he was, a liar, an expert one at that.

You were lounging in your misery of stuffed animals and rewatches of Legally Blonde as Yeji, the girls, and your newer friend Lily barged into your room. 

“Go away girls, leave me to my misery and Elle Woods’ slaying the courtroom!” You groaned out into your pillow.

“Bitch if you don’t get your ass up! You have a date, no don’t give me that face you need some socialization.” Yeji pulled you out of bed and shoved you into the shower before you could protest. Two hours later your hair and makeup were done, you were dressed in a nice cropped sweater, jeans, and boots and shoved out the door to your demise date.

At the campus coffee shop with your favorite iced chai latte in hand sat Soobin. He was a fellow music marketing student and student musician you’d met through the girls. He was someone you’d known in passing, an acquaintance, not someone you expected yourself on a blind date with. But here you were, laughing at his jokes, cooing over photos of his pet hedgehog Odi and enjoying yourself in his company. It felt like getting to know an old friend from years gone by, not like a first date. But you knew in your heart feelings were unlikely to develop. You felt too platonic, too friendly, not flirty, flushed, not like a swarm of butterflies resided in your stomach. You didn’t feel like you did when Felix would offer to rest his jacket across your shoulders when the cold air conditioning of the library would kick on. 

As you sat on your couch talking with Yeji you came to the realization of why it hurt so bad to find out Felix has shit talked you. You liked Felix. His freckles, his smile that would take over his whole face, his blunt sarcastic sense of humor, his playful jabs, his affectionate teasing, you adored it all. 

“Yeji, don’t tell the others please but… I realize why I was so messed up over what happened at Sig Kap.”

“You liked him didn’t you?” She saw your eyes well up with tears as your head fell in what you could only describe as shame. 

“Not just like, I think I fell for him.” She only gave her best sullen smile as she walked across the living room to engulf you in a hug as tears fell like a torrential storm down your cheeks. She softly assured you that you would move on, like you always did when you fought the overwhelming urge to sink into your bed and not get out for days due to the weight of the world crushing your soul. You were strong, but love seemed to fight like a heavyweight champ, hitting you with blows left and right. Chaeryeong walked out of her room as the sound of a broken croak of tearful lament came from you. 

“Y/N baby girl what happened? Did he say something wrong again?” The other girl sat on your left and wrapped her arms around you effectively making you the saddest sandwich ever seen.

“Yeji… I think I really love Felix. I think that’s why I’m so hurt, I owe him a chance to explain himself to me. He looked like bad news but he was the sweetest guy I’ve ever met. I’ve had time to think about it all and I can’t just shut him out, it hurts worse than it helps.” Yeji froze, her comforting hand that had been rubbing your arm ceased, her heart tightened with a sense of urgency. You loved the man that effectively shattered one of her friend’s hearts. You deserved to know what he was like. You NEEDED to know. Before you let him back in, before he broke you more. 

“Y/N did I ever explain why I don’t like Felix?” You shook your head as it rested on her shoulder, her comforting hand resumed rubbing your arm in an almost motherly way. “Remember Heejin? My friend from my hip hop class? They used to talk, like last year. He was like how he was with you, romantic, kind, and sweet. But one day he just drops this bomb. He only saw her as a friend, he lead her on for like ever, they almost made out at the date party SKZ hosted last winter. She was messed up over it for a long time. I don’t want him hurting you more. Also Soobin really liked your date. Did you have a good time?” Her explanation stunned you that you didn’t even register the topic change. Felix was a player. You always picked the wrong guys. You had fallen for an act, a ploy to probably get into your pants and be left in the dust. That’s probably all it was. You shook your head from your spiral of misery and looked over at your friend as she playfully nudged you to encourage you to discuss the date she masterfully put together.

“Soobin was sweet, and really cute! But it felt more like a friendship than a potential relationship. I didn’t really see it going anywhere. On the bright side I think he’s going to make a great friend.” You sighed and sunk more into the couch. The overwhelming urge to cry came over you once again as Chaeryeong and Yeji hugged you tighter and cuddled you. They gently played with your hair and cooed comforting words to you trying to ease the stabbing pain in your chest.

Meanwhile at the SKZ house Chan was consoling a devastated Felix. Weeks had passed and the only word from you he would receive was an email with your slides from your project and some notes on the materials. You had gone from the girl he would destroy a city for to a stranger. It hurt him beyond words, your playful teasing and bubbly affirmations were ripped from his life so abruptly it was like his organs had been ripped out. 

“Chan I fucking love her, I didn’t realize until I lost her. Her friends only see me as a player because of the whole Heejin thing. I wish Heejin just explained that we’re cool now so I have a chance at winning my Bubbles back.” Chan nodded solemnly. 

“I know Lix, I hope she lets you explain soon I hate seeing you like this.”

Jisung overheard the conversation and had an idea, he walked over, bending down he whispered it to Chan with an expression that just screamed that he was some kind of love genius. “Han, that is so stupid it might just work.” Chan called a meeting for the five other house residents to join them at the couches. Operation Y/Nlix was in motion.

As night fell you sat in bed once again sadly watching Legally Blonde. You were about ready to recite the perm monologue as a loud thud of something hitting your window startled you. Going over to gaze out you couldn’t believe your eyes. Out on your apartment complex lawn stood all eight SKZ house residents holding up signs reading Y/N please hear Felix out! We beg! Felix held up his own sign, I know I’m an ass, just one chance please. Once they noticed you were looking at them Changbin cued up a speaker and I Want You Back by the Jackson 5 began blaring out for the whole neighborhood to hear. The girls all piled into your room and gave you the affirmative to go talk to him. You raced down the stairs to run over to the dancing and singing men. 

“Fine! Five Minutes.”

“Y/N uh shit I didn’t think this would work. Okay so I had been having a rough day just after we met and I couldn’t understand how someone could have so much energy and be just so positive all of the time. Your adorable ways of finding some good in everything honestly scared me. That’s why I’d ranted about you. I’m sorry.” He clutched your hands and had tears swelling up in his brown eyes, you gave him a nod and a small sad smile. 

“That doesn’t explain why you never told me about the Heejin situation. Ya know considering I have several mutual friends with her.” 

“Heejin and I talked things out in the spring, she liked me more than I liked her. We discussed how it was a whole misunderstanding.” He paused at your raised brow and doubtful expression. “I’m being serious, it was really a one sided crush and her being genuinely hurt. I understand that finding out someone you liked not liking you back really sucks and how she felt led on. I apologized and we’re cool now, she and I aren’t friends but we’re not enemies either.”

“Mkay I’ll take your word for it for now, you have some work to do to earn my trust back but I’m willing to give you a second chance.” His lanky arms engulfed you and he began rocking you side to side his laugh and smile warmed your heart once again. You knew he would have you falling for him all over again, and the thought didn’t scare you like it used to. It didn’t terrify you, it filled you with hope that your happy ending may actually exist this time around. 

The cool autumnal air began to make you shiver as the seasons changed, the semester’s end was closing in as the days flew by. The warmth of summer’s end was something you yearned for as you pulled your jacket closer to your body, your steps increased in speed as you made your way to the cafe you had met Soobin at previously. He had asked you on another date, one you had thought would be another friendly hang out. What you didn’t seem to realize was that your cheerful disposition had enamored the tall, bespectacled boy. He saw you as a radiant, angelic, hilarious, and of course beautiful girl. Someone whose mission it was to make those around her always happy. His analysis of you wasn’t incorrect by any means, however you were not reciprocative of his feelings. 

To you Soobin was sweet and adorable. His catlike smile, cute laugh, and goofy personality made you feel like he was someone you could be comfortable around. His energy was fairly similar to yours in a way that made you feel like you’d met yourself but as a boy. This made catching feelings for him a challenge for you, so alas Soobin’s crush on you was unrequited. Today, he was going to confess, so he had asked you to join him for coffee.

“Oh Soobin you didn’t have to buy my coffee for me!” You admonished as you sat across from him at the campus coffee shop. The pastel wall decor seemed to give you an angelic glow as he shyly smiled at you. 

“Of course I did angel! I invited you here after all! Now I have something I need to tell you.” You nodded and took a sip of the caramel flavored latte he had picked for you. You let out a soft sigh at the warm feeling it put in your chest after the cold air had frozen your bones during your walk. “Y/N, I-I like you um a lot. You’re beautiful, kind, funny, a wonderful listener, a genuinely wonderful person. I was wondering if I could get the chance to take you on an actual date?” His warm eyes reflected his desire for an affirmation that you reciprocated his emotions. 

“Oh wow Soobin I. I don’t know what to say. You are a wonderful guy, I genuinely do like your friendship a lot! You are someone I like being around. But, I just don’t see you the same way, I’m sorry.” You hung your head down apologetically and looked over to him to make sure he was okay. He nodded and gave you a half smile showing his dimples. You reached across the table for his hands and took them in yours. “I hope we can still be friends! I really like being your friend!” He smiled and nodded at that. You two stood and the tall boy wrapped you in a warm embrace. 

