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snowluvvie · 8 days ago

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₊˚⊹ ♡ . EASILY CONVINCED.

₊˚⊹ ♡ . RED K!CLARK X READER

₊˚⊹ ♡ . you want to leave him, but there's one thing keeping you there

₊˚⊹ ♡ . MDNI 18+ | word count — 2.8k | warnings — established toxic relationship, Clark does not care about your feelings at any point at all, manipulation, crying, oral (m. recieving), finger sucking, unprotected p in v, name-calling, hair-pulling

When Clark strolled into your shared Metropolis apartment, it was already after dark. The moonlight streaming in through the window glinted off the smooth marble countertop and illuminated you, already waiting in the shared kitchen for him to arrive home. Your arms were folded over your chest, eyebrows furrowed lightly. You were finally going to have the conversation you’d been needing to have with him for the past few months.

You thought if you came to Metropolis with him, stayed by his side rather than letting him run off on his own, things would get better. That isolation wouldn’t be good for him, and your presence would sway him to take off the ring and return to Smallville. It hadn’t. Sometimes it seemed like it worsened with the passing days—the going out and staying out for hours, sometimes overnight, being mouthy and rude, or just downright insulting. And you saw the way he looked at women passing on the street sometimes. It felt like being stabbed, though you’d given up on reprimanding him a while back. Now, though?

You’d come to the long overdue conclusion that this simply wasn’t the same Clark anymore, wasn’t your Clark. He wasn’t the guy that insisted on fixing your car when it made him late for school that day, or the guy that practically ran to your parents’ house to fix their fence when it broke, or the guy that kissed you like your face was something precious between his hands and fucked you like you actually meant something to him.

As Clark closed the front door behind him, your eyes caught on the obnoxiously large crimson ring still nestled on his giant hand. That old Clark was gone. Maybe one day he’d come back on his own, but for now? You wanted to go home. You wanted your life back.

You cleared your throat, and Clark raised his eyebrows as he regarded you standing there, waiting for him. “It’s late.”

He gives a halfway nod, lips quirking up into a smile, “It gets busier the later it gets. I should’ve stayed, really.”

By it he means that stupid club on the corner downtown. All pulsing blue lights and girls in the tiniest skirts you’ve ever seen. You’ve always tried to push its very existence out of your brain, and an involuntary shiver wracks your arms as you’re afflicted by thoughts of what he gets up to there.

“Well, I ate already.” Your arms tightened around you, silently cursing yourself for always fumbling when it came to things like this.

Clark hums in response, barely paying attention as he tugs his jacket off and tosses it onto the back of the chair. His keys clatter against the counter with a metallic clang, and he’s visibly already thinking about something else entirely.

You take a deep breath, “I wanna talk to you.”

“Y'are talking to me. Right now.” He flashes his pearly teeth, the little points peeking over his perfect bottom lip.

You shake your head, your eyes flicking away from him and instead focusing on the wall, or maybe the fridge. That was always how he got you—it was the same smile, the same twinkle in those blue eyes. It took all your willpower to stay grounded and remind yourself that no matter how bad you wished he was, he wasn’t your Clark. Your resolve trembled every time you looked at him.

“No, I mean talk to you about us.”

He rolls his eyes, “Not this again.” There he was. Dismissive and careless, which was all he’d been the last few months when he wasn’t just being blatantly mean.

“Listen! Yes, this again, you never let me finish!”

“I let you finish plenty. Wasn’t it…three times, last weekend?” He wanders over to the fridge, tugging the door open placidly. He looks over to you for a few moments, only long enough to see the way your jaw tightens as your face warms despite yourself.

“That’s not—I was trying to—” You huff, throwing your hands half-heartedly in the air as you struggle to articulate yourself. Like you always did, which Clark knew. “You know what I meant.”

Just as the last word left your lips, he slammed the fridge door. So hard the wall behind it rattled. "Can't this wait til' after I get somethin' to eat? 'M starved after tonight." He huffed out a laugh cause he knew what he was doing, leaving your imagination to run wild about what he'd got up to.

Though your bottom lip quivered a little bit, you shook your head. "No, you're a selfish dick. If I waited for you to want to talk to me, I'd be waiting forever."

Clark was across the kitchen and in your personal space in less than half a second, making you gasp. You tried to back up as he towered over you, but you bumped into the corner—he had you caged up against it. You avoided his eyes, though you couldn't escape his smell with how close he was. Delicious despite his bad behavior—oak barrels and gentle shampoo and sunlight. Your head swam as you took it in, you couldn't fight it when he grabbed your face, forcing it upwards. He craned your neck back to look at him, and his gaze was amused, lips tilted slightly upwards.

"My dick is a lot of things. Selfish is not one. You'd know, huh? There's only one greedy bitch here."

You were shaking like a leaf, and the squeak you let out was pathetic. "You know how I feel about the b-word."

Clark laughed loudly. "How you feel, and how you feel," his tone of voice lilted suggestively as his hand dipped down to the front of your shorts. "Are two very different things."

He paused for a half second, so you'd have time to say no, but it was mocking—he knew you wouldn't stop him. That made the seconds that stretched between you taunting, a total mockery of what you'd been trying to do, the corpse of your dead resolve practically half-buried already as you stood with baited breath, waiting for him to slip his hand where you wanted it.

As his hand went between your thighs, he grinned. “You’re real predictable, y’know that?” His fingers slid through your folds easily from how drenched they were. When he pulled his fingers from your panties, a glistening strand of your arousal clung onto them, and he shoved it in your face. Raising his eyebrows, “and you keep trying to act like you want me to be different. Liar.”

Your lip quivered from the misconstrued truth in his words, the way he could always use that against you. It wasn’t your fucking fault your boyfriend’s voice got you all hot, he was literally the most perfect man in the world, even when he was like this—that didn’t mean you wanted him to stay this way. The late-night whispers between the two of you as you laid on his barn couch back in Smallville, about a house and a family, were more important to you than the sex you seemingly couldn’t stop having. But why couldn’t you stop having it?

Clark shoved his fingers in your mouth, making you clean your own wetness off of them, and he intentionally shoved them back far enough to make you gag lightly. You hated the disappointment that bloomed in your belly when you realized he wasn’t going to relieve you further with his hand, he was just making a point. Your eyes burned.

"You owe me! I was ready to have a perfectly nice night an' settle in—you're the one who had to start somethin'." He rolled his eyes. "You're always doing this, y'know. Not very fair to me, is it?"

Your eyes watered and, though you were fighting furiously to keep it in, a little sniffle escaped you. The sound made Clark's eyes snap to you, just in time to watch the first tear slip down your cheek. The grin that spread across his face was sickening.

"C'mon. On your knees."

You hesitated for a moment, just long enough to make him punctate it with, "now."

The last of your resolve was officially gone and buried as you sunk to your knees, which met the cold tile underneath you, and looked up at him. Clark raised his eyebrows, prompting you with a nod, and your fingers found his belt and began undoing it. You fumbled with it a little, hands shaky through your crying.

When you raised a hand to wipe the tears from your face, Clark swatted it away. “Makes it extra wet, y’know that.” He reasoned with a charming smile.

You ignored him and finally got his belt undone, and his cock sprung out of the confines of his boxers already stiff. That only rubbed it in more—every insult and mockery he threw your way only made him harder, and your tears were just the nail in the coffin.

No matter how upset you were, it was muscle memory to take him as far back into your throat as you could, though you struggled. You gagged around it, saliva bubbling from the corners of your mouth. He was right, and the longer you went, your tears from both Clark’s mocking and how harshly you were gagging mixed with your spit and left his cock slick, your mouth sliding around it too easily. Your hand wrapped around the base so you could cover more of it, and his head fell back a little as you twisted your fist around his shaft at the same time your tongue swirled over his tip. The sigh he let out was contented, and he ran his fingers through your hair at the nape of your neck.

For a half second, you pretended it was Clark—your Clark. The guy who had held your hair back for you and rubbed your scalp soothingly when you had his dick in your mouth, doing his best to reward you for every good feeling you ‘gifted’ him, which was how he saw it.

The illusion was shattered when the fingers in your hair tightened sharply, making you yelp at the sudden pain. Clark groaned as your pained sounds vibrated around his cock, and he held your head in place as he started sliding in and out quicker, fucking your face at a more demanding pace than you’d been able to handle yourself. You gagged every time his tip hit the back of your throat, and Clark was letting the grunts and moans fall from his lips freely as you gagged, whined, and swallowed desperately around him.

“I like your mouth so much better when I do this. Not all that other shit.” He groaned. “Ah, fuck, ‘m gonna—”

Before he could finish his sentence, or cum down your throat, Clark was yanking you off of him by your hair. You let out a surprised yelp, but he was already snatching you up and tossing you over his shoulder like you were weightless. His shiny, throbbing cock still hung out of his blue jeans as he carried you to the back of the apartment and to your shared bedroom. He bumped your head on the doorframe as he brought you inside and ignored the noise you made, before tossing you down on the bed.

You sat there numbly, defeated, face streaked with tears and drool and precum, as Clark shrugged off his clothes and bared his inhumanly defined body to you. The moonlight coming in through the massive bedroom window—which wasn’t covered by the curtains, so you were sure some news helicopter would get a real eyeful of the habit Clark had developed to avoid a break-up—hit his chest in a way that made his tanned skin glow. Your mouth watered a little at the sight of him, something you’d truly never get used to, as if you needed more spit on your fucking face.

Clark wordlessly snapped his fingers at you as he knelt on the bed, and you moved obediently to hook your fingers in the waistband of your shorts and tug them and your panties down in one motion. Clark finished the job when he got impatient and made quick work of your thin sleep shirt, leaving it in two pieces by the foot of the bed.

He moved you like a doll, on all fours in front of him, fingers digging into your skin as he positioned you the way he wanted. The scream you let out when he sheathed inside you in one smooth motion—too big to fully bottom out, instead abusing your cervix immediately and giving you zero time to adjust—was muffled by his giant hand shoving your face into his pillow. That scent invaded your nose again, familiar and musky and clean, and you focused on it to distract yourself from the sting, gritting your teeth as you waited to adjust. Whines and yelps fell from your lips and were swallowed by the plush cotton, Clark still palming the back of your head to keep it there.

His pace was selfish and unforgiving, and though he was sliding in and out of you with no rhythm and no regard for how you felt, that didn’t stop the way your body began going limp, your pained squeaks turning into desperate moans and whimpers. “Nghh—ah, ah,” and you were sure Clark could hear it, no matter how drowned out it was by the wet, explicit skin-on-skin noises that filled the room.

He let your face up for a minute, and you gasped for breath.

“Feelin’ better now that you’re all full? Y’know—you’re always goin’ on and on—y’say you’re ‘not happy’” he did a high-pitched voice, mocking you, and you keened in response as he kept pumping inside of you, “I think what you mean to say is empty. Cause you’re all smiles when you're like this—real happy, right?”

Your only response was a low whine, and he smacked your ass hard. You jolted and yelped from the pain, but couldn’t move away from the second loud slap he landed against your cheek. He was holding you too tightly in place.

“Answer me.” Clark prompted, though his amused tone concealed an underlying threat as his hand still hovered over the globe of your ass, which was already blooming with red.

“Nngh—yes.” You cried out, but he clucked his tongue at you, ramming into you particularly hard to punctuate it. Your eyes rolled back.

“Yes what?”

“H-happy—‘m happy, thank you.” Fresh tears rolled down your cheeks from the way he was punishing your cunt.

You could hear the smile in his voice when he said, “there ya go!” Though, of course, nothing nice. He never fucking said anything nice. Said you hadn’t earned it, no matter what you did.

“Aah, shit—” His hips stuttered a little bit, and he let out a breath through gritted teeth. You clenched around him harshly and he groaned in response, your own release was creeping up on you.

“I dunno if you—argh—deserve my cum. Not today. Y’just cause problems.”

The pleading whine you let out was high-pitched and pathetic, the pillow wet with your still-flowing tears and the idea of him pulling out right now was torturous to you. He could’ve threatened to kill you and it would’ve been a less horrific idea.

“Please… please, Clark, please.” You babbled like a broken record, borderline incoherent through the snot and tears and broken moans. He was drilling your pussy, which was still squeezing him like a vice, and he laughed at your begging.

“One day I’ll stop bein' so nice, y’know?” Was the last thing Clark said before he came inside of you with a low, delicious groan, hips slamming into yours harshly as he fucked you through his orgasm. Your whole body shook with the force of it, limp and spasming, though he held you up easily. Your own release washed over you, and you finally let out a desperate, ecstatic cry as you were rewarded with the white-hot pleasure. The two of you were one, actually together for a few moments as you both reveled in the pleasure, something you didn't get from him anymore. Something you desperately missed, and your face screwed up at the familiar feeling.

It was over as quickly as it happened.

After Clark pulled out, he had the decency to arrange your limbs into some semblance of a laying position for you, since you were far too gone to do it. Your whole body felt like syrup. He laid your head on your own pillow, which made you miss the familiar smell of his, and tugged the covers over you. You didn't think you could speak if you wanted to, or remember your own name—or think of anything but him.

Clark rolled back over, a satisfied smirk playing at the corners of his lips. He was perfectly composed, though your chest still heaved as you tried to catch your breath. Shakily, you took a few slow, deep ones. There was a fuzzy warmth tugging at the edges of your brain and your chest. Like there always was after he was done with you.

“I love you.” You mumbled as your eyes drifted shut.

Clark’s answer was matter-of-fact, so close to being neutral if it wasn’t for the smugness that crept in.

“I know.”

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cuntyji · 1 month ago

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Heyo!!

Loved all the writing so far! Had this random idea. Like Gojo and the puppy but imagine one of the jjk men that reader chased down their new kitten that ended up cozying up to said man of choice.

Again just my random mind LOL.

You got me as a supporter of your works.

BONGO'S GUIDE TO LOVE ౨ৎ VARIOUS JJK X (GN!) READER

summary: naming your cat bongo seemed fun at first—until he started treating every man in your orbit like his personal enemy. from perching smugly on the shoulder of your tattoo artist mid-ink session to single-handedly (or single-pawedly?) trashing your neighbor's bakery, bongo is on a one-feline mission to ruin your life. or maybe, just maybe, he’s actually trying to fix it? because amidst the chaos and claw marks, there might be a paw-sible chance he’s onto something you’re not.

content warnings: gender neutral reader (no use of y/n, specific pronouns or gender mentioned). 100% sfw and crack, unestablished relationship, meet-cute. bongo cat's breed is not mentioned, only descriptor is that he is chonky. drabbles of various characters, including: stranger! sukuna, tat artist! choso, bakery owner! nanami, moving helper! toji, actor! gojo. — ( full length cat dad! geto fic here )

— RYOMEN SUKUNA ₍^. .^₎

you watched in absolute horror as bongo, your self-declared king of bad decisions, flung himself at the most terrifying human in the park. his fur fluffed up like some sort of possessed cotton ball as he darted straight for the man’s massive combat boots. the man—ryomen sukuna, as you'd later learn—looked like he moonlighted as a death metal frontman when he wasn't out intimidating random park-goers. tattoos spilled down his neck, across his face, and from what you could see, probably over most of his terrifyingly ripped body.

“bongo, no!” you shouted, but the little menace had already committed.

sukuna's brow furrowed as he crouched, grabbing bongo by the scruff of his neck like some kind of annoyed parent dealing with a particularly unruly toddler. bongo dangled mid-air, his expression entirely unbothered, his tail swishing lazily as if to say, this is fine. you froze, half expecting sukuna to punt bongo into the stratosphere. but instead, sukuna tilted his head.

“the hell is this?”

“oh my god, please don’t kill my cat!” you blurted, sprinting towards him with all the dignity of a car alarm. sukuna glanced at you, his crimson eyes narrowing. “why the fuck would i kill your cat?”

“i—uh,” you stammered, gesturing wildly at his tattoos like they were some sort of official cat murder license.

bongo, clearly bored of dangling, chose this exact moment to lick sukuna’s face. one looooong, obnoxious lick, from his chin to his cheekbone, leaving a trail of cat slobber behind.

you winced. “oh no—”

but sukuna just blinked. then let out a low chuckle that sounded like a chainsaw revving. “bold little shit, huh?” bongo purred louder, smushing his entire face into sukuna’s jaw like they were old pals. sukuna, to your utter disbelief, reached up with his free hand and gave your traitorous cat a solid scratch behind the ears.

“what’s his name?” sukuna asked, his tone entirely too casual for someone covered in dark tattoos and holding a cat like a teddy bear.

“…bongo,” you muttered, now questioning every life choice that had led to this moment. he smirked, finally lowering bongo to the ground, though your little idiot immediately flopped onto sukuna’s boot like it was a throne. “bongo, huh? fitting. looks like a troublemaker.”

you stared. “yeah, well, he usually doesn’t go around licking strangers.”

“good taste,” sukuna said, smirking wider. “smart cat.”

smart? your cat had the brain cells of a soggy sponge and the survival instincts of a lemming.

“right, well,” you said, attempting to scoop bongo off sukuna’s foot, but the cat clung like velcro. “sorry for… all this. he doesn’t usually—”

“don’t worry about it,” sukuna interrupted, crouching again and giving bongo another scratch that sent your little demon into a full-body wiggle. “might be the best thing that’s happened to me all week.”

“…seriously?”

“yeah.” sukuna’s grin turned sharp, teasing. “most people just run the other way.”

you raised an eyebrow. “wonder why.”

he laughed, low and deep, then stood, towering over you in the most obnoxious way possible. “guess bongo knows a good guy when he sees one.” bongo chose this moment to leap back into sukuna’s arms like some kind of feline rom-com lead, rubbing his cheek against sukuna’s chest. “traitor,” you muttered under your breath.

“looks like he’s mine now,” sukuna teased, shooting you a grin that made you feel uncomfortably warm. “not a chance,” you shot back, but your tone lacked conviction.

ryomen sukuna: terrifying, tattooed, and apparently now your cat’s best friend. god help you both.

— CHOSO KAMO ₍^. .^₎

it was a bad idea, you knew that from the start. but bongo’s separation anxiety had you by the throat, so there he was, your chunky feline menace, perched on a folding chair like a judgmental little gargoyle as you prepared for your tattoo session. everything was fine until choso kamo walked in.

your tattoo artist was the living embodiment of a rain-a-sauce—uh, renaissance painting. his long black hair was pulled back in a low ponytail, his dark eyes framed by perfectly smudged eyeliner that made him look both mysterious and mildly intimidating. his loose black tee hung just right, accentuating broad shoulders and strong arms that you were definitely not admiring. and then bongo decided to ruin your life.

the cat launched himself like a furry cannonball straight onto choso’s shoulder. not his lap, not a nearby table—his actual shoulder.

“bongo, no!” you hissed, half-rising from the tattoo chair. but choso, calm as a goddamn monk, didn’t even flinch. instead, he turned his head slightly to glance at the literal furball now draped across him. “he’s fine,” choso said, his voice low and smooth, as if this was a completely normal occurrence. “guess he likes me.”

you gawked as bongo, the little traitor, made himself comfortable, kneading choso’s shoulder like it was a deluxe memory foam pillow. “i… i can get him off—”

“don’t worry about it,” choso interrupted, grabbing his tattoo gun with one hand while his other casually scratched behind bongo’s ears. you stared. he was petting your cat. while holding a needle. meant for your skin. “uh, are you sure that’s… safe?” you asked, your voice pitching higher as choso began inking the outline on your arm.

“he’s not bothering me,” choso replied simply, his focus entirely on his work. bothering you? you were the one about to be permanently marked while your fat, smug cat played parrot. bongo purred like a tiny chainsaw, rubbing his cheek against choso’s jaw. “great,” you muttered, clenching your teeth as the needle buzzed against your skin.

as if sensing your tension, bongo stretched out one paw and lightly bopped your cheek. “oh my god, bongo, stoopp!” you whined, glaring at him. choso chuckled softly, his lips quirking into the faintest smile. “looks like he’s trying to comfort you.”

“he’s mocking me,” you shot back, but choso’s quiet laugh was almost enough to distract you from the pain. almost. “you’re doing fine,” choso said after a beat, his voice soothing in a way that made your stomach flip.

“thanks,” you muttered, your face heating up for reasons that definitely had nothing to do with him. meanwhile, bongo continued his reign of chaos, now swiping at choso’s dangling ponytail like it was his personal cat toy. “you’re really just gonna let him do that?” you asked incredulously. choso shrugged, completely unfazed. “he’s keeping himself entertained. and you, apparently.”

“entertained is not the word i’d use,” you grumbled, but your mouth twitched despite yourself.

“well, at least one of us is having fun,” choso said, his tone light.

and maybe it was the distraction of bongo’s antics, or the way choso’s calm presence made the pain a little more bearable, but by the end of the session, you were almost… relaxed. as choso finished up, he finally plucked bongo off his shoulder and held him up, his strong hands making your cat look oddly small. “you’re lucky you’re cute,” he muttered, though there was no bite to his words.

“you have no idea,” you said, shaking your head. choso handed bongo back to you, his lips curving into that faint smile again. “next time, maybe leave him at home.”

you glanced down at bongo, who was purring smugly in your arms. “yeah, not likely.” choso chuckled, wiping his hands clean. “figured.”

as you left the shop, you couldn’t help but think that bongo might’ve been onto something with his whole shoulder-sitting act. maybe your chaotic little furball had better instincts than you gave him credit for.

— NANAMI KENTO ₍^. .^₎

it’s always the quiet moments when bongo chooses chaos. you were mid-face mask, your skin glowing with the kind of self-care that influencers would kill for, when your furry menace decided to bolt out the backdoor like he had urgent business. “bonggoooo!” you screeched, stumbling after him in your ratty pajamas and slippers that definitely weren’t made for running.

the scent of the bakery hit you like a brick wall. god, how does it smell expensive? buttery, sugary, and somehow elitist all at once. you didn’t have time to contemplate the metaphysics of aromas because bongo had already darted through the bakery’s back entrance like he owned the place. by the time you caught up, panting and slightly disheveled, you were greeted by the sight of nanami kento, the bakery’s perpetually composed owner, standing in the middle of his flour-dusted kitchen. and in his hands, like a prized artifact, was bongo.

kento held your cat aloft like some kind of culinary simba, his perfectly pressed apron dusted with flour. bongo, with his chubby belly and utterly unrepentant face, dangled there like he had no idea he’d just stormed into someone else’s livelihood. “this,” kento said, his deep, even voice somehow more judgmental than any glare could be, “is yours, i presume?” you swallowed hard, your face mask cracking slightly as you plastered on a smile. “yes! uh, that’s bongo. my cat. um, i’m so sorry—”

“he ran across my counter,” kento continued, his tone unchanging as he gently turned bongo to show you his flour-dusted paws. “he stepped in the dough. twice.”