“I would love to still be your friend Y/Nnie you are so sweet.”

Meanwhile outside the cafe stood Felix, his dark attire reflecting the darkness that poured into his heart. He saw the way your face nuzzled into the taller male’s chest and how the pair of you seemed to clutch the other’s clothing to get closer. Who was the boy in the glasses? Why were you hugging him like that? Why did he get to hold you? Why were you smiling up at him like that? Why wasn’t it him? 

Felix’s inner turmoil began to swell as he watched the exchange, he couldn’t tear his eyes away as you and the taller boy interacted so happily. As you pulled away from Soobin your eyes locked with the brooding male’s through the cafe glass. Your eyes widened in surprise as the Australian visibly sighed and began to walk away, his head held low. You quickly excused yourself and bolted after the boy calling his name. 

“Felix! FELIX! WAIT!” His steps only seemed to grow faster as he marched away. Panic began to creep into your mind as you picked up the pace. You grabbed his shoulder and yanked him to a halt via his jacket. His eyes grew steely as he looked at you. 

“Did you just ditch your new boyfriend for me? Not a good look Y/N.” He grumbled as he tried to peel your grip off of him.

“Boyfriend? Huh? Felix, that's Soobin. Ya know? He’s a friend of the girls?” You tilted your head in confusion and scoffed lightly at his conclusion.

“You two looked awfully close. That’s all I’m saying Y/N.” His hair shook and his eyes grew cold and harsh as he cocked his head toward you.

“You almost always never call me by my first name what’s going on with you?” Your eyes grew pleading and you began to wring your hands anxiously as you silently begged for an explanation.

“Y/N, you offered me a very public second chance, then not even a week later I am seeing you acting like another man’s girlfriend. I thought I made it clear to you-” He cut himself off, shaking his head and scuffing the toe of his black combat boot against the ground. He let out a heavy sorrow filled sigh and slowly began to walk away. “Forget it. I’m happy for you, I’ll see you in stats.” Before he could step away your hands caught his wrist and you tugged him toward you. 

“Made what clear to me Felix? You’re jumping to conclusions like it’s an Olympic sport here! I’m confused.” You looked at him, your eyes swimming with hurt and confusion. With Felix everything felt one step forward, five steps back. You never seemed to move past the hurt you both felt from the party incident.

“Y/N don’t. Don’t do this.” His voice was barely a murmur.

“Do what Felix?”

“Don’t make me say it.”

“Say what Felix don’t play games with me.” Your voice grew laced with agitation and annoyance. He wasn’t like this what was going on? Who was this aggravated almost gangster like boy you knew as your friend? Why was he sad yet angry? 

“Please don’t make me admit how fucking in love with you I am.” With that you grabbed his face and pulled him into a heavy tear soaked kiss. Your arms wrapped around his neck as one of his hands found its home holding your waist and the other cupped your cheek. Your lips danced against one another as soft giggles and smiles made the kiss grow more playful. 

“You didn’t think I loved you too Grumpy Pants?” You teased as he sneakily tried to grope your butt with his hand. “Aye paws off the goods mister!” You laughed. 

“Well I clearly wasn’t thinking correctly seeing as you basically just swept me off my feet Bubbles.” He poked your cheek and wrapped his arms around you swaying you side to side gently. The cold autumnal air made you shiver slightly. 

“Y/N! Glad to see you found your person!” Soobin cut into your moment as he called from the cafe doorway. Your cheeks grew flushed as you hid your face into Felix’s neck. The boy just laughed and gave Soobin a nod as an acknowledgment. The next thing you knew your phone in your pocket began buzzing like a swarm of bees as your friends were all informed by the tall dark haired male of what happened. Felix encouraged you to check the texts. The only one that jumped out was Heejin on instagram wishing you well, she said she was happy that you as a mutual friend of hers found happiness. She also said she wanted you and Felix to find happiness together. It was sweet and you sent along your thanks.

The rest of the messages were just congratulatory ones from the SKZ boys and ITZY girls. As well as some teasing from both groups to not make them uncles and aunts any time soon. A smile graced your lips and you tilted your head as to give Felix another chaste kiss. 

“My place or yours baby?” You whispered into his ear. 

“For what angel?” He smirked thinking you were implying a rendezvous.

“Snuggles, video games, avoiding our project, and some snacking! What else?” You laughed as you saw a blush creep across his cheeks. “Oh you pervert! You wanted to hook up? At least ask me to be your girlfriend and buy me dinner first!” You bopped his shoulder and acted all scandalized which made Felix grow even more red faced and he sputtered out apologies mixed with deflections as to not make a scene. 

“Baby! Baby! Okay let’s go get dinner and I’ll get you some flowers and ask you the right way!” 

“Hmph. Fine!”

“Bubbles?”

“Yeah Grumpy Pants?”

“I love you!”

“I love you too! Now come on!!!! I want a penguin plushie and my flowers! Did you know penguins propose with rocks?”

“Your lack of good TV as a kid is showing.”

“HEY!” You both bursted into laughter, ear-to-ear grins stretched across your faces as you looked into one another’s eyes with pure adoration.

All was well, except for the fact that the two of you still had to do math work and not get distracted by your infatuation with the other. But, that’s tomorrow’s problem now isn’t it?

[hungrydolphin91]

ok I had to go make my own post about Eugene Cassette Beasts, it's not fair for me to fill up everyone else's tags w how much I love this guy. I wanted to speculate a little about his backstory here cause it honestly fascinates me and I feel like I havent seen this happen much in other media, much less turn based monster collecting RPGs.

So Eugene is from a future world (seemingly the only party member who is except maybe Barkley but he's a dog so.) It sounds like he's from the turn of the century, maybe 2100 or so, and mentions in his rank 3 friendship that in his world, there was a massive reformation when society as a while realized they couldn't keep fucking each other over and destroying the planet, so everyone worked hard to abolish the kinds of structures that unilaterally hurt people (for instance, capitalism). Sounds like a utopia right?

Eugene only says good things about his world really, how much people value acts of goodness and kindness. But he says it all with such a sad tone, like something he's missing out on, because he thinks he is, he didn't fit in. He says that he wasn't great at being helpful all the time, which is why he wants to do better in New Wirral, a world removed from his own where he can be a better person than he was in his own world.

But the thing is, he IS a nice person. Maybe that's by design, everything he does in New Wirral is about him playing the hero, but it's also oh so clear that he brought his own expectations of goodness from his own timeline and they're just as much of a burden here. Even when hes succeeding, he won't cut himself slack, he says he needs to have a cause to rally behind, or what that archangel said to him would be proven true: he IS empty. Or at least, useless, which is probably the same thing to him.

What really grabs me about all of this though (besides the usual love of angst and guilt complexes and hero complexes and whatnot) is this future of moral reformation. Those are a pretty common historical phenomenon, often involving moral panics and an emphasis on presentation--- what matters is that you LOOK pure compared to others. And poor Eugene just felt like he couldn't keep up just because he has some small selfish impulses, or something in that nature I'd imagine--- I think he'd rather throw himself off a bridge than admit whatever the reason was that he didn't fit in in his own world.

It's easy to see his world being our future, in a way. I'd be delighted if terrible oppressive governments and economic systems were torn down in favor of ones that promote equality and universal well being, but currently moral purity is just as much of a trend as ever--- look at any discussion of book banning, not to mention transphobic legislature, fandom antis and so much more. So this hypothetical future is one where even though the 'right' thing has been done, there's still a subtle form of policing going on to enforce it. Maybe that is successful at keeping cruel practices from coming back. Or maybe it's just traumatizing people like Eugene who feel judged by their every action and pressured to be a saint every single moment of their lives.

One last thing I thought was interesting--- as part of his level 4 friendship rank, Eugene mentions how his parents' generation still seem scarred by the cruelties they endured before this reformation. But Eugene is too young to have lived through it himself so you know what that means?? Generational trauma babyyyyy. He's inherited guilt about a time he wasn't even alive for, along with a pressure to make sure it never ever happens again, so no unkindness is tolerated. It's no wonder this boy has so many issues.

So that's my late night rambles about this guy, probably like 50% of this is just me projecting but it's also fun to dissect what's happening here. Like I said before, it's unusual to see a unique concept like character like Eugene and his world in what appears to be a fun little indie game about turning into monsters with cassettes.

[spacemonkeysalsa]

Her Embrace, Her Tears

Multi-chaptered, fluff, angst, eventually smut

Lae'zel probably didn't need a good excuse, or further motivation, to go to war with Shar. But, she is about to get it anyway.

Five years post game, Dark Justiciar/Mother Superior/Chosen of Shar Shadowheart and (with a few notable exceptions) everyone got their bad endings, in that everyone is still alive, but shitty. Lae'zel is thriving though, aside from her relationship.

Read Chapter One on Ao3

or read Chapter Ten below the cut

The child’s awe at the sight of Wyrm’s Rock Fortress forced Lae’zel to experience the place for the first time, again, through his eyes. It was impressive, as far as these stone castles went. Its positioning was to be admired, more than anything. “Have you not been this way, in all your wayward wanderings?” she asked the child.

He started, looking at her with a rush of blood in his cheeks. She could see the question in his features, even if he didn’t voice it, how did she know about that? He finally just shook his head.

The guards were staring, but no one stopped them. No doubt, Wyll had been clear that approaching githyanki were not to be harassed. At least, not today. All the same, a few of them did look like they wanted to stop her, but they remained quiet but for a few coughs, and were unobtrusive besides their stares, especially towards the small boy with her.

She let her feet fall heavy and tapped an echoing rhythm on the stone floor of the spacious entrance. The pitter-patter of her small companion sped up as he tried to keep pace with her march.

“Wyrm’s Rock is a highly desirable position in a siege. Why?” So simple a query should have been easy for any average githyanki of his age to address.

And it seemed that the child wasn’t an exception, though his education was spread more broadly across many subjects, several of them, probably useless. “The sea surrounds it. And it’s very high. The bridges close in, and everyone inside can just attack from their perches.”

“Precisely,” Lae’zel wouldn’t praise such an easy answer, but perhaps the child had more to say. “So, if you were to take Wyrm’s Rock, how would you?”

“Me?” the child looked baffled. “I wouldn’t.”

Lae’zel sighed. “Literal-mindedness is not a fault unless it prevents you from engaging in these helpful mental exercises. Imagine you are older, and have an army, and need to take the rock. How would you do it?”

The child frowned, face hot again.

These little games, ultimately, were just that. Though, they served an important purpose, and Lae’zel would press him for an answer once he’d had the chance to think about it and observe the place more closely.

Back during Gortash’s brief, ignominious reign of terror, he’d kept offices in the very top of the tower. Lae’zel understood that much of this had been remodeled as living quarters, and that Wyll preferred to conduct his business much closer to some of the Flaming Fist’s barracks. They were directed to an open landing, with nothing between the Duke and the rest of the bustling life of Wyrm’s Rock than a wooden railing and some cleverly engineered sightlines. It made for less privacy than was ideal, for certain meetings, but perhaps that was the point. Wyll might be inclined to cultivate a climate of transparency. Their time together and the occasional mental exchange enabled by embedded mindflayer tadpoles had taught both of them that transparency could save you a lot of time, and better foster understanding. 

It could also get you into trouble.

Wyll was lounging, which was a good look for him, especially paired with a somewhat disheveled appearance, fine, dark, fitted clothing that he’d obviously been wearing while in the course of actually doing things. He had his feet up, and his horned head leaning back, almost tapping the wall behind him. In front of him was a map of Thay on a table, and a familiar creature. Tara, the tressym. The tressym’s grey tortoiseshell coat was looking a little more drab than Lae’zel remembered it. With a somewhat unpleasant pang she had to acknowledge that it had been five years since she’d seen the creature, who’s lifespan was the same as the average housecat. She was getting old.

Tara’s voice was a harsh whisper, directed towards the duke, though she quieted the moment that Lae’zel drew near, her ears and wings twitching as she sensed the approach. With a flick of her head, her fur almost bristled, then softened as she regarded the gith. “Oh! It’s you, my dear,” Tara straightened up, some of her youth and brightness returning. “And who’ve we brought here? A pup of yours?”

Wyll was slow to notice them, seemingly deep in thought about whatever it was that Tara had been telling him. His false eye found them first. Bloodstone. A fine replacement to the sending stone he’d worn when he was still under a fiend pact. His other eye resembled Astarion’s new ones in no small way; deep black sclera and a deep red iris. “Well met, Lae’zel! So good to know you again,” he rose up from the chair in one fluid motion and bowed low. “Pray, introduce your companion.”

“A child of gith. He has a name, though it was gifted to him by those who would not know him. I hope to afford him the opportunity to choose for himself.”

“Can I?” the child was fixated on Tara with wide eyes.

“Gentle,” Tara approached and bent her head, feathers fluffing a little as the child’s fingers awkwardly patted her fur and the joints of her wings.

“And you’ve met before,” Lae’zel went on to introduce the child to Wyll, “though in a premortal state.”

Wyll’s eyebrows lifted at that. “Not the egg we took from…?”

“The very one,” Lae’zel confirmed gravely.

Tara and the child seemed to be getting along immediately, comfortably. It surprised Lae’zel a little, as she’d always thought of Tara as somewhat choosy about her company, and especially about who she would actually speak with. But, the tressym was whispering to the gith child already, asking him questions, “you’ve got a fine scent of the weave about you, have you studied much?”

“I love studying. You can smell the weave? What does it smell like?”

“I’m sure you can too. Perhaps that little nose of yours just needs practice.”

Wyll gestured to the seat he’d vacated, but Lae’zel waved him off, feeling too restless to set herself down, even briefly. She sauntered over to the railing instead, getting a good look at the map of Thay on the table and distancing herself enough from the gith child and Tara that she couldn’t hear their conversation any longer. Wyll followed her, taking a place beside her at the railing and throwing a self-conscious glance at the map on the table. “You said in your missive that this visit was just going to be a short one?”

“If all goes accordingly,” Lae’zel admitted. “There’s a kith’rak I’m meant to parley with. I don’t know the details, but someone powerful enough to arrange for my portals seems to think I’m the best possible person to talk him out of something.”

“Why wouldn’t they tell you?”

“Likely, because they’re uncertain in their intelligence. Githyanki do not like to risk being wrong.”

Wyll smirked at that, but diplomatically added, “no one does.”

“The rest are minor tasks. Chores.”

“Like retrieving our long lost egg?”

“Apparently, yes. You’re not also going to start calling him Egg as a name, are you?”

Wyll shrugged, “If he likes it.”

“He’s not yet six years old. He’s just discovering what he likes.” Lae’zel spared the tressym and the gith child another glance, but they were engrossed with each other, not paying Wyll or Lae’zel any mind. “Why is Tara with you?” She was careful with the question, not wanting to reopen old wounds. Tara was Gale’s tressym, and his most beloved friend, but the two of them had a falling out after Gale ascended to godhood. Lae’zel had rather hoped that they would have made up and that perhaps Tara could enjoy an extended life in Elysium with her newly divine friend.

“Because, I insisted,” Wyll’s voice sounded heavy, he was hiding some tragedy, but didn’t seem remotely willing to get into it. 

Wyll and Gale had been together, and she thought, had been happy, during their adventures. But, it had not ended well, as she understood it. She’d never gotten more than a few dregs of gossip from Shadowheart, and it didn’t seem like Wyll was inclined to discuss it now, either. She resisted the temptation to press him, though hearing about his own heartache might serve to relieve her own.

“To speak of the past,” Lae’zel sighed, she might as well deliver her own bit of gossip to the duke. “Our friend, The Vampire Ascendant, has been marked as a fiend.”

Wyll let out a sigh mingled with a curse, but didn’t look surprised, even as his own horned head dropped. “Poor bastard,” he chuckled.

“Indeed.”

“As showy as me?” Wyll wondered, gesturing to his face and horns.

“Worse,” Lae’zel admitted. “He’s got wings and a tail too. And claws. Those fangs of his finally match the rest of his body.”

“Gods,” Wyll lamented. “I suppose I’ll have to stop by.” He shuddered, “That place gives me the shivers.”

“It is a poorly decorated tomb,” Lae’zel agreed.

“Appropriate, maybe. But enough of old times. Let’s recall them when we’re better disposed to be romantic and wistful about all of it.”

A good suggestion, but Lae’zel felt her face rest into a sad smile as she looked at Wyll’s mismatched eyes. Would they ever be able to recall that time without thinking of all the weight that had come with it? “When I mentioned to some of my resident kin that I was going to see you, they told me I was lucky you were back in town. What took you out to Thay?”

Wyll collapsed just a few inches into his own chest, apparently this topic wasn’t much cheerier. “To sum up? Disparate groups of desperate and miserable wretches in search of either a new god, or a means to ingratiate themselves to the indifferent old gods. I needed to go,” he added the last part firmly, “I did accomplish what I set out to do. But, it shouldn’t have taken the effort it did. What about you? How goes the revolution?”

“Desperate and miserable are two words that come to mind to describe my situation as well,” but even as she said it, her heart felt strangely impassioned. “The plan was always to set a cycle of sowing and reaping. After years of effort, I’m about to enter my first stage of reaping.”

“What does that mean?” Wyll pursed his lips at her.

“It means that my efforts to draw together those who are disenfranchised by the Lich Queen’s reign is finally starting to create some movement, independent of me and my closest allies. I’ll take to the astral, and let time pass without me, and return to see if there is anything to sow.”

“Why go about it this way? Shouldn’t a gardener attend to his crop daily?”

“Depends on the crop. In this case, I think we always knew the most significant harvests would come long after our natural lives. So, we must embrace the ways to live outside of our natural lives, to overcome the ravages of time.”