“oh my god,” you groaned, wishing the floor would open up and swallow you whole. bongo, ever the villain, reached out a paw and batted at kento’s tie, smearing it with a bit of leftover flour. “i’ll… i’ll pay for the damages,” you stammered, mortified. “or, uh, write an apology letter. from bongo. he’s very articulate.”

kento raised a brow, lowering bongo but still holding him like he was a particularly troublesome baguette. “a letter?”

“yeah, uh, he’s got great penmanship,” you blurted, because apparently, when embarrassed, you just doubled down on ridiculousness. kento sighed, setting bongo down on the floor. your cat immediately started rubbing his face against kento’s leg like they were old friends. “he’s lucky he’s cute,” kento muttered, though his tone softened slightly.

“he’s really not,” you mumbled, scooping bongo into your arms. “he’s a menace.”

“i’ve noticed.” kento crossed his arms, eyeing bongo like he was calculating the exact amount of havoc the cat had wreaked. “next time, maybe keep him indoors.”

“yeah, definitely,” you said, clutching bongo tighter as he squirmed. “and, uh, if you ever need… cat-signed apology letters, i’m your person.”

kento gave you a long, measured look before sighing. “just keep him out of my kitchen.”

as you backed out of the bakery, clutching your flour-covered feline, you couldn’t help but wonder if bongo’s next target would be a crime that didn’t involve you humiliating yourself in front of absurdly attractive men. unlikely.

— TOJI FUSHIGURO ₍^. .^₎

moving to new york was supposed to be your fresh start. concrete jungle where dreams made of, blah blah blah. instead, you found yourself battling overpriced rent and a cat who had zero respect for personal boundaries.

toji, the moving guy, had been an unexpected lifesaver. with his messy scrawl of a name tag and a physique that screamed, “i bench press refrigerators for fun,” he made quick work of your moving boxes. it was almost comical how easily he hefted bongo’s cat tree—like it was a baguette instead of a glorified jungle gym for your chunky feline. you tipped him with cookies because that’s just who you are: a sucker for baked goods as a currency. and as toji waved goodbye and headed off, you gave yourself a little pat on the back for surviving the first day in the big apple. until you noticed bongo was missing.

cue the meltdown.

“bonggggoooooo!” you hollered, tearing through your barely unpacked apartment like a madwoman. every cupboard, every box, even the bathtub—it was all checked twice, thrice, and then some. no bongo. by the time you collapsed onto the floor, tears welling up, you were already planning the world’s most dramatic cat funeral. there’d be violins, speeches, and a photo slideshow of bongo’s finest “this idiot just ate plastic again” moments. then, a knock at the door.

you practically threw it open to find toji standing there, his enormous frame taking up most of the doorway. in his arms was bongo, looking about as offended as a cat could possibly look, his fur slightly ruffled but otherwise unscathed. “found him in my van,” toji said, his gravelly voice tinged with amusement.

“oh my god,” you gasped, reaching for bongo, who—of course—refused to leave toji’s arms. “he’s such a menace, i’m so sorry—”

“don’t be,” toji interrupted, smirking as bongo nuzzled against his chest like a lovestruck teenager. “guess he’s got good taste.”

“good taste?” you repeated, incredulous. “he literally jumped into a stranger’s van. he’s one step away from being catnapped—i mean, kidnapped.”

“looks like he wouldn’t have minded,” toji quipped, scratching behind bongo’s ear and earning an annoyingly loud purr in return. you groaned, crossing your arms. “great. my cat’s in love with the moving guy.”

toji chuckled, finally setting bongo down. the traitor immediately twined around toji’s legs, shooting you a look that said this man is mine now. “guess i’m unforgettable,” toji teased, leaning against the doorframe.

“yeah, well,” you said, scooping up bongo before he could claw his way back into toji’s arms, “don’t let it go to your head.”

toji gave you a crooked grin, his scarred lip tugging slightly. “welcome to new york,” he said, turning to leave. as he walked away, bongo let out a mournful meow, his paw swiping at the air like he was starring in his own rom-com goodbye scene.

“ugh, big boys,” you muttered, carrying bongo back inside. but as you closed the door, you couldn’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, new york wasn’t going to be so bad after all.

— GOJO SATORU ₍^. .^₎

you knew gojo had a flair for theatrics, but the day he decided to charm everything with a pulse—including bongo, the cat cast for your shared scene—you realized just how far he was willing to go. bongo, a seasoned feline actor with a resume longer than yours, had been nothing but professional. meanwhile, gojo? not so much. “who’s a handsome boy? you are, aren’t you?” gojo cooed at bongo during a break, crouched low and ruffling the cat’s fur like they were old pals.

“you know he’s supposed to like my character, right?” you deadpanned from your chair, sipping lukewarm coffee.

“it’s called method acting, babe,” gojo replied with a wink, scratching under bongo’s chin. “gotta make sure he’s comfortable with me too.”

“yeah, by stealing my scene partner.”

gojo just grinned, letting bongo climb onto his lap like a tiny, furry king surveying his kingdom.

fast-forward to the final day of shooting, and bongo had developed what could only be described as a toxic attachment to gojo.

“aaaand that’s a wrap!” the director called, the crew breaking into applause. you were ready to celebrate—finally free of gojo’s antics—until chaos erupted.

bongo’s trainer approached to retrieve the cat, only for bongo to hiss dramatically and latch onto gojo’s designer blazer with claws sharp enough to shred through fabric and ego alike. “uh, a little help?” gojo yelped, trying to peel the cat off without damaging what was likely a five-figure jacket. the trainer tugged at bongo gently, but the cat clung harder, his claws hooking into the seams as if his very life depended on staying attached to gojo.

“he’s tearing my clothes!” gojo screeched, his voice hitting a pitch you hadn’t thought possible.

“you’re the one who told him he’s a ‘handsome boy,’” you snarked, watching the scene unfold with far too much glee.

“he is a handsome boy! but now he’s a demon!” gojo cried, trying to shake off the cat, who let out a mournful wail and doubled down on his grip. the crew burst out laughing as bongo dramatically clung to gojo’s chest like he was recreating a tragic love scene.

“just let him go, he’s attached to you now,” you teased, crossing your arms and watching the chaos unfold.

“i can’t!” gojo wailed. “he’s got my soul in his little murder mittens!”

finally, the trainer managed to pry bongo off, leaving behind shredded fabric and a very disheveled gojo. “you owe me a new jacket,” he grumbled, glaring at you like this was somehow your fault. “i owe you nothing,” you shot back. “maybe next time, don’t flirt with cats.”

as bongo was carried off set, still yowling dramatically, you couldn’t help but think: if nothing else, that cat had impeccable taste in people to torment.

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ablobwhowrites · 1 month ago

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That anon who said parent reader looking like jayce in season 2 is so right cause what if reader completely forgets to shave and with the added rugged hair. Dilf alert.

Parent m/n: I'm thinking of shaving it.

Everyone: Don't you fucking dare.

Also parent m/n working for lex Luther is quite entertaining

I have the mental image of when parent y/n finally shaves and has a clean face and fixed his hair, the romantic yanderes are like "oh cool!" But at home crying with tissues scattered around as they caressing the picture of parent y/n's rugged and unshaved look in a fancy photo frame knowing that they will never see that look again.

Plus a little fact that when y/n's partner was still here, they where basically a couple that never left the honeymoon phase and basically parent y/n did his hardest to help his partner as much as he could before it happened (keeping that a secret for later) then he applied for a new job that got him to move to Gotham and ended up becoming friends with Clark and yeah you know the rest. Plus when parent y/n was working at for lex Luther it was kinda stressful cause he kinda had to stay late because lex told him that it's so he could be more helpful but ends up coming home late and then quit as he couldn't be coming home that late and getting up that early.

Also y/n's daughter doesn't like lex Luther a lot. She tried to do the 'I'll give you money to not flirt with my dad' trick but forgot that lex is a already wealthy and bro invited y/n to a date at a very expensive and fancy restaurant (the penguin and bruce already did but when they got lost in the mail) but y/n is trying to make excuses cause bro doesn't wanna leave his daughter home alone for late nights again for days. So he tries to not be rude.

Parent y/n once tried champagne but end up not liking it and was kinda like 'this drink is so bad. But I gotta drink it cause it's expensive.' also he does not curse around his daughter and uses the kid version of swears so sometimes out of reflect, he uses like "aww shucks" or "fiddle sticks" or anything like that so once he was invited to Wayne manor somehow and brought his daughter cause he didn't wanna leave her at home alone for god knows how long and this was the moment y/n's daughter found out that Bruce was batman and also she found out how to get into the batcave so she finds out Jason, Tim, Dick and Damian are also heros but doesn't care that much about that anyways, she just wants a cool batarang to show off at school but knows her dad isn't going to let her.

Also totally think that the relationship with the batboys and parent y/n is like y/n being a kind of uncle to them. Y/n also helps Alfred with cleaning if he can as y/n feels weird having someone else clean his dishes for him and him and Alfred are kind of friends? But Bruce is trying to be a flirt with y/n when it's just then alone and y/n does not take the hints cause he has not been dating for so long.

(that's my parent y/n yap. Hope you guys like it! I have more stuff coming up later down the line but also if you want more please feel free to request any ideas for this or anything for y/n stories. Please stay safe and drink water!)

#yandere x male reader #x male reader #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere male x male reader #male reader #yandere dc x male reader #yandere dc x reader #yandere dc #dc x reader #dc x male reader #yandere justice league #justice league x reader #yandere batfamily x reader #yandere batfam #yandere batfamily #yandere batfam x reader

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aciddrattboyy · 4 months ago

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Bιƙҽɾ!Rყυʂҽι

┆ꜱʏɴᴏᴘꜱɪꜱ - "biker!ryusei brainrot is all consuming.........."

ᴍᴏᴠɪᴇ ꜱᴛᴀᴛꜱ: ★ Starring: Ryusei Shido x Gn! Reader ★ Run Time: 0.5k ★ Genre/Warnings: [Rated R: Slice of Life/Rom] none i dont think this is very tame

▶▶

biker!ryusei who used to tell girls he rode motorcycles but in an ironic way. he never actually expected people to climb in his bed just because he rode a motorcycle, but he liked to act like the guys who do because its funny

biker!ryusei who was very protective over his motorcycle, having almost cracked a few skulls in its name

biker!ryusei who, through countless close calls with authorities and many fights, finally learned to channel all his anger and frustration into revving his engine and speeding down dark, rural farm roads.

biker!ryusei who begged and pleaded for you to let him take you out on a ride. he so desperately wanted to feel you holding onto him tightly while he drove you around.

biker!ryusei who liked to show up at your parents house in the dead of night when you returned home for the holidays. he’d watch you peak through the blinds of your childhood room just for you to be scampering out of the door in minutes with a blanket wrapped around you. he thought it was cute how you would look at him with wide eyes, telling him your parents would freak if they saw him as if you guys were a couple of kids. only for you to sneak him into your house moments later, both of you laughing quietly like you were teenagers.

biker!ryusei who thought you looked incredibly hot in his helmet. going out to buy you your own before you even agreed to let him drive you around. his helmet grew heavy with the stickers you’d slap onto it every time you got your hands on more.

biker!ryusei who was probably more excited than you were when you finally let him take you on a ride. you held onto him tightly, scared laughs leaving your mouth as you held onto him in a tight grip. everything around you blurred and you could hear your heartbeat in your ears. by the time he finally stopped the motorcycle you were high on adrenaline, giggling with wide eyes and pulling him into an impromptu kiss that solidified the start of a relationship.

biker!ryusei who was never really one to wear leather jackets or dress up whenever riding his motorcycle. having picked you up in his soccer jersey multiple times straight after practice when you texted him, asking him to pick you up and take you home oh so nicely.

biker!ryusei who actually didnt own a car. his motorcycle was his only mode of transportation. whenever the weather got really bad he’d ask for you to drive him around in your car, laughing at your ‘passenger prince’ teasing.

biker!ryusei who had been teaching himself how to fix motorcycles out of his parents garage since he was in highschool. he loved when you watched him tinker away at whatever busted up motorcycle he managed to get his hands on, loving the questions you’d ask about what he was doing. there was always a 50/50 chance he’d be shirtless while working away, but after catching on to your lingering glances, he made sure to be shirtless more often.

biker!ryusei who loved driving you onto campus. he loved the way you perched on top of his motorcycle so pretty as the two of you talked before going to any classes. loved the way people stared and knew he was yours.

i hope you enjoyed !! reblogs/comments are very appreciated <3 ʟᴏʙʙʏ ﹕ꜰɪʟᴍᴏɢʀᴀᴘʜʏ 𝄃𝄃𝄂𝄀𝄁𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄃

#ryusei x you #ryusei x reader #shidou x reader #shidou x you #blue lock x reader #ryusei fluff #shidou fluff #college au #blue lock #bllk fluff #bllk x reader #drabble #bllk drabbles #bllk ryusei #bllk shidou #ryusei shidou #shidou ryusei #ac.adult film #ac.ryusei

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fizzyorange-v2 · 2 years ago

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just talking to my friend in dms about how at first when q!charlie started calming down from his rampage i was kinda upset cause i WANTED a full villain arc i wanted blood and rage and a massacre but then I kept watching and realised how much of a fucking idiot I was to underestimate charlie slimecicle’s rp skills like that. because charlie isn’t just playing a character hell bent on righteous revenge for his daughter, he’s playing a character actually grieving that daughter.

it’s obvious now that i think about it that the initial revenge plot to kill all the eggs and his repeated self affirmations that juanaflippa isn’t gone and that it can all just be reset are clearly just him entering the denial and anger stages. and that later scenes after the rest of the server finally backed him into a corner and calmed him down and he had that heart wrenching scene looking at juanaflippa’s photo, asking for a literal trial for her life and soul back and then that whooooole bar scene, that he has then entered the bargaining and depression stages.

Because the truth is, q!charlie doesn’t actually want to kill anyone (except Mariana lolll), he especially doesn’t want to kill any of the eggs! All he wanted was to be a good dad. And I think that that’s part of the reason he as a character failed so hard to actually tangibly hurt anyone during this stream. He was a mess, crying screaming yelling clawing trying to do something, anything to save his daughter. Anything to fix it all. That scene of him failing to break into Phil’s house haunts me.

But I think there’s something especially tragic that before Juanaflippa, q!charlie probably was the kind of character to hurt others without caring, he seemed to have no idea about empathy or healthy relationships before her thats for sure. He’s literally already killed TWO eggs before this, so causally and with such ease. But his love for his daughter improved him, and it changed him, and it made him just enough of a better person that when that daughter was taken from him, suddenly even to save her he can’t fucking do it anymore.

I also really appreciate how everyone else on the server reacted to him too. They didn’t at all treat him like some big bad scary villain like I originally would I’ve expected. Sure they were understandably wary and protective, but every single one of them weren’t so much angry at him as… WORRIED for him. And it really helped put it in perspective that this isn’t some guy going on a hashtag villain arc, but immersed me in oh fuck. This is a guy that just lost his daughter. And all his friends and fellow parents know. And they aren’t scared of him, they’re concerned for him. They aren’t full of fear… but pity. Because they know. They know what he’s just lost. And they understand. And they’re trying to be there for him.

And Charlie despite all the grand speeches and diabolical plots and not so carefully placed land mines… doesn’t really care how he gets Juanaflippa back, as long as she’s with him again.

Just man,,,, the way Charlie performed this character’s grief is so fucking stellar and SO fucking excruciating. The part that genuinely broke me was in that photo scene when he said: “i'm sorry flippa... i thought i could change something- i thought i could undo it, thought i could make it right... now i see that there's no way this can be made right...” which already fucking ow ow OW and clearly him finally exiting denial/anger straight into depression but then he whispers THIS FUCKING BIT: “it wasnt even on purpose… i know that... it doesnt make it better… what do i do juanaflippa?” LIKE FUCK!!!! FUCK!!!! OKAY!!!!!

Anyway massive props to everyone for the rp today but ESPECIALLY charlie for this agonisingly accurate and visceral depiction of grief that I somehow was NOT expecting. I thought we were going to get villain arc egg massacre angst and instead we got father mourning his daughter trying futilely to do anything to bring her back angst. I’m never fucking recovering from this one.

#qsmp #q!charlie #q!slimecicle #qsmp slimecicle #qsmp analysis #fizz character thoughts #juanaflippa #el mariana #qsmp spoilers

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gorbo-longstocking · 4 days ago

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Do Not Blame the Sea | Chapter 5

Pairing: Emperor Geta/Reader, Emperor Caracalla/Reader

Summary: Upon discovering this is not the first time Marianus has met the emperors, you learn the horrible truth of what they endured at the hands of their father. It isn’t until later that night do you realize just how deep these scars run.

Tags: Marianus gets beat up at Geta’s command, mentions of past child abuse, mentions of mcs own toxic relationship with their parents, medical inaccuracies, split second of period-typical misogyny, period-typical slavery, Caracalla has a flashback and hits you during it, violence, dissociation (Caracalla), self-harming behaviors (mc does this), discussions of PTSD, and finally, even more absolutely diabolical levels of ‘I can fix them’ from mc

Word Count: 10.8k Words

Read on AO3

Masterlist.

Not once, in your entire life, did you get to have a lazy afternoon. You always imagined what it would be like to have no responsibilities for as little as an hour. All you wanted was for some time to bask in the sun, talk to a friend about nothing and everything at the same time, or even lay in bed for a few extra minutes in the morning. Of course, that was too much to ask for. Even in your earliest memories, you were stuck doing something or the other. From music lessons to tutoring, extracurriculars, and schoolwork, your parents made sure you hardly had time to breathe. Eventually, you got used to the fast paced life you were given, though it would be a lie if you didn’t wonder if the grass was greener on the other side. What was the world like for the ones left behind?

It wasn’t until this never ending dream did you get to find out.

Aelius laughed and punched the air with one hand, the other held against his stomach to keep the walnuts cradled in his palm from falling to the ground. His smile was playfully victorious. When he got close, he gave you a whack on the shoulder. “I win again. You are very bad at this game, my friend.”

“You grew up playing it,” You countered. Though your tone was exasperated, you grinned at him. “Set them up again. I will win this time.”

“I doubt that,” Aelius teased as he did as you requested. Expertly, he scattered the nuts along the slope, set up in a way where it would be a challenge for both of you to hit. It felt a little unfair considering he was better at the game than you, but you were having too much fun to care.

Aelius was showing you a game he played as a child where you took turns rolling walnuts down a slope lined with even more nuts. Whichever ones you hit, you would take, and whoever had the most in the end, won. Out of the six times you and Aelius played, you came out victorious only once. You were sure that was because Aelius went easy on you. He wasn’t pulling his punches anymore.

Marianus yawned from his place in one of the archways. He was relaxing, his back pressed against the hot stone as the afternoon sun beamed down at him. With his dark skin and hair, it would do little to affect him, even if you wished to slather him with sunscreen. The three of you, plus your ever-present praetorian escorts, had taken up space in the walkways of the garden. This particular one was settled on a small hill, making it perfect for a game of rolling walnuts — at least, that was what Aelius said. Greenery surrounded you, and you managed to keep cool because the roof above your head provided blessed shade from the sun. Only Marianus seemed to insist upon laying in its light like a spoiled housecat.

If you ever told him that comparison, you feared he would stop talking to you again. At least you knew what to say if you were ever angry enough to not want to see him for a week.

It had been a few days since your last official check up with the emperors, and a few days since Caracalla nearly plucked your eyes out. You fought a shiver at the memory. It was important to look on the bright side. Not only did both Geta and Caracalla return yesterday — at separate times — for another look over without you having to ask, but Marianus was talking to you again. As annoyed as you were at the silent treatment to begin with, you weren’t going to bring it up. Marianus was no longer angry, and thus, neither were you. It was easier that way.

For once, it seemed as though things were looking up.

With Aelius by your side, you squinted in an effort to get a better look at your targets. You had never been very skilled when it came to games, your intelligence lied elsewhere. Bending your knees, you positioned the walnut over your thumb and prepared to let it loose. This time, you would win. All you had to do was think of it like a game of pool.

“Alga!” A familiar rasp called, startling you enough to throw off your aim. Your walnut arced through the air and landed a foot away from the ones you were trying to hit before disappearing down the slope. Beside you, Aelius stood at attention, and judging who the voice belonged to, Marianus was as well.

When you turned around, there was Emperor Caracalla, his arms crossed as he frowned at you. He looked every bit a petulant child. It almost made you forget how he tried to blind you less than a week ago. His last visit to your clinic had gone well, he was as pleasant as he could have been, but it was quick. He had left as soon as he came, back to ignoring you as if you weren’t there. The fact he was looking for you set your teeth on edge.

“Caesar,” You greeted with a deferential nod. A part of you was thankful that it wasn’t customary to bow to Roman emperors, you weren’t sure if you would remember to do so every time you were in their presence. That would be as humiliating as it was dangerous.

Caracalla looked between you and Aelius, and then the walnuts. His judgement was obvious from the haughty raise of his chin. “I have been searching for you all day and here I find you playing children's games with soldiers.”

Expertly, you ignored his disdain with a question of your own, “You were searching for me?”

“Of course I was,” He spoke as if it were obvious, like you should have known that he was looking for you through psychic means. “I have something to give you, Alga.” He snapped his fingers and pointed at the spot in front of him, away from both of your friends. “Here, now.”

Feeling a little awkward, you made a conscious effort not to look at either man instead of Caracalla, no matter how much you wanted to. While you were still anxious in Caracalla’s presence — his mood changed on a dime, and that was terrifying in of itself — he hadn’t actually hurt you. He had only intended to. You could delude yourself enough into believing intention and action were two separate concepts.

Besides, he didn’t look furious, merely frustrated. A vindictive part inside of you smiled. Now he knew how you felt when you spent hours searching for him and his brother in the sweltering heat. It wasn’t so funny now that the shoe was on the other foot. If you had a cup full of spit and all the power in the world at your disposal, you knew what you would do next. Of course, you kept all of those spite filled thoughts to yourself, your expression schooled into something mild as you approached him.