Wyll began to nod along, this much, he understood inherently.

A hush had fallen over the tower, it was the kind of subtle change that alerted Lae’zel to potential danger, and her hand found the hilt of her sword before she could even turn to see what had caused the tower at large to cease its echoing chatter.

Wyll was already chuckling, aware of the cause for sudden, increased tension. Then Lae’zel saw her.

Minthara Baenre. She was approaching Wyll’s perch at a stride, effortlessly drawing the eyes of everyone as she did so. The drow looked well, proud, at home, even, or perhaps especially, as she was perceived by the collection of fists, stray dignitaries and patriars visiting the tower. She wore a uniform that Lae’zel didn’t recognize, a simple, but elegantly cut work of leather armor, meant to evoke the strengths and aesthetics of drowcraft, without any embellishments. 

“Your Grace,” she paused before ascending the staircase, tilting her head back to look up at Lae’zel and Wyll from the floor below. Her stance was so careful and practiced, and Lae’zel wondered how the woman managed to make it seem as though they weren’t looking down on her, even while they were physically doing exactly that. “I take it you did not do something so careless as forget our meeting today?”

“I did not, Minthara. Please, come up. And please, it’s just Wyll.”

“No, Your Grace,” but Minthara’s grin at the Duke was as close to playful as Lae’zel had ever seen it; gilded with viciousness.

Minthara greeted Lae’zel properly, with the bow identical to the one which she had trained to perform in her youth. She then surprised Lae’zel by offering two fingers to Tara, briefly letting her sniff her hand before she trailed those fingers over her nose and onto her forehead. The tressym purred in satisfaction, but said nothing. Minthara didn’t seem remotely surprised to see her in Wyll’s company.

The gith child, the drow merely looked at briefly before choosing to ignore him completely.

“Lae’zel. A formidable guest as any. But, Your Grace, It is more seemly to discuss such matters in private.”

“True,” Wyll conceded, “and in truth, I did not know when Lae’zel would be here today, and did not plan carefully. But how often have you told me that my perspective on matters lacks a certain ruthless tenacity? Surely, Lae’zel’s presence can do nothing but make up for my shortcomings. There was a time when you trusted the two of us as equal leaders of our little fellowship.”

“And you led us to success, equally,” Minthara still looked somewhat unhappy at Wyll’s behavior, but didn’t seem willing to press the point further. “Or—at least, you led us to avoid total failure.”

Heavily, Lae’zel had to agree with that adjustment. 

Minthara paused a moment to take a steadying breath before she delivered her news. “I’ll be brief then. The Eltans have thrown me over. I’ll be leaving the city.”

“That’s… unexpected,” Wyll sounded worried, “unwise,” he added. “Of the Eltans, I mean.”

“I agree. And I do not believe the decision was either well thought out, nor do I think it came from a consensus of any kind.” Minthara clipped her thoughts in such a way that hinted she was quite capable of saying much more on the subject, but was choosing to emphasize only what she found to be her important conclusions.

Lae’zel couldn’t follow what those conclusions meant, exactly. She knew that over the last few years, Minthara had been splitting her time between Avernus and Faerûn, and that her time in Faerûn was focused on cultivating a company of mercenaries. They had a reputation already. If the Eltans had hired her company for something, then tossed out the contract—that probably didn’t mean anything good, for anyone involved.

“I see,” Wyll did seem to see a great deal that Lae’zel could not, but Minthara at least, seemed satisfied by his reaction. There must be some larger implications for the city and its duke in this new development. Wyll knew what he had to do, whatever that was.

“I will linger,” Minthara promised, “It will take a tenday at least for my company to make arrangements, and I’ll stay at least another tenday after with my skeleton crew to ensure that there aren’t any other opportunities in the city to take advantage of,” she eyed Lae’zel with a little curiosity here, “what’s your business in Baldur’s Gate?”

“Nothing that would require additional blades,” Lae’zel admitted. Hoped.

“Pity,” Minthara sighed. “It may be time to take an elite force to Avernus anyway. Let them get their feet singed cutting down cambions and stomping imp skulls. They’ll be better able to train the others that way.”

Lae’zel followed her with a strange spark in her chest. “You’ll take the hells?”

“Eventually,” was Minthara’s answer.

Curious. She would have thought Minthara was more disposed to march on Menzoberranzan itself. And it might not be quite as difficult to do so.

Wyll was still nodding. Of course, he would approve of that. Perhaps he and Minthara didn’t make such unlikely allies after all.

“Duke Ravenguard,” a voice called. Lae’zel didn’t see who it belonged to, but Wyll’s eyes lifted in such a way that suggested he knew it immediately, and would not keep them waiting.

“Would you excuse me please? I’m sure this will be brief?” It was unlike Wyll to walk away without receiving a response, Lae’zel watched him do just that with a little twinge of additional worry. It seemed that like all her other former allies, he also had something weighing on him.

Minthara seemed to be thinking in similar circles, as her red eyes met Lae’zel’s gaze, “there was something comforting about a shared burden, was there not?”

“You mean back when we were traveling together?” Lae’zel knew exactly what the drow was talking about. Being infected with an illithid tadpole was still the greatest mental and physical burden that Lae’zel had ever experienced, but she hadn’t been alone, and the camaraderie that she and her fellow seemingly doomed adventurers found together was unmatched.

She did feel rather alone now. Her burdens were lesser, in many ways. She had her responsibilities to the revolution, but those were strategically reasonable for her to shoulder. She had the gith child to train up, but surely that would be more tedious than treacherous. Light burdens felt heavy when there was no one to share them with.

“Your Sharran has avoided me of late,” Minthara revealed, “bodes ill for me, I fear.”

“Why do you say that?” but Lae’zel thought she could discern what Minthara was trying to say here as well.

“We all feel the way the current shifts around us. At one time or another, the Lady of Loss will draw us in towards her nothingness. Shadowheart cannot comfort her friends when they are listing towards the Lady of Loss, she can either give them a push, or she can avoid them. Thus far, she avoids me.”

“I take it as a good sign,” but even as she tried to do just that, Lae’zel felt an extra prick at her heart. If that was true, and Shadowheart did still fight Shar in some small way, just by refusing to further bring her friends into the Lady’s shadow, what did that mean now? “I was thrown over as well this morning,” she explained, “and though it pains me, perhaps, in some small way, she’s trying to protect me.”

Minthara’s expression hardened. “No doubt.”

#

Although she had many questions for the gith child, their next little journey was silent. The problem was that Lae’zel wasn’t sure of the best way to approach her questions. She wanted to know what the child and Tara had spoken of together. She didn’t have a great deal of experience with wizards, and what experience she did have, wasn’t entirely positive. But, the way the tressym had taken to him immediately reminded her that the child was undoubtedly a wizard. More than that, surely, but a wizard all the same. She also wondered what the child thought about their meeting at Wyrm’s rock, and whether or not he’d picked up on how ultimately fruitless it had been.

Usually, Lae’zel wouldn’t be so self-conscious about how she spent her limited time on Faerûn. There was a revolution to nurture, alliances to be made. But she could spare a few minutes to catch up with old friends. She was just lucky that she had the rationale of their general power and usefulness to justify the meeting. All the same, the presence of another child of gith forced her to reflect on whether or not it was wise to have such indulgences. She wasn’t certain how to approach any one topic, so silence it was, and for his own part, silence seemed to suit the child, just fine.

Her next meeting was in a place she’d never been before. The basement of a small bookstore that’s proximity to a festhall hinted at shared underground space. The half-orc owner didn’t even look up when she entered, preserving whatever plausible deniability they might need should someone point out that the shop was a meeting place for clandestine githyanki activity. Almost, the gith child was distracted by the books, but Lae’zel spurned him along with a look.

At the foot of the stairs, two lanky guards, barely more than youths themselves, stood with glittering spears. They exchanged curious glances, but didn’t acknowledge the gith child, and only bowed to Lae’zel, one of them gesturing to the single musty room ahead, where Kith’rak Trysan awaited.

The music from the festhall reached them through the underground, louder than even out on the street directly outside. An unexpected wave of heady longing hit her, carrying all her thoughts away and slowing her stride. She and Shadowheart had gone to this particular festhall together on more than one occasion. Though it was not precisely the kind of setting that Lae'zel immediately thought of as a venue to enable true intimacy, Shadowheart had expressed some interest. Lae’zel got the hint, and suggested that they go.

“Do you gamble, ever?” Shadowheart's hand was warm in her own, her excitement pulsing through both of them, as she wove their way through barely dressed bodies. Wine and incense thickened the air, dimly lit in alternating warm and cold hues that seemed to cast every varying shade of bared skin in a perfect light.

“With my life, frequently,” Lae’zel stated, still half undecided whether she was being facetious or not.

“And with mine, on more than one occasion,” Shadowheart stopped leading her through the crowd so abruptly and spun to bring their bodies right up against each other. Both of them had been bathed in a sweet, intoxicating mixture of scented water and refreshed with crisp cologne, their more practical street clothes replaced with gauzy robes for relaxation, comfort and convenience within the festhall. Shadowheart had permitted her hair to be unwound from its chain, a rare sight indeed, for her face to be framed by dark waves,, and for a moment Lae’zel was cowed by the sight of her, half-lidded and blushing, unsure whether she felt thrilled or wary at being so very near to naked, and so very close to her lover’s sweet body while also being entirely surrounded by strangers in similar entanglements.

Then Shadowheart pressed their lips together, quick and reassuring and whispered to her, “we can go, or just ask to be shown to a private room, if you'd prefer that.”

Lae’zel pulsed their entwined hands, and shifted so she could feel more of Shadowheart’s warmth and weight against her body. “I don't want to spend the evening sitting at a table losing coin. Let's see if the stage show has any appeal, then go get a room anyway.” And though she was sure that every moment that passed meant collecting more voyeurs’ eyes, she indulged in another taste of Shadowheart’s grinning mouth before the enthusiastic half-elf dragged her to a pair of seats where they could best watch the performance.

The stage show was appealing, in its way. The deliberate performers stripped one another in their dance and the creative use of a tiefling’s tail certainly inspired a few ideas for later, at least. By the end of the first song, Lae’zel felt more than ready to find that private room and implement what they had witnessed, but it had turned out that there was an actual story to the piece, and the couple’s rest was interrupted, first by a narrator who let them know that the tiefling woman was meant to be a succubus in their story, and that the other featured dancer was our hero, and meant to be married the next day to a fourth character who was presently making their way into the stage.

Shadowheart was clearly invested in the story by the time the next dance began, so Lae’zel watched the whole show with her head resting on Shadowheart’s shoulder. When it was done, they took to their private room to attempt to recreate a few of the more intriguing situations depicted in the story until they were both exhausted, drunk and wild with passion and laughter.

In the end, they had such a good time, that Lae’zel suggested that they return the next time she was back in Baldur's Gate.

The rush of fond memories stopped abruptly on a wall, and ice filled Lae’zel veins as the sensual and beautiful images, tastes, and sensations in her mind melted away to one final aching memory of Shadowheart's face in puzzlement.

“Return? To that festhall? When did we go there?”

Lae’zel swallowed and for a moment understood the temptation to forget it herself. But no, she needed to hold onto all of it. Even, perhaps especially, the pain.

“Master…?” a small voice at her side drew her eyes, and she found the gith child looking up at her in confusion, eyes flitting around the hallway and then to the door in front of them.

“Master?” Lae’zel echoed back at him, a little thrown by the use of the honorific. 

“D-do you want me to sit down here?” He gestured back at the stairs that led up into the shop. “Can I stay with you?” the gesture shifted as he pointed one of his lanky fingers at the door. He was a bit obvious in his tone. He wanted them to stay together, and though Lae’zel wasn't certain that was quite as appropriate for this meeting as it had been for her last one with Wyll, the alternative was to leave him restless and unsupervised and that wasn't acceptable at the moment.

She was far too aware of his tendency to wander off to let him out of her sight. “You are not to interrupt our conversation with any noise, irrelevant requests,” Lae’zel cut herself off with a wave. “Pay close attention to what Kith’rak Trysan and I discuss, I will likely have questions for you afterwards, to test your understanding and ability to follow.”

The gith child displayed no small level of anxiety at this declaration, but only for a moment. Then his wide, amber eyes softened in acceptance and he nodded.

“You are about to become more acquainted with your own people. Commit this to memory.”

“Yes, Master.”

[sasheneskywalker]

am i the only person who has never struggled with their queer identity?

i was thinking about it recently and i don't remember ever being ashamed, scared, angry or sad about being bisexual, nonbinary, grayaromantic, grayasexual and polyamorous. (yes, i use that many labels. it makes sense in my head.) i had unrestricted access to the interent from a pretty young age (11) and i discovered what a sexual orientation was after entering more english/american spaces and reading fanfiction when i was around 13 years old. i've just read the definitions and went, "yeah, i'm bisexual. why would anyone limit themselves to loving only one gender?" and that was it. my only frame of reference about queer people was fanfics and cool people i've seen online. my parents never talked about lgbtq+ issues (neither in a positive nor in negative light) and i didn't know anyone who was queer in real life, so you could say i was a blank slate when it came to any preconceived notions or biases (of course we live in cisheteronormative society which probably influenced my views on a subconscious level but i'm just taking about being consciously aware about something here.)

it was similar with realizing i was nonbinary, grayaromantic, grayasexual and polyamorous. i've read the definitions, comments made by people identifying that way, some research papers and books and came to the conclusion that these labels fit me. no angst anywhere.

i came out to my family pretty much immediately when my brother asked me if i was interested in any boys in middle school and i replied with full indignation that if he had to ask about it, he should also ask about any girls i might be interested in. my mother was there too. i don't think any of them took me seriously considering my age (i was 14) and the fact that i had to have many more conversations with my mother about being bisexual (and later nonbinary, grayaromantic, grayasexual and polyamorous) before she believed me in some way and even now she still thinks it's just a "phase" and that i'm "confused" or "just looking for attention" and that my girlfriends are only my good friends (but she still supports my relationship and tries very hard not to be outright homophobic/transphobic). my brother realized like 6 years later and asked me if i really was queer and seemed surprised when i told him i was. i still don't know what my father thinks. i told him i had a boyfriend when i was 15 and i told him i had two girlfriends when i was 20 and his reaction was exactly the same: nodding his head and saying "okay". he sometimes uses slurs but also supported me during a project i was doing on being nonbinary and bought me a book written by a trans scholar on christmas.

and i've never done any official coming outs either. in most friend groups, it comes out naturally that i'm queer when we're getting to know each other and it has never been a problem. i've never been met with a negative reaction. (it's worth noting that most of my irl friends are from middle class families, live in big cities and went to very good schools).

and it's not that i'm not aware about queerphobia existing in our society. i read books written by queer people and i read histories of lgbtq+ communities (and it's often pretty bleak). our country is one of the most homophobic countries in europe. the previous government of our country said that "lgbt ideology" and "gender ideology" are a threat to our nation and should be eliminated. i had close queer friends whom i supported when their families and friends didn't accept them. but it all feels one step removed from me.

i can walk alone at 3am around my city (the capital of poland) as a female presenting person with a rainbow handbag and flag pins in a party outfit and nobody ever bothers me. i went to a pride parade this year and there weren't any counter protests, the police were chill and nothing horrible happened. and despite talking with people who used some passive aggressive remarks and weren't completely accepting, i've basically never experienced violent or threatening queerphobia in my life.

i guess it's just interesting to me how much my experiences differ from common queer narratives i observe in media and in real life around me and how my upbringing shaped who i am today.

[jamies-rambles]

Finding Noel

Noel, canon divergence, trans Noel, angst, dysphoria, mentions of suicidal thoughts, Jamie, flowershop, Tobi

1800 words

Author’s note: Noel pls don’t have an identity crisis. I just started writing this as a joke but then I was projecting a tiny little bit.

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

It was a warm summer night on Coastle, the gay bar was bustling with life. Noel, drunk and silly, had climbed on the stage, everyone looking at him with annoyance. “Women are stupid!” he yelled. “And fat people are gross!” Everyone groaned, used to his antics and wishing he would shut up. Tobi sprung into action, his tail fluttering behind him as he got up on the stage and snatched the mic from Noel’s hand. “Thank you Noel, now get the fuck off my stage. Next up are the Mushy Boys with Cool Like That!”

He guided Noel off the stage into a backroom, where Jamie was doing some writing. They preferred the relative quiet over the suffocating loudness of the bar, and it was the perfect spot to work on their next story. He sighed when Noel and Tobi came in. “You’re here to annoy me now, Noel?” he scoffed. Noel ignored them and plunged himself down in a cozy chair in the corner. “Why are you always so hateful?” Jamie asked. “Am not!” Noel protested childishly. “You’re always so mean to everyone though. Why can’t you be nicer?” Tobi nodded in agreement. “You even made Synker destroy my cat room! Where are my cats meant to live now?” “Yeah!” Jamie continued. “Do you have hatred in your heart, Noel? Where is that coming from? Maybe you need to do some soul searching!”

Noel thought on this for a second. Maybe he was acting out of insecurity. Did he really know who he was? “I’m sorry, guys,” he said. “I know I’m horrible. I should just go.” Jamie, too kind for their own good, couldn’t help but feel empathatic towards the sad drunk boy in the corner. “It’s okay, Noel, it’s not too late to change. If you need someone to talk to I’m here for you.” Noel smiled, thankful that he had such a good friend. “Thanks. I just feel like I’m wrong in some way, like there’s a piece of me that doesn’t fit. Maybe that’s why I lash out so much.” Jamie nodded understandigly. Tobi rolled his eyes, muttered about not wanting to hear this cheesy shit and made his way back to the bar. Jamie was generally more patient and deciced to hear Noel out.