Once you were where instructed, your body close enough for the fabric of his cloak to brush against your side when the wind blew, Caracalla cocked his head to the side. The corners of his lips quirked upwards, momentarily pleased with your obedience before he remembered he was supposed to be angry with you. His eyebrows furrowed over his narrow eyes.

“Give me your hand,” He demanded.

It wasn’t like you had any room to disobey. With your palm up, you presented him with your hand, and Caracalla gave a pleased sniff. He placed his own palm flat against yours before he wrapped his dainty fingers around your wrist. There was a small, thin item sandwiched between your joined appendages, and you tried to focus on how soft and uncalloused his skin was rather than the object itself. It was obvious what it was and you would rather not acknowledge it until you had to. The pad of Caracalla’s index finger traced a vein in your wrist before he slid back, your own sweat making his retreat slick. When you looked down, he left behind a needle. A feeling of nausea twisted your gut and you hurried to close your fist, letting it fall to your side.

“Caesar?” There was so much you could ask. Too much you wanted to ask, but none of it would come out. Fear tied your tongue into a thick knot.

“You kept your promise,” Caracalla leaned even closer to whisper in your ear, his breath hot against your cheek. His gaze flickered to your own. You could smell the lavender oil he used as perfume, it made him seem sweeter than he was. “So far, medicus, you have pleased me. My brother, though he insists on asking his questions, seems to understand he will receive nothing from you. Keep it this way and I—” He swung his arm gently, almost playfully, a finger brushing against your knuckle “— Will not have to return for this.”

Your mouth felt dry as your lips moved around words without making any sounds. Was this a threat? Was Caracalla threatening you? It certainly felt like he was. Though, the way he was looking at you, proud, as if you were a dog that had performed a new trick for the first time, made you question that train of thought. With a harsh swallow, you tried to focus on what Caracalla said rather than the needle burning into your skin. So long as you kept doing what you always meant to do, save for that idiotic empty threat you made, you would be fine. You would keep your eyes. The weapon was in your hands now, the ball in your court. As you exhaled, your shoulders slumped with barely contained relief.

“I understand, Caesar I will not betray this trust you have given me.” Without thinking much of it, you threaded the needle into the folds of your tunic, effectively hiding it from any prying eyes.

Caracalla gave you a firm nod, his smile satisfied. “Good. It would do you well not to.”

“I, uh, yes,” Over your shoulder, you checked to see if Aelius or Marianus were listening — they were both watching your exchange with varying levels of worry — and placed your hand beside your mouth. You dropped your voice to a murmur, like you were sharing a secret. Caracalla seemed amused by your showmanship. “And your symptoms? How do you feel?”

A little giggle, more genuine than you have ever heard it, pulled from his throat and he moved even closer until the tip of your nose was almost brushing his. The scratchiness of his voice was heightened by his low volume. “Better, Alga. It’s nice to have a physician who knows what he’s talking about for once.”

Despite yourself, the compliment made you flush, a bit of pride squirming in your gut as you pulled away. You always had a weak spot for praise, particularly regarding your skills in the medical field. Perhaps that was what happened when you made it such a major part of your identity, or maybe it was because you had been starved for any sort of approval by your parents. Caracalla watched your reaction with a confused tilt of his head, though you could see him filing it away for later.

“If that is all, Caesar, I should return to my game,” You said as diplomatically as possible. The fact that Caracalla had given you a small amount of trust — that was what you decided this was, not a threat; it helped — made your grin a bit more genuine.

In response, Caracalla clenched his jaw and glanced behind you at Aelius. “Nucēs relinquō, soldier.”

Whatever that meant, it made Aelius’ tanned skin darken with embarrassment. He kicked the walnuts by his feet away from him and gave you an apologetic smile. “Perhaps we should quit playing, my friend.”

“What? No! It was fun,” You exclaimed before you could stop yourself.

Caracalla straightened up and curled his arm behind his back, his expression arrogant. “It’s a game for plebeian children. I know better games, Alga.”

“But—”

Caracalla wrapped his fingers around your wrist and gave you a small tug, away from Marianus and Aelius. “Come with me. We can gamble. I want to have that miraculous little torch of yours.”

“I’m not going to gamble my medical supplies, Caesar.”

Caracalla laughed, both mean and determined. Any semblance of the softness from before had dissipated into what you expected from him. “You will if I ask you to.”

You wrenched yourself from his grasp as you fought to keep the irritation off your face. “If you ask me, I will teach you how to use some of my supplies. With my supervision.”

“I will do whatever I please, medicus!” Caracalla stomped his foot in a childish display, his fingers latching back around your forearm.

Marianus, who had been quiet this entire time, said your name, causing both you and Caracalla to jerk in his direction. The frustration on Caracalla’s face melted away into confused recognition.

“I know you from somewhere.”

Marianus grimaced. “Do you, Caesar?”

Caracalla cradled his chin between his forefinger and his thumb as he studied Marianus with narrowed eyes. “Yes. Yes, I do, but I do not know from where.” He frowned and hummed before his face lit up in realization. “My brother will know. Centurion, medicus, at my side, Geta will figure out where I know you from.”

You didn’t get a chance to say goodbye to Aelius, who anxiously shuffled in place as he watched you disappear into the palace. Caracalla was dragging you, Marianus, on your heels, looking more uncomfortable than you had ever seen him. If he could turn into a bird and fly away, like in myths, you were certain he would have long ago. Wherever Caracalla recognized him from, he seemed to know, his jaw set in a grim line. Marianus was acting like he was marching to his own execution, and knowing the twins’ temper, he very well could be. It all depended on Caracalla’s tenuous memory.

You wanted to vomit.

Four praetorians formed a square around your trio, Caracalla’s grasp firm enough for your bones to ache. The idea of losing Marianus hurt more. You hadn’t known him for long, and despite knowing he was a figment of your imagination, you found yourself terrified of losing him. Friendship was not a frequent companion in your life. You were friendly with your peers, but that wasn’t anything more than fair-weather, if that. Now that you had a taste, you didn’t want to let it go.

Which was stupid, you told yourself, because Marianus wasn’t real. You glanced at him out of the corner of your eye and his gaze met yours. His dark curls, cropped close to his scalp, with an aquiline nose and brown skin, he certainly looked real. He gave you an apologetic grimace. For what, you didn’t know. Thinking about it only served to make blood rush in your ears. If he wasn’t real, why are you so scared for his safety? If this was a dream, couldn’t you make him come back? Couldn’t you save him?

Caracalla took a sharp turn, ducking into a spacious room, decorated by columns and two thrones. It was the same one you were in when you first met Geta and Caracalla, and it still left an empty pit in your gut. Geta sat upon one throne, looking bored as an important looking man spoke in slow, meandering rhythms. Whatever he wanted, he was not being blunt about it. That only served to irritate Geta judging by the imperial frown on his face.

“Brother!” Caracalla called as he entered. “I have a riddle for you to solve.”

Geta breathed a visible sigh of relief. You figured he saw an excuse to shirk his more irritating duties, if only for a few minutes. It would be foolish of him not to take it. “You are dismissed, Senator.”

“But—” The man began.

“Dismissed!” Geta’s tone left little room for argument. The senator wrapped his toga tighter around his forearm held against his chest. He looked ready to speak again, before he thought better of it and did as he was told. It wasn’t until his footsteps disappeared entirely did anyone move.

With a snap of his fingers, mimicking how one would call a dog, Caracalla released you and brought Marianus to his brother. Unlike how he held onto you the entire way here, he didn’t touch Marianus.

“What riddle are you going to set upon me now, Caracalla?” While Geta sounded exasperated, there was a small twitch in his cheek that implied amusement. He didn’t have to indulge his brother, still he chose to anyway. Whether it was out of affection or the desire to avoid any more rambling senators, you didn’t know. A strange, writhing part of you, deep under your skin, wanted to. You focused your attention back on your friend and the two wolves that circled him. Back to your worry and your fear.

“I know this man,” Caracalla tossed out his arm, almost whacking Marianus in the face with it. To his credit, Marianus didn’t flinch, only giving the offending appendage a blank stare. “Surely, you must know from where, brother.”

Geta hummed and tilted his head as he studied Marianus. He stood, stepping closer to him to get a better look at his face. Like Caracalla, he cradled his chin between his thumb and forefinger. While the differences between the twins were prevalent — they certainly weren’t identical — right now, they looked the spitting image of each other. “Tell me your name again, centurion.”

“Lucius Marianus.”

“Right, yes. It did sound familiar when I first heard it, perhaps—” Geta cut himself off, recognition glinting in his brown eyes. His expression cut into a horrid mix of fury and betrayal as he gestured for Caracalla to join him by his side. His brother obliged, and though he looked perplexed from the sudden change of emotion, he wrinkled his nose to mirror Geta. When he spoke again, his voice trembled with barely contained rage, “My brother was right. We do know you.”

“You do, Caesar.” The only sign of emotion on Marianus’ face was fatalistic acceptance.

You wanted to step in, placate them, but you were frozen in place. For once, you were thankful for it. What could you hope to do here? You were no hero. All you could pray for was that whatever Geta decided to do was something you could fix. That was where your talent laid: in the aftermath.

Geta leaned down to whisper in Caracalla’s ear and you watched as his features twisted into raw hatred for the man before him. He inhaled a shuddering breath and looked like he was about to start shouting before his face went slack, eyes growing distant as he took several steps back to collapse into his throne. His jaw was set, a foggy air about him, glaring at Marianus from below his brow.

“You know us too, do you not, centurion?” Geta began to pace back and forth, and it reminded you of a tiger trapped in a cage. His anger was rolling off of him in waves, simmering under his skin. It made the room feel hotter than it was. “You have known all this time, remembered me and my brother all this time. Were you laughing at us? Do you find our humiliation amusing?”

“No, Caesar.” Marianus stood stock still, his arms clasped tightly behind his back.

Caracalla lunged from his throne with a near-feral scream, “Liar! He lies, brother!”

Geta held up his hand, and, for once, Caracalla listened. He froze in place, breathing heavily, his stare intense and eyes glassy. “Calm! I will take care of it, he will be properly punished.” With a deep breath, Geta clenched his hands by his side. He was shaking. “Tell me, centurion. I want to know. Is it only now that you regret your lack of action?”

“I have regretted it since that day, Caesar.”

Geta let out a humorless laugh. “More lies from a man desperate to avoid retribution.”

Inhaling a deep breath, he bellowed for the praetorian to enter, and you flinched as a dozen armored men brushed past you, swarming Marianus at Geta’s command. Again, he was pacing, his chest heaving and eyes wild.

Your fingers twitched at your sides. You didn’t know what to do and it made you feel sick. Run, or stay. Scream, or beg. Step in, or watch. Ultimately, the coward you were, you stayed rooted in your spot, your heart thundering at a frantic pace. There was nothing to be done, you told yourself, even if you knew that wasn’t true. You knew, at your core, that you were terrified to be in Marianus’ position, and you knew that, no matter how badly you wanted to, drawing any attention to yourself was a bad idea.

As much as you cared for Marianus, you couldn’t bring yourself to do anything but watch. You wondered if that made you a bad friend.

“Let us see how you like it, being at the mercy of other men,” Geta snarled, saliva flying from between his clenched teeth. “No hope of stopping the pain, no hope of being saved, knowing that the pain will only end when I demand it so.”