“Do you ever feel you don’t know who you really are?” Noel asked. Jamie chuckled. “Do I? That’s been my entire life.” “No, I mean, when you feel like people don’t see you for who you really are but you couldn’t describe what that would be anyway,” Noel continued, sounding frustrated. “I just feel so unsure about everything, I can’t trust any thought I have. Maybe that’s why I like making strong statements, it gives some amount of clarity.”

Jamie sighs. “Identity can be complicated,” he says. “It’s perfectly normal to feel unsure. I can’t give you any magical answers, other than trying to figure out what seems right for you and going from there.” After a moment of contemplative silence, they continued: “I went through a similar thing a few years ago. I’m not saying you’re the same, I don’t know how you feel, but I can certainly understand the pain that comes with constant doubt. I wanted to die every day. But if you can embrace the doubt and are open to the possibilities, you might just find a whole new side of yourself.”

Noel stared into the night sky, thinking about Jamie’s words. How was he supposed to embrace the thing that was causing him so much pain? It felt much safer to stay where he was. Being completely open meant abandoning everything he thought was true about himself, and he wasn’t sure he could handle that. “I’m just tired,” he mumbled. “I want to stop thinking forever.”

Jamie nodded, seeing the exhaustion on Noel’s face. “Come, I’ll take you home.” Noel made a dissaproving sound, but got up anyway. Jamie guided the dazed Noel through the gay bar, out the door and back to their tree house in the South. “Forgot I owned this place,” Noel mumbled. It was true Noel hadn’t spent even one night in his house since Jamie built it for him. He even had a bed here, which was unusual for him. Jamie wished him goodnight, leaving Noel alone with his thoughts.

After an hour of tossing and turning he finally managed to fall asleep. It was not a restful sleep, his subconscious mind still trying to process his conflicting thoughts. He dreamt he was on a train, watching the rain flow down the windows. The conductor asked to see is trainpass, adressing him as a woman. Wait, was she? Noel showed her pass, after which she returned to staring out the window. It was dark outside, and she could clearly see her reflection when she focused on it. Soft features stared back at her, and she felt a sense of peace and clarity. She was a woman, of course, how had she ever doubted it.

Noel woke up with a strange sensation, the remnants of the dream lingering in his mind like a dark cloud. He sat up in bed, his breath coming in shallow, ragged gasps as he tried to shake off the unsettling feeling that had settled over him. He reached his trembling hand up to his face, which was still as it had always been. He felt a pang of disappointment, followed by immediate guilt for entertaining the idea. He was a boy, a man, and the thought of him being anything else was completely ridiculous. There was a pit in his stomach that seemed to be getting worse. Tears welled in his eyes as he found himself wishing he could just be normal. He’d had these kind of dreams before, and he was able to shake them off at first, but the more they occurred the more real they felt. He didn’t want to feel this way, he wanted it to just stop.

Noel spent many weeks trying as hard as he could to distract himself from thinking about it again. He found people to talk to, play games with and even when he was alone he made sure that his mind was always occupied, just so he didn’t have to endure the doubt again. But his efforts were futile. Late at night in bed they would return, and the pit in his stomach never went away. He knew he couldn’t go on like this. Remembering his conversation with Jamie weeks ago, he decided with much resistance that it might be worth being more open to the possibilities. Was he supposed to just become a woman now? Would that solve all his problems?

Frustrated and tired, he decided to explore the option. Standing in front of the mirror, he stared at his face, trying to find some sort of hint of what he was supposed to be. Did he really see himself as a man? Was that how he truly felt or was he just so used to it because it was expected of him? Could he see himself as a woman? Looking at their face with different eyes, Noel felt a sense of recognition. They remembered times as a kid when they had dressed up in their sister’s clothes, going out to play with other kids hoping to be seen as a girl. They also remembered the disappointment they felt upon being gendered as a boy by his peers. It was a long time ago, and they hadn’t really thought of it again until now. Did it mean something? Was it a sign all along, or were they just overthinking it?

They needed to talk to someone, figuring this out on their own seemed impossible. Tobi was a good friend, but he surely wasn’t very good with advice. Binero would just call him crazy. Jamie was the obvious choice, but what if he thought they were just faking it? Maybe they shouldn’t tell anyone until they were absolutely sure, otherwise people would surely think they were crazy or just following a trend. Oh no, were they? Did someone push them into feeling this way? Noel felt like they were going crazy. They needed to talk to someone before they went truly mad.

Jamie was hard at work in the flower shop when Noel walked in. “Hello Noel, how can I help you?” he asked with a friendly smile. “I need advice,” Noel said. “Hold that thought. What flowers can I get you? Some nice sunflowers?” Jamie walked to the back. “Actually,” Noel started, “I need to talk to you about… gender?” Jamie raised an eyebrow, putting back the sunflowers. “Maybe some lilies then? You know, they are often associated with femininity.” Noel looked around nervously, making sure nobody had heard what they just said. Luckily there was nobody around. They knew that Binero would never let them hear the end of it.

“I think I might be a woman,” they blurted out. Jamie paused, his expression softening with understanding as he turned back to face Noel. “Sit down, let’s talk,” they said, gently guiding Noel to a table in the back of the shop. Noel sank into the chair, their nerves buzzing with a mixture of anxiety and relief at finally voicing their thoughts aloud. "I don't know what's happening to me," they admitted, their voice barely above a whisper. "I've been having these... thoughts, these feelings, and I don't know what to do."

Jamie took a seat opposite Noel, his eyes filled with empathy as he listened intently. "It's okay, Noel," he reassured him. "You're not alone in this. Gender is a complex and deeply personal journey, and it's perfectly normal to feel confused or uncertain." Noel nodded, a tear slipping down their cheek as they struggled to put their feelings into words. "I just... I've spent my whole life trying to fit into this... this box of masculinity," they admitted, their voice thick with emotion. "But lately, I've been feeling like maybe that's not who I am."

Jamie nodded in understanding, his gaze filled with warmth and acceptance. "It's okay to explore different aspects of your identity," he said softly. "You don't need to have all the answers right now, or ever really. Just take things one step at a time. Discover what feels right to you.” Noel nodded, feeling reassured by Jamie’s words.

Noel felt much lighter, and without the pressure of trying to find the answer, a sudden clarity befell her. “I am a woman,” she mumbled to herself, a smile tugging at the corner of her lips. And then louder she proclaimed: “Ik ben een vrouw.” And for the first time in a long while, she felt truly whole herself, embracing every facet of her being.

[serafiel-jacobs]

Co-Dependency (FANFIC)

New Chapter of my Angst series 💜

Geppetto was helping Carlo eat, it was one of those days where he couldn’t, Carlo was shaking and silently crying, but his father kept reassuring him that everything would be fine, it never got easier for Carlo when this had to happen, but the care his father gave him made it at the very least comforting, Carlo was feeling very small, it felt good to have his father take care of him.

Romeo was sitting with them trying to eat his breakfast, but he couldn’t, he was worried about Carlo and it was making him lose his appetite.

Once he was done, he sent Carlo to get some rest as he was clearly still in distress. A few minutes passed and Romeo still hadn’t touched his food, obviously, his father noticed it.

“Are you feeling alright?”

“Yes. I just, I just” Romeo was stuttering his words, “I’m just worried about Carlo, I don’t feel like eating”

His father looked at him with a smile and sat im the chair next to him, “Would you like me to help you eat”

No, no, no, I am an adult, I can do this by myself, I can-

“Yes please” Romeo whispers, he is starting to feel small as well.

Geppetto spoon-feeds his son, and when he is done Romeo starts to cry, he doesn’t know why he is crying but it doesn’t matter his two sons cry over everything, he just has to be there to comfort them.

“You are a good boy Romeo go get some rest with your brother will you?”

Romeo nods and does what he is told, for a second Geppetto thinks he is alone until he hears chirping from the table, he had forgotten that Gemini was there, and the chirping got louder.

“What?” Geppetto took a deep breath, “What did I do now?” He doesn’t know what Gemini talks about but he can tell by his tone and expressions that he constantly gets mad at him.

He can see Gemini roll his eyes and cross his arms, his antennas also moving down to show his disappointment.

“Ugh, you don’t know anything about being a parent Gemini, just be a good friend to my sons, that’s all you need to do” Geppetto gets frustrated with him sometimes but his boys loves to play with Gemini, and besides it’s always just petty arguments, no need to take action about his behavior.

Geppetto finishes some chores, he starts to think a little bit, he can tell when they start to act younger, honestly, he likes seeing them that way, they always behave well when they are like that, no insults against him or trying to kill him, obviously, he doesn’t get angry with them about that but it’s not fun to be at the receiving end of those sorts of things; and they are so adorable when they act that way, he showers them with love and he can tell how happy it makes them, how they need him for comfort, it makes them be less stressed.

Not to mention when they call him daddy instead of father, it’s cute how his two little boys love him so much.

Geppetto wants to enjoy this while it lasts, it’s usually either Carlo or Romeo feeling small, this is the first time both of them feel that way at the same time.

He goes to their room to check on them, their hair looks a bit messy, Geppetto has to help them with very basic tasks when they get like this; then he gets an idea, he knows something that can help them feel better.

“I’m going to prepare a bath for the two of you”

——

They have a bathtub in the house, although it just sits there barely used, it had a good amount of space, enough for Carlo and Romeo to fit in together with no problems. Soaking in warm water would be good for the two of them, his sons were quiet but he could tell that they felt less tense. Geppetto was bathing them, and he took good care of their hair, both of his sons had long hair so they needed extra care to keep it healthy.

Geppetto prides himself in taking good care of his boys, they need him, and he also needs them.

When Carlo died, he lost everything, he had nothing and nobody, and he had lost his will to live, he even tried to take his life, but he failed; Geppetto is glad that he failed, he preserved and managed to bring Carlo back, it took a lot of work but he did it, and Romeo had become a part of his family, he couldn’t have expected a better outcome.

His sons are everything to him, they are his world and they need him, they need his care and love.

They are my reason for living.

The more time has passed, the easier things get, it’s nice, Geppetto can tell that every day they depend more on him, they don’t need to worry about anything, he will always be there for them, he can do everything they need for them.

After he is done, he takes a towel and drys off both of them, usually he would lets them go to their room so that they can change themselves, but this time, Geppetto is the one changing them, at first they protest, yet in the end, they both easily give in.

“There is nothing to be embarrassed about, I’m your father”

He can see their expressions change, that his sons feel safe around him, and it makes Geppetto smile. He really needs to change them himself more often, they tend to stay in their pajamas for most of the day, and they need to learn that even if they aren’t allowed outside by themselves they still need to wear proper clothing inside the house.

He takes them to the living room to spend time as a family.

Time that is mostly spent cuddling with them, Carlo got closer and he gave him a big hug, Geppetto could tell by Romeo’s expression that he got jealous; Romeo gave him a big hug as well.

How adorable, they are fighting over him.

Geppetto smiled, “You two are my good little boys”

The hours passed, and Geppetto made them dinner, he also fed them himself even if they were feeling better, he also might have taken his sweet time doing it, being extra gentle, his memory takes him back to when Carlo was younger, his wife had recently passed away, and he was the one to take of him, it was always a struggle to make Carlo eat, and it looks like things haven’t changed since then, so Geppetto feels happy that Carlo isn’t fighting back this time, that his son isn’t closing his eyes trying not to think about it.

Geppetto is feeding Carlo more food than usual, he wants his son to gain the weight he has lost, at first, Carlo tries to say that he is full but Geppetto isn’t done with him. “Carlo please just a little more” his son knows that he won’t take no for an answer, so Carlo lets him feed him more even if he doesn’t want to. Geppetto just encourages him, giving him reassuring words.

It was a bit messier with Romeo, sure he wasn’t protesting but Geppetto could tell that he wanted to do so, Romeo tends to get feisty, and although he has been slowly giving in, Geppetto knows that he has to put more effort into making him compliant. So when Romeo accidentally stains himself, Geppetto takes the opportunity.

“Romeo, sweetie try not to move as much so that daddy can feed you properly,” Geppetto says as he cleans him up.

After that, Romeo stays completely still, and Geppetto praises him for being a good boy.

Carlo and Romeo feel very small, they feel helpless, they can't do anything by themselves, not properly anyway, and their daddy has to be there to help them.

You have to snap out of it, this isn't normal, this isn't normal, please, snap out of it.

Romeo looks at Carlo, and he is thinking the same thing as him, and for a second they feel lucid, the illusion is broken, they hate this, they hate being treated this way, they don't want this, this isn't fair, they can let themselves be treated this way, they aren´t children, they have to do something, they have to-

“I'm letting the two of you outside tomorrow, as a reward for being very obedient boys today”

They feel frozen in place, the fog in their minds consuming them again. Yes, Daddy is right, they have been very obedient today, he knows best, Daddy takes good care of them, and they need him. Who else will take care of them? Who else will love them?

Gemini could sense that they were starting to feel overwhelmed, and he started to chirp again, Geppetto grabbed the cricket and handed him down to his sons so that they could play with him, Gemini's plan worked and soon Geppetto left them alone so that they can play in peace, Gemini sang to them, it always makes them calmer, he makes a motion for them to see him up close, each lifts a finger to the cage, and Gemini with his small arms barely manages to touch each, it's simple but the message gets across, that the two of them can count on him.

Once it was finally nighttime, Geppetto made them sleep in his bed with him, cradling them until rest finally took them.

And for the first time, since he had shut himself and his sons in this house, Geppetto wept, because he finally had them, he finally had the family he wanted, that loved he loved unconditionally and vice versa. They don't need anything else, he can give them everything they need here, they don't anyone else, as his father is all they could ever need. His sons are everything he has, he has nothing without them, and he is nothing without them.

He can’t let them get away, he can’t make them leave their side, they will stay with him here, Geppetto will never let them go.

Because he needs them, he needs them even more than what they need him.

[kaylinalexanderbooks]

Pawpaw: How do you name your characters?

Sugar Maple: What's the sweetest part of your story?

:)

Hello! Thanks for the ask! (From this ask game)

Pawpaw: How do you name your characters?

Hm. Vibes? Generally speaking I use Behind the Name and its filters. Sometimes I go elsewhere or look up specific ethnic names. I sometimes go for meaning.

But sometimes, here is my process:

The Secret Portal

Lexi was dubbed "Alexia" in my fourth grade (age 10) creative writing project. I remember I went through an extremely elaborate process to naming her until I fell on that name. Unfortunately I don't remember how I did. In Draft Three (age 13) I tried out the nickname Lexi used by her sister and occasionally her friends, but in Draft Four I just called her Lexi and I preferred that for her (though her name is still Alexia).

Ash was originally named Aurora, but when starting Draft Four I had another OC in the project that later became SOTL named Aurora (she doesn't really exist anymore lol) and to avoid this I picked the first "A" name I thought of: Ashley. But I tried out Ash and realized I preferred it, so kept it consistent.

Gwen was the first G name I thought of, named because the friend she was originally based on wanted her name to start with that. Noelle came out of an inside joke. Rose was on a whim.

Maddie was Maddie because my sister chose the name. She also chose Kelsey. The names stuck, and I really like them.

Robbie I called Robert for a long time, choosing the name for an embarrassing reason (14 yo me was obsessed with Tony Stark) but the nickname fits him much better!!

Akash was chosen because I wanted less English names and selected Indian/Hindi on some baby name site. Obviously being an A name it was close to the top, but it meant "sky" and I laughed because I'd made him a flyer and I liked the name so kept it.

Carla was originally Carly and I don't remember how I picked the name or why I changed it. George was named after my grandfather. Why did I choose it for a young guy idk.

Ewan, Jazlyn, Wade, Parker, Tyler, and Sam were all chosen on a whim and I liked them so they stayed. Liam was originally named Seamus and I didn't like the name for him so I just looked up popular names in Canada and picked the one I liked. Niri was Stephen but I changed it for a similar reason: it wasn't working. Both characters have improved since I changed their name to something I was comfortable with.

Same is true for Hye-Jin and Gabriel, but the main reason I changed their names was they were Lucy and Luis - and with Liam and Lexi I hope you can understand why I didn't want so many four letters, two syllable L-names.

Jedi I picked because I found it on a baby name site. Carmen was on a whim.

Most other names were like that for TSP so I'll stop now. Basically the gist is most of them I picked on a whim, but then I changed the ones I didn't want by usually going to Behind the Name and filtering by ethnicity and looking for something I like.

School of the Legends

Much simpler to describe/harder to choose:

1) pick the name that they are in the fairy tale. Example: Jack (all Jacks)

2) pick a name that means the same as the name in the fairy tale but in another language. Example: Bai Xue (Snow White)

3) choose an ethnicity and look at all the meanings and pick one that's close to the character they represent. Example: Saira (Red Riding Hood, means "traveler")

4) pick a name with a good meaning tied to the character they represent. Example: Azraq (Little Boy Blue, means "blue")

Sugar Maple: What's the sweetest part of your story?

Any moment where it's 2+ characters (usually 2) doing something really sweet for the other (e.g., Kelsey giving Maddie an amigurumi tiger for no reason) or comforting the other (e.g., Gwen giving Akash a hug and a kiss on the forehead when he's crying).

TSP is made up of nothing but corny comedy, angst, and soft ass moments. It's honestly hard to pick a favorite, which is kind of lame lol. But these silly kids loving each other just gives me a lot of joy!

Thanks so much for the ask! Sorry this was a long read lol

TSP intro

TSP tag list (ask to be +/-): @thepeculiarbird @illarian-rambling @televisionjester

[faewritesfanfic]

Ultimatums

TW: Panic attacks, anxiety, possessive behaviour, and Eden's unnecessary yandere bullshit.