With a flick of Geta’s wrist, a praetorian threw the first punch, straight into Marianus’ gut, with a meaty thud. The air left his lungs as he doubled over, though he didn’t get the opportunity to catch his breath before another praetorian brought both his fists down against his spine. It wasn’t until Marianus hit the floor did you realize you were crying. A sharp gasp ripped from your throat when a praetorian kicked Marianus in the face. There was a sickening crunch and blood spewed from his nose onto the marble floor.

Geta, who seemed to have forgotten you were there — or perhaps he never knew — whipped around to face you. If you thought you were frozen before, the weight of his fury made your blood run cold.

“Do you like to watch too, medicus?” Geta bellowed as he advanced on you. “Is that why you’re still here, sobbing like a woman?” He threw his arm forward, pointing at the exit. He was screaming now, so loud, his voice cracked, “Out! Get out!”

That was all you needed to hear. You sprinted out of the throne room, tears streaming down your face, the sounds of Marianus’ beating echoing behind you. It wasn't until you were safely inside your clinic did you stop, the door shut tight behind you. Broken sobs ripped from your chest as you pawed at your face, desperate for the tears to stop. What the hell was that? What was wrong with you? This was your dream, you should have stepped in, you should have stopped it, screamed at the emperors until they understood how insane they were being. Instead, all you did was prove yourself to be a shameful, sniveling little worm. You were so incomprehensibly pathetic. Weeping on the floor, through snot and tears, as your friend was very likely being beaten to death a few halls away.

A hysterical whimper fell from your lips alongside a line of drool that you wiped away with the back of your hand. You had to breathe. Shut it all down, lock everything you felt away so you could be what you needed to be. Useful, and perfect, and obedient, and a doctor. Marianus would survive, this was your dream, and if you thought about it hard enough, that would be what happened. He would come to your clinic, bloody and bruised, for you to fix.

All you had to do was get a hold of yourself and wait.

With one, final sniffle, you stood, wiping your face clean with the heels of your palms. First, you needed to prepare your tools. As much as you didn’t want to perform surgery, if he had a punctured lung, there would be no choice. On autopilot, you lined up each of the ancient surgical instruments, right next to some opium that you had at the ready the second that Marianus fell through your door. Which, he would. He had to, or you didn’t know what—

A few more tears dripped from the tip of your nose onto your desk. Your breathing was shaky again, and you couldn’t have that. Placing your palms flat against your wooden surface, you steadied yourself the best you could before you began to organize again.

Once you had everything laid out, you checked, then double checked that it was all in order. Then you took inventory. After the fourth time, you began to count the grains in the wooden surface the instruments laid on to keep your mind focused on anything other than the images of Marianus’ corpse your mind kept conjuring.

This was taking too long. There was only so much trauma the human body could take. If the emperors were having him beaten this entire time, there would be nothing to be done aside from scraping Marianus’ remains off the floor. You felt numb. There were one thousand three hundred and forty eight grains in—

The doors opened and light from the hall spilled into your clinic. Two praetorians carried in a barely conscious Marianus, their arms tucked under his armpits. You were by his side before you could blink. One second, you were staring blankly down at your desk, the next, Marianus’ swollen face was inches from yours. While you led him to a lectus, the cushion sure to be far more comfortable than your examination table while you checked over his injuries, you muttered soft affirmations to him.

“I’m here now, I’ll fix you, my friend.”

Gently, you laid him on the lectus raced to grab your flashlight and stethoscope. First, you had to check for a concussion, then, any broken ribs, or, God forbid, a punctured lung. Marianus groaned, his head flopping to the side as fresh blood dribbled from his crooked nose. It was definitely broken, you would need to make a splint for it.

“Don’t go to sleep, Marianus.” You patted his cheek with as little pressure as you could manage. To your relief, one of his eyes fluttered open, the other swollen shut. “I know you’re tired, but you cannot sleep. Whatever happens, you cannot sleep.”

He groaned, drawing attention to his split lip. It was deep enough to require stitches and you fought the urge to frown. “I won’t sleep, medicus.”

“Good, I am going to keep you talking while I work. If you do not respond, I will pinch you. Do not test me.” Marianus nodded as you placed a hand between his shoulder blades and helped him sit up. It took both of your efforts to try to slip off the top half of his tunic, only for you to discover his shoulder was dislocated when he let out a cry of pain. You cut the fabric off, instead, with a small apology. Once you placed the stethoscope against his chest, you said, “Breathe in for me, please.”

He did, and you let out a relieved huff. No punctured lung, but judging by the bruising on his abdomen, his ribs were at the very least cracked. You knew he was in pain, and while you wanted to give him some opium to help him, you were very aware of how addictive it was, along with the dangers of an overdose. Ibuprofen was an option, even if you wanted to ration it, but it was a blood thinner. That would be dangerous for the first twenty-four hours.

“How is the pain?” You asked as you checked if his pupillary function with your flashlight. You sucked in a breath through your teeth, he had a concussion. A minor one it seemed, thankfully.

“I will be fine,” Marianus managed to say. It was obvious he was in immense pain, and it helped whittle away your resolve to grab the opium.

You took stock of his injuries, creating a mental list in your head. Concussion, cracked ribs, dislocated shoulder, a split lip that required stitches, and broken nose. “Do not lie to me. Treatment will hurt. Do you need opium or not?”

Marianus sighed, wincing as his ribs twinged. “I will not say no to opium.”

Well, that made your decision for you.

With Marianus sufficiently numb, you relocated his shoulder first. It would be the most painful, and he took it like a champ. If he was younger, and if you had lollipops at your disposal, you’d give him one. Next, you stitched his upper lip back together. It would scar, there was no helping it. You assured Marianus it would make him look more grizzled to his men with a small smile. That earned you an amused grunt in return, the opium loosening his uptight attitude ever so slightly. Finally, you set his nose. It took a bit of time — the sun had set a while ago — to make the splint in order to keep the bone in place. After this, all Marianus would need is time, patience, and to be kept as far away from the emperors as humanly possible.

“Marianus,” You began. Now that you were done wiping his face clean of blood, you were sitting on the floor next to the lectus as you forced him into conversation to keep him awake. A few minutes ago, you sent a nearby praetorian to fetch Aelius to help Marianus down to his bunk. The blood coating your skin made your hands feel tacky. When you pressed your fingers together, they stuck for a moment before snapping away with some minor pressure. “Can I ask you a question?”

“You want to know what I saw.” It wasn’t a question, but a statement. His head was lolled to the side, looking down on you with a bit of affection that could be described as paternal if you examined it enough. Absentmindedly, he played with your hair.

You nodded. “Yes, why were the emperors so angry with you?”

“Their father, the former emperor, Septimius Severus, used to beat those two bloody when they were children,” Marianus said, more blunt than the topic needed. You couldn’t help the startled noise you let out, nor the sharp raise of your eyebrows. He waited for you to respond, but when you didn’t, he continued, “He brought Emperor Geta and Emperor Caracalla on a military campaign, and I served under him during this time. Emperor Severus called me into the command tent. I am not sure if it was purposeful, or if he forgot I was coming, but he was in the middle of disciplining his boys when I walked in.” Marianus took a deep breath, his one good eye squeezed shut. It was the most emotion you had ever seen from him. “The hope on Geta’s young face when he saw me walk in still haunts me. I could do nothing. He was my emperor and their father, what could I have done?”

This explained a lot. Empathy welled in your chest, wrapping around your ventricles like a heartworm, squeezing as tight as it could. You should hate them for what they did to Marianus. He was right, what could he have done? Stop the emperor when he was a mere soldier? That was a good way to die.

Unfortunately, you could see the emperors’ point of view too. Abuse left scars, especially when it came from a parent. While yours never hit you, it would be a lie to say they weren’t, at the very least, toxic. Even that had made its mark. You couldn’t imagine what kind of deep scars Caracalla’s and Geta’s father left on their minds.

“Poor treatment from your parents… It can manifest in—”

Marianus recognized that look in your eyes and stopped playing with your hair, his expression stern. “Stop. Do not try to justify their behavior, medicus. They are grown men now.”

“I was merely saying that I…”

“Those are dangerous thoughts,” He muttered. Then, contrary to what he said, “I cannot imagine what a child could do that could ever earn that severe of a punishment. If my children looked at me with that amount of fear, I would never forgive myself.”

Thankful for the change in subject, you grabbed a hold of it like a fish with a hook. “You have children?”

“I do. It is why I wanted respite in Rome. I wanted to see them again.” Before you could respond, Marianus let out a short sigh. The opium had loosened his tongue more than you had expected. “There are times where I find myself wondering if Rome would be different if someone dared to protect them then. It is too late for that now.”

“Is it?” You asked. After the words left your mouth, you clamped your jaw shut. “Sorry, I— I am merely—”

“You pity them,” Marianus finished. “Your pity will not save them.”

“It is not pity!” You exclaimed, sitting up a bit straighter. “I am merely wondering when the last time they had a friend was. Everyone needs a person to trust, especially after being hurt by someone who was meant to protect you. I—” When you looked up, you saw Marianus’ bruised face. His broken nose and the stitches on his lip, his one dark eye swimming with remorse. You remembered who did this to him and guilt pooled in the back of your throat when you found you didn’t hate them for it. “I apologize. They hurt you and I am making excuses for them. It’s wrong.”

“I wish I realized before,” Marianus murmured as he tugged a strand of your hair.

You blinked at him. “Realized?”

“You are not too soft for the military, you are too soft for Rome. I should have never brought you here.”

Before you could respond, Aelius entered with a soft knock. When his eyes landed on Marianus, his jaw dropped. “Centurio Marianus!” He rushed over to the two of you, wringing his hands in front of his chest. “What happened?”

“The emperors happened,” Marianus grumbled. Slowly, you helped him into a sitting position, one arm around his shoulders, his hand in yours.

Aelius pursed his lips, displeasure evident, though he said nothing.

“It would be best to keep him far away from the emperors for now,” You said softly. Now that Marianus was up, you began to give Aelius your instructions. In case he forgot, you reached down to grab a wax tablet that you used to write down everything he needed to know. “Do not let Marianus sleep tonight. If he falls asleep, fetch me immediately, I do not care what time. Every few hours, he must gently cough, or take a deep breath to prevent fluid from building in his lungs. He is not allowed to move without help or supervision until I deem him healed enough to do so. In order to get better, he requires rest. Everyday, I will come to the barracks to check on him, he is not to come here. Finally, for an hour each day, ice his ribs and his eye with a cold compress to reduce swelling.”

Aelius nodded along, even if he was clearly overwhelmed by your instructions. When he opened the wax tablet you gave him, he was unable to hide his amused snort. “Your written Latin is… very bad, my friend.”

You felt yourself deflate. “Is it truly so poor?”

Aelius waved away your concerns, a bit of sweat forming on his brow. “I can understand it, that is all that matters.”

“Right,” You sighed. “When I visit to check on Marianus’ health, I will bring medicine. Do you think either of us can get ice from the ice house?”

“It is considered a luxury item…” Aelius trailed off.

You nodded. “I will get it then. We are in a palace with emperors, they can afford to let me have a little ice for my friend.”

“Is that wise?” With a grimace, Aelius nodded towards Marianus’ battered form. “You have seen what they are capable of if they are displeased.”

A frown pulled at your lips. You were very aware of what the emperors were capable of when they were even mildly upset. The thought of earning Geta’s anger, or Caracalla’s again, made you start to shake. You quickly steeled your resolve. While you were not the strongest man in Rome, you would be what you needed to be for your patients. This was the least you do after not stepping in to help Marianus. You could get him ice for the swelling, he deserved that much.

“I am certain.”

Marianus, while still high, had enough of his faculties to whack you on the back of your head as he passed, helped along by Aelius. “Do not be foolish, medicus.”

“I will always be foolish for my friends,” You responded with a determined tilt of your chin. Both men stopped at the door, Aelius’ smile fond, while Marianus tried to frown at you despite the softness in his eyes. You waved them out the door and into the hallway. “Shoo, shoo. Your medicus prescribes rest!”

With an echoing chuckle from Aelius, you only slipped back inside your clinic when they were both out of sight.

You felt better knowing Marianus wasn’t dead. Infinitely better, though the knowledge he gave you about the emperors sat heavy in your chest. It was wrong to blame Marianus for their father’s sins. There was nothing he could have done to help them, nothing he could have done to save them. A soldier could never hope to stand up to an emperor, especially not when it came to his sons. While you didn’t remember the details, Roman society was very patriarchal. The head of household, a man, was in charge of disciplining his children however he saw fit, and to question that — at least, out loud — would go against the very foundations that Rome was built on.

Still, you remembered your own life. The real one that felt so distant now, as though it were decades since you last lived it. You remembered the tutors, the teachers, the coaches, all of the adults in your life who watched you run yourself ragged at your parents' behest. Not once did they step in, even if you knew they pitied you. A part of you resented them for it. If you doubled — no, tripled — that resentment, you could see why Geta reacted to Marianus the way he did. It didn’t make it right, not in a million years, but understood in a way that you wished you didn’t. You would feel better if it was easy to despise the emperors for hurting your friends. It wasn’t, though. Your heart bled with every beat.

A frustrated groan rumbled in your chest as you began to clean up your clinic. You carefully put away your surgical instruments, grateful that you didn’t have to use them, while humming a small, modern tune under your breath. It was your favorite song, and a bit of sadness panged in your chest when you realized you had forgotten the lyrics to the bridge. You frowned and paused your organizing. If only you had your phone, or a charger, or even an mp3 player, you could listen to it as a reminder.

There was a lot you missed about reality.

As the days passed, however, you found yourself falling into a new routine, one that was more comfortable than it ought to be. Your fingers twitched as you continued to clean. Tonight, you would sleep. Maybe you would wake up in your apartment again, surrounded by your nest of blankets and pillows, to a brand new day.

The thought shouldn’t make you feel so miserable.

A shriek ripped you from your reverie. It was a woman’s, high-pitched and shrill, followed by the thunder of footsteps down the hall from the emperors’ rooms. You carefully placed your tools down on the nearest flat surface and jogged out of your clinic and down the hall towards the commotion. If someone was hurt, it was your duty to fix it. From the sound of it, there was either an assassin or an elephant rampaging down the halls.

You weren’t a particularly brave person, that much was evident from how you reacted with Marianus earlier. Despite this, you also knew when your skills were needed. You didn’t know what the difference was, being unable to step in while your friend was beaten, versus sprinting in the direction of such a loud cacophony of terror. There was one there, that much you were sure of, though you were too focused on your duty to truly analyze it.

When you turned the corner, there were a handful of people outside of Caracalla’s bedroom doors. Slaves, if you had to guess, likely ones who attended to him while he was in his chambers. From inside, there was the sound of glass shattering and furious screaming, most of it coming from Caracalla himself. His Latin was too sporadic for you to understand, spoken too quickly or too furiously for you to pick apart the sentences as you normally would. Every so often, you could make out a frantic ‘—away from me!’ or simply a furious roar, followed by more sounds of objects being thrown.

You met the eyes of a cowering woman, and when she realized it was you, relief bloomed across her features. “Medicus! We were about to fetch you!”

“What’s going on? Is Emperor Caracalla being attacked?” You asked, peering at the ornate doors to his chambers.

She shook her head, eyes wide and terrified. “No, no, it is another one of his outbursts. No one can find Emperor Geta! You are the only other person in the palace who has calmed him.”

Circling you, she placed her hands on your back and began to push you to his room. Your feet scrabbled against the floor in an effort to get her to stop, but she was stronger than you expected.

“H— How do you know about that?”

“The praetorians gossip more than the slaves!” With a final push, you were nose to nose with the double doors leading to Caracalla’s bedroom, the sounds of his fury growing louder by the second. “Hurry, before he grabs a blade.” When you looked over your shoulder to meet her eyes, they were glassy with tears. “Please.”

You had failed Marianus, you didn’t want to fail again. Steeling yourself, you gave her a nod and gently pushed open the doors to slip inside.

Caracalla’s room was in complete disarray. Incense and their holders were knocked over, scattering ash onto the floor. Sheets and blankets were strewn everywhere, ripped off the canopy bed in a frenzy. There were two lectī settled by an open window, one tipped over on its side, while the other had stuffing coming out of the cushion from where it had been ripped open. There were only three people left behind. Two were hiding in an adjacent room, while one was frantic, his gaze leaping to the exit every few moments.

In the middle of it all was Caracalla, his face red from screaming. Instead of his usual imperial garb, he only wore a thin, off-white tunic that hung loosely on his frame. A few drops of blood dotted the fabric. His breathing was sharp, each one a heaving gasp, and his face was wet with tears. In his hand was an empty metal chalice that he was waving with wild abandon at the people left behind with him. Caracalla was barely coherent, his speech choppy and hard to follow. What you could make out was, in the context of what was happening, bizarre.

“You will stay away— And liars, all of you, liars and snakes. You’ll sell me out, tell him about me! You’ll get me in trouble and I’ll— Keep away from me!”

When the door shut behind you with an audible click, he whipped around to where you stood. You barely had time to blink before you were struck in the forehead with the cup, thrown from his hand with unfortunate precision. It hit your skull with a metal clang, hard enough for stars to erupt behind your eyes. With your hand cradling your head, and your ears ringing fiercely from the strike, you rubbed the forming knot with your fingers. It hurt more than you expected and you stumbled a few paces to the side.

When you opened your eyes, Caracalla was charging at you. The squeak that left you would have been embarrassing if you had the cognition to think about it. One of his fists were raised to hit you, and even to your untrained eye, you were able to recognize he had very little combat training. Or, if he did, he was too out of it to utilize any of it.

You had seen Caracalla when he was angry, and he was not angry right now. He was utterly terrified.

His body crashed into yours, pushing you against the wall as he managed to strike you once in your temple before you were able to grab his wrist. For once, you pronounced his title correctly. “Caesar! It’s me!”

“Snake!” With his other hand, he knocked the side of the head once more with the heel of his palm.

You struggled to keep him at bay. When you managed to stop him from hitting you, he began kicking at you from below. This time, when you spoke, your accent slipped through, heavier than usual, “Ceasar! Caesar! Calm down, please, calm down!”

Miraculously, he froze, his chest heaving as his red-rimmed eyes searched your face. With harsh fingers, he grabbed a handful of your hair and jerked you closer to him, his eyebrows twitching together. Pain lanced through your scalp at the rough treatment.

His voice was distant, “Alga?”

“Yes, yes, it is me. Medicus Alga.” Your head throbbed in tune with the beat of your heart. Welts from where Caracalla hit you had begun to form, and if you weren’t so preoccupied, you would have prodded at them. In an effort to get through to him, you thickened your accent considerably, “Your green-haired, foreign physician. It’s me, Caesar.”

He looked ready to argue, his hands fisted in your hair. “You’re here to— After pater… And he—”

You felt your heart sink. It wasn’t hard to put the pieces together as to what was happening. Keeping your voice soft, you gently reached up to untangle his fingers from your hair. “I’m here because I was worried. You seem very upset.”

His grip loosened for only a moment before they were like a vice once more.

“You’re here to hurt me, like everyone else! I smell it on you, I see it on your face!” With each word, he shook you, making your vision spin. Instinctively, you wrapped your fingers around his wrists to try and pry him off of you. “Pathetic! You’re pathetic!”

“Caesar, I’m not!” It took everything in your power to keep your hold loose on him while he jerked you around. Your thumbs rubbed circles against his radial artery and tears sprung in your eyes when he knocked against one of the bruises on your head. “Caracalla! I swear it, I will never hurt you. Caracalla, Caracalla, Caracalla.”

You spoke his name like a mantra as you let go of his hands to reach for his face. His lips pulled back into a snarl. When your hands drew near, he flinched. His eyes were squeezed shut, tears leaking down his face, and his grip in your hair so tight, you were sure he’d rip out parts of your scalp. It wasn’t until you cradled your palms against his cheeks did his grip loosen once more. Despite the pain radiating in your temples, you tenderly wiped away a few tears.

“It’s going to be okay, I’m not mad. No one’s mad at you. I swear to you, I’m not mad,” You cooed to him, the same way you would to a frightened dog ready to bite. “I’ll take care of you, yes? What is it that you want? Tell me what you want, and I’ll give it to you.”

Caracalla’s face crumpled, his sniffle thick and watery. “I want my brother.”

Finally, he let you go, his wrists flopping against your shoulders as he wrapped his arms around you. Though your head throbbed fiercely, you loosely draped your own around his neck and began to play with his hair. The motion seemed to calm him further as he slumped against you, the weight of his body dragging you down to the floor. With your back pressed against the wall, nearly flattened under Caracalla, you began to soothe him however you could. After some clumsy fumbling, you settled for one hand toying with messy strands of his red hair, the other rubbing between his shoulder blades. When you looked up, the three who had been cowering earlier watched their emperor weep with unreadable expressions.

“Go now,” You said. “This is no show.” Before they left, you decided to ask, “And, if you would please fetch me chamomile from my clinic, and honey and boiling water from the kitchens, I would be grateful.” It was slaves you were ordering around, and it made your tongue taste sour. You tacked on a final, polite ‘please,’ to make the guilt easier to bear.

The trio looked at you, then at Caracalla, before disappearing into the hall. You breathed a sigh of relief, slowly rocking the man in your arms back and forth. Your chest felt damp from where he buried his face, and you were sure you were coated in more snot and spit than you usually wished to be in this late at night. He was trembling in your arms, each sob silent as he clutched himself tight against you.

It wasn’t until he went slack did you start to worry again. Caracalla wasn’t moving, though he was breathing, and he was no longer crying. His arms were loose around you once more. Gingerly, you pried him away from you. A string of snot connected him to your tunic, and you swiped under his nose with the linen to clean him up, if only a little. He didn’t look at you, his eyes foggy and gaze distant.

“Caesar,” You tried. No response. Swallowing hard, you went another route. “Caracalla.”

That worked. His pupils darted toward yours. A hint of pink caught your eye when his tongue dabbed at his dry lips. “Are you real?”

He was dissociating, you knew what that felt like all too well.

“Look around the room for me, Caracalla.” You continued to say his name, it seemed to keep his attention better than anything else. “List five things you see.”

His jaw worked up and down as his gaze darted around the room. With a small smile, you hooked your index finger under his jaw and closed his mouth. “Speaking out loud is not necessary. Tell me, only if you want to. Listing in your head is good enough. Now, five items you see.” You waited a moment before speaking again. “Four things that you can hear.” Another half-minute passed before Caracalla swallowed thickly, his Adam’s apple bobbing. You took that as your sign he was done. “Three things that you smell.”