SHE LIKES YOU BACK, YOU DRAMA QUEEN!

Lots of fluff and angst in this one. Enjoy!

---

The rain was coming down in buckets as Eden and Bailey waited outside the school for Kore. Eden huddled under a small awning, while Bailey sulked in his rain poncho because it was too wet to smoke.

“We need a second umbrella.” Eden grumbled. He’d been in a foul mood since English class when the teacher stuck Kore with that rich pretty boy for the project. It always annoyed him when people paid special attention to Kore. His one grace was that Kore was good at politely, but firmly communicating that she wasn’t interested. Today Eden was incensed because she hadn’t been able to do that, and he’d had to watch her all class looking uncomfortable. Very little broke Kore’s polite mask when they were in public, so working with Avery seemed to have been truly awful for her.

Eden hated that he was a little happy about that.

“We had a second umbrella. You broke it over that one guy’s head.” Bailey shot back.

“I miss that umbrella.” Eden sighed. It had taken two good whacks to bust the umbrella, and you just didn't get that sort of durability in something often.

“Sorry I’m late!” Kore said as she jogged up to them, their last umbrella protecting her from the rain. “I’m okay! Just had a little trouble getting out of school today.”

Eden tries to crouch under the umbrella with her, as Kore tries to stand on her tip-toes to cover them both. It’s a little tricky. He’s been a foot taller than her for a year now. Either way, Eden doesn’t miss the old umbrella anymore. Kore’s being too cute.

“Here.” Eden says, reaching for Kore and scooping her up into his arms. She lifts the umbrella over him easily now, covering them both. “Much better.” Much, much better. Eden was feeling extra possessive now, and having Kore close soothed a part of him that felt raw and angry.

“Much better. Thank you, Eden.” Kore agrees with a nod.

“Are you two for real?” Bailey says incredulously. “You know he could just hold the umbrella.”

Kore is silent for a long moment as she stares at Bailey, then looks up at Eden with her big, Disney princess eyes and blinks before looking back at Bailey. “But… then how would Eden hold me?”

Bailey looks back at her in horror. “You’re doing this on purpose.”

“I could carry you in one arm, and hold the umbrella with my free hand.” Eden offered.

“Can you do that?” Kore asks, and Eden feels a swell of pride at the tone of wonder in her voice.

“One sec.” Eden shifts Kore’s weight so she’s leaning against him and resting on his arm before taking the umbrella from her and holding it above them.

“Oh!” Kore says, delighted. “Well there you go, Bailey! Problem solved!”

“That is enough! I’m going on ahead! I hate you both!” Bailey announced with exaggerated disgust, charging ahead though the rain.

It gets harder and harder to keep straight faces as Bailey goes, and eventually Eden and Kore dissolve into fits of laughter.

“That was entirely too easy!” Kore giggles as her feet touch the ground. She stays close to Eden, holding on to one of his arms so they more easily stay together under the umbrella.

“Why were you late?” Eden asks as they start walking. They always took the long way home, down Wolf Street so they could spend a little time by the forest before going back to the orphanage.

“Ugh.” Kore makes a bitter, distasteful expression. “Tried to arrange library time to do that book report. Someone was being difficult.”

A creeping dread mixed with rage seeped throughout Eden. Ah yes. Him. “How so?” He half growls.

Most people would be afraid of such an expression, but it no longer surprises him that Kore doesn’t flinch away. This time she instead relaxed into him, resting her head against Eden’s arm as if comforted by his reaction, and sighs.

“He won’t meet in the library.” Kore complains. Eden wonder’s if she’s refusing to use the boy’s name for his own sake, but he’s thankful she doesn’t say it whatever the case. “Apparently he’s busy every day after school with… I’m going to be honest, I don’t even really remember. He talks about himself so much I just started to tune it out and think about Warhammer. I think he works at a restaurant? Or he owns a restaurant? I could not tell you, Eden. I was so bored I was thinking about pulling the fire alarm.”

Eden openly laughs and pulls Kore a little closer. Her clear dislike of Avery is like a soothing balm to him. Eden felt special being one of only two people Kore could stand to be around. It was so easy for him to forget that just because she was a sweet little fluff ball with them, didn’t mean she was like that around other people in the slightest.

Kore hated people almost as much as Eden did. He found it endearing.

“So he’s making you do all the work?” Eden asks. Typical. At least when Kore did Eden’s work he tried to contribute.

“No, and you’re going to absolutely hate this,” Kore sighs. “He wants me to come over to his place this weekend so we can work on the project. Apparently his parents are out of town and I should bring a swimsuit because they have a pool.”

Eden stops dead in his tracks, and Kore stumbles a few steps ahead.

She was right. He hates it. Eden hates it so much he can feel that hatred vibrating through every cell in his body.

“You’re not going.” He hisses. The rage he feels is literally blinding. This was a trap. It was a trap. It was an obvious trap. Someone was trying to take Kore away. His Kore. Avery was trying to get Kore alone, and in a bathing suit? Eden was going to murder the little fucker! The idea that some little shit thought he could show up out of nowhere and get between them was disgusting. He and Kore had been through so much. She had literally stitched him back together after some of the worst moments in his life. Eden was never going to let her go. He was never going to hand her over to some privileged rich kid with such an obvious soul interest in her.

Eden’s heart is pounding so loud it’s all he can hear. He’s breathing too fast. When Kore speaks to him, moves closer to him, it’s like she’s blurred and muffled.

“Eden?” He thinks he hears, and something in him snaps.

“I mean it, Kore!” Eden barks. “I don’t care if you have to fail that project! You are not going over there. You are not to be alone with him, even for a second. I don’t care if you have to drop out of school to fucking do it. We’ll make it work. I am putting my foot the fuck down, Kore!”

Eden’s throat is sore from the shouting, and he feels a little dizzy. He clenches his eyes shut to try and stop it, and so he doesn’t have to look at Kore and see whatever hurt expression she has on her face. Her grades were really important to Kore. Would she listen to him? He couldn’t take that chance. Maybe he could snatch her and they could hide in the woods for a while. He could keep her on a collar and leash to make sure she didn’t sneak off. Kore would hate him for it, but she would be safe at least. He had to keep her safe.

“Oh, Eden. C’mere, c’mere, c’mere.” Kore soothes, her voice full of compassion. It doesn’t take much for her to guide his forehead down to her shoulder, and from there Eden wraps around the small woman tight. As he holds on to Kore, she reaches up to rub his back and stroke his hair. She starts to hum some slow, sweet tune in his ear, and Eden starts to get a hold of his breathing.

“I completely agree, Eden.” She says gently, and Eden squeezes her a little tighter. He buries his face in her shoulder to block out the world. “A good mark in a class with an idiot of a teacher and a partner that clearly has suspect intentions towards me is not worth betraying your trust. It just isn’t. I’ll do my part of the project, and if that boy doesn’t want to contribute, well, then I guess we’ll both fail. It’s not a big deal.”

Eden straightens a bit, surreptitiously trying to blink away tears. “Wasn’t expecting that.” He says with a small huff.

“You never do.” Kore says warmly, beaming up at him. “I am seriously annoyed about all this, though! I was looking forward to reading Frankenstein with you!” She groaned. “It’s both depressing science fiction, and written by someone who’s been dead at least a hundred years. It’s one of the few things in the center of the venn diagram that is our shared reading preferences! Wait, Mary Shelly has been dead over a hundred years, right? Please tell me I’m not misremembering things.”

Eden can’t help laughing. This woman was a treasure. How did she always manage to surprise him like this? He was still feeling shaky, but his mood was rapidly improving. Whenever he thought things were about to turn terrible, she did something he couldn’t conceive of and chose him. Whatever the choice, she always chose him. It was like a miracle every time.

“Yeah. She died February 1rst, 1851.” Eden says with a grin, reaching down to hug Kore tight again.

“Right!” She laughs in turn, reaching up to hug him back. “So I’ve been robbed of my reading time with you, and I am very upset about it!” Kore hugged Eden’s arm as they began walking again.

Eden shakes his head at her. “We can still read Frankenstein together.”

“So you can trick me into reading Paradise Lost? No thank you!” Kore huffs playfully. “Besides, You said you’d read Snow Crash with me.”

“I said I would read Snow Crash if you read Ulysses.”

“And I said I’d read Ulysses when you read Mrs. Dalloway.”

“I don’t know what you’re upset about. You clearly have plenty of reading time with me.” Eden gazes down affectionately at Kore as she dissolves into giggles.

Eden knew one day Kore would have to leave him. She would find someone worthy of her, or try to move somewhere he couldn’t reach, and Eden would need to clip her wings and hide his songbird away from the world. When that day came their relationship would change forever, and he may never see Kore smile like this again. Before that awful day came, Eden wanted to enjoy these moments. He was grateful Kore kept putting that day off, but he knew this couldn’t last forever.

Eden would never, ever let Kore go.