“I smell you,” He murmured.

Despite yourself, and the pain in lancing through your skull, you laughed. “I pray that I smell good.” Caracalla didn’t respond aside from a small hum. You continued, “Two things you can feel.” His thumb brushed across your tunic before he began to run his palms up and down your arms. “Good, very good. One thing that you can taste.”

When he glanced at you again, he seemed much more aware. His lips twitched into a smile, showing off his teeth. “Blood. I bit my tongue, medicus.”

Caracalla seemed to expect something from you. What it was, you didn’t have the faintest idea, but a flicker of disappointment crossed his face when you didn’t move. “Do you feel better, Caesar?”

There was his anger again, his eyes narrowing. “You are not to leave. I demand you stay.”

“I was not going to leave,” You assured him. He relaxed into you, his ear against your breast as you began to stroke his hair. “I only want to help you. If staying helps, I will stay.”

“Good,” He muttered.

You weren’t sure how long you held Caracalla. Not enough for him to fall asleep, despite his breathing beginning to even out. The only reason you knew he was awake was because he was staring up at you, sharp blue eyes latched onto yours. He was searching for something, and whatever it may have been, he seemed satisfied with what he found. As you tugged gently on strands of his red curls, he dragged his thumb over the most prominent welt on your forehead. You sucked in a sharp hiss when he pressed into it — and distantly, there was this screaming, nagging realization in the back of your mind you didn’t have time for — and Caracalla furrowed his brows.

He was too hard for you to decipher, not without decades at your disposal.

The door cracked open before you could even begin to truly figure him out, and Geta’s head popped into view, peering cautiously into the room. When his eyes landed on you, his brother in your arms, his eyebrows disappeared into his hairline. The expression hardly lasted more than a few seconds before Geta remembered himself, schooling his features back to distanced anxiety. You could tell that, too, was forced. From the concern welling behind brown irises, he was beside himself with worry.

“Caesar,” You greeted with a small nod. “Emperor Caracalla was asking for you.”

In your arms, he looked ready to argue. Once he looked at Geta, his relief was palpable. “Brother.”

“You made a mess again, Caracalla,” Geta said, his voice even as he took in the state of his room. Then, he turned back to you, taking in your frazzled appearance, from the messy state of your hair, to the raised lump on your forehead. “A big mess.”

Behind Geta, a woman shuffled into the room. In her arms, she held the items you had requested earlier: honey, boiling water, and chamomile. With a grateful smile, you gestured to the table beside Caracalla’s bed with your chin. She looked to Geta for permission, only obeying when he nodded. Once she was gone, you took this as your cue to finish up.

“Up we go.” You braced yourself against the wall as he heaved Caracalla to his feet. Even as you led him to his bed, he continued to cling to you. You pulled back the thick, woolen blanket, and with an insurmountable amount of care, you pried him off of you. With three downy pillows, you propped him into a sitting position and ignored his frustrated glare when you stepped away.

“You said you wouldn’t leave,” Caracalla began.

The best you could, you poured the boiling water over the chamomile to allow it to steep. When you had the free time, you should see if you could find an item in the kitchens to help you make better tea. “Your brother is here, you don’t need me anymore.”

You glanced over at Caracalla and almost screamed when you found Geta hovering over your shoulder. He pointed to the honey. “My brother has a sweet tooth. Put a lot of honey in it or he will not drink it.”

“Yes, Caesar. That is good knowledge to have.”

The amount of honey you put in Caracalla’s chamomile tea should have been illegal. Only when Geta tapped your wrist did you stop. You blinked, a little confused at the contact. It wasn’t often he touched you. In fact, you were sure this was the first time he ever had. He seemed to realize this with a strange little frown, and pulled back to wipe the pad of his finger on his robes, as if you had dirtied him. You tried not to look as offended as you felt.

With the tea in one hand, bowl of honey in the other, you moved to sit on the edge of Caracalla’s bed. He wrinkled his nose at the tea. “I do not want any of your elixirs tonight, medicus.”

“It’s chamomile. It will calm you,” You insisted. As you began to hand the cup to Caracalla, you froze, remembering that he was an emperor. He wouldn’t consume anything without it being tested first, and he was too fragile for you to introduce another variable into the room. A small sigh huffed from between your lips. You supposed being poisoned on top of everything else from today wouldn’t be so bad.

Without being asked, you took a sip. Standing at your side, Geta watched you, staring at you like you were an enigma to him. You paid him no mind. “Eugh, this is incredibly sweet.”

“It is as I like it,” He said, reaching for the cup.

You pulled away before he could reach it with a small tsk. “There is a saying in my country, Caesar, one I am sure you will like.”

“I doubt he will enjoy foreign nonsense,” Geta said, though his words lacked bite.

“Do not speak for me, brother,” Caracalla snapped. Softer now, he fixated back on you. “What is the saying, Alga? I want to hear your foreign nonsense.”

Dipping the spoon into the jar of honey, you scooped up a decadent pile and held it out for Caracalla to take. His fingers brushed yours when he did, and, for some reason, it made your cheeks warm. He looked at you expectantly, your silence as you worked out how to translate causing him to purse his lips into a pout.

“A spoonful of honey helps the medicine go down,” You finally said.

Caracalla cocked his head to the side before he shrugged. In a single bite, he downed the entire spoonful with nary a flinch. His sweet tooth must be truly unmatched. Even watching him drink your unfathomably sweet tea made a shiver go up your spine.

“What does that mean?” Geta asked as Caracalla loudly slurped his drink.

A part of you was surprised at the question. Caracalla not understanding was one thing, but you were under the impression the proverb was self explanatory. Maybe Geta wasn’t as smart as he made himself out to be. A flicker of amused fondness curled in your gut before it was quickly snuffed out.

“It means making a task that you dread more enjoyable by adding a pleasant aspect. Taking medicine is never fun, however, adding a spoonful of honey to the situation makes it easier to swallow,” You explained with a small smile. Geta hummed and said nothing more, even as he kept his eyes fixated on you. It was clear there was something he wanted to say, and you had a good idea what it was. With a small smile, you brushed your knuckle against the back of Caracalla’s hand to get his attention. The contact was quick, you still weren’t comfortable being openly physical with him yet, but having him cling to you earlier helped. “Is it okay if I talk to Emperor Geta about what you went through earlier? I believe I know the root cause, and I am sure he is worried. If you say no, I will not speak on it anymore. You have my word.”

Caracalla blinked at you, almost surprised, then waved you away with a flick of his spoon. “I don’t care what you do, Alga, so long as you make my nightly medicine from here on out.”

“Every night, Caesar. Happily.”

After promising Caracalla you wouldn’t leave the room without his permission, you and Geta stood, huddled together, across the room from his bed. It was a bit difficult navigating through the sea of broken glass. Thankfully, you both managed with no injury. The last thing you wanted to do tonight was pluck shards from Geta’s feet. Caracalla watched the two of you from afar, neither pleased nor angry, simply some odd middle ground between the two.

Geta was the first to speak, his arms crossed. “You would tell me what you know, with or without my brother’s knowledge.”

“Let’s not start this again.” You were far too tired to mince your words, your tunic sticking to your chest, still wet from Caracalla’s tears. “First off, has your brother experienced any trauma in his life?”

If you didn’t already know the answer, the shadow that passed over Geta’s face would have told you everything. “Traumatic?”

“Witnessing the death of a loved one, experiencing a tragic accident, I…” You swallowed hard. This was dangerous ground you were treading. “An assault at the hands of a parent?”

Geta let out a long sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose. He didn’t look happy about your knowledge, though he held his tongue for his brother’s sake. “How is this related?”

“When the mind experiences trauma, there are many ways it can adapt to protect you. Unfortunately, it is not always as helpful as intended. In an effort to protect you from experiencing a similar negative event, it can cause… problems.”

“Speak plainly, medicus.”

“When Emperor Caracalla is presented with certain stimuli, it can bring forth a bad memory. His mind will force him to relive an event that terrified him as if it were happening all over again. Is there anything that seems to set him off?”

Geta glanced at the spilled incense and frowned. He looked too tired to be truly angry despite his dark eyes being harder than usual. “I had this particular scent discontinued. It was pater’s favorite.”

Well, that explained what triggered him. Geta’s lips twitched, it was clear he hadn’t meant to give that much information away. You decided not to comment on it any further to let him believe that you had missed the mention of his father entirely.

“There are other symptoms of this disorder—”

Geta stopped you with a raise of his hand. “I am already aware my brother has a disease of the mind.”

“Do you know the symptoms? Do you know the treatments? Do you know how to help him long-term?” You countered, trying to keep your voice gentle.

Drawing up in height, Geta tilted his chin down at you. “Do you?”

“I— I know enough. While I am a doctor of the body, I can help treat him as best I can. So long as I am your physician, I will always do my best. Of that, you have my word.” Your next words came out stilted, awkward, as you played with your fingers. “Caesar, if you experienced a similar event, it is very likely you have the same disorder. It simply is manifesting differently. I can—”

“I no longer wish to discuss this.” With a sweeping motion, he gestured to Caracalla, who had fallen asleep, the empty cup on his chest. “I will tell my brother I dismissed you. Go, now.” His gaze flickered to the visible welt on your forehead. “Take care of your injuries.”

Geta didn’t wait for you to respond. Instead, he turned and sat on the edge of Caracalla’s bed, resigned to a sleepless night of watching over his brother. You overstepped, you knew you did, but it needed to be said. As much as you were Caracalla’s physician, you were Geta’s as well, and his wellbeing was important to you.

They were not good people, but you didn’t need to be good to receive care.

It wasn’t until you were in the hall, prodding at your aching skull, did that horrible realization dawn on you. The one you had been swallowing for weeks, the one that you kept locked away in the back of your mind where it couldn’t hurt you, the one, oil slick, eel, writhing against your brainstem.

In a daze, you walked back to your clinic, eyes unfocused and hand picking away at one of the knots on your head. Everytime your fingernail scraped against the raised skin, a shock of pain radiated down your neck. Again and again, you scratched and felt, and scratched and felt, until the only thing you could think was—

If this is a dream, then why do I feel pain?

A/N: Oh my god. Okay, so, funny story, but this is not only the most words I’ve written for a chapter over all of my projects ever, along with being the fastest I’ve written this much. What are these ginger twinks doing to me??? This authors note is going to be a little long because I feel like I have a lot to explain here. So, for starters—

Nucēs relinquō! That’s a Roman proverb that directly translates to “reliquish the nuts.” A lot of childrens games were played with nuts back then and it basically means to give up your ties to childhood and grow up. Caracalla was basically calling Aelius childish there. It’s also a fun little reference to one of the possible titles I had for this fic “Algās Relinquere” Ignore the conjugation on that one. Anyway.

Why Geta let Marianus live. This is hard for me to convey in the text because the fic is not from his point of view, but basically, he wants Marianus to experience life like he did. To never know when the next beating will come, only that it’s coming. Dying would be too kind and too easy, Geta knows this from personal experience. He’s vindictive and angry, and something, something, cycle of abuse. There’s a lot to be said here that I’m definitely planning on touching on later.

Another fun fact, but playing with Caracalla’s hair helps soothe him so much because it reminds him of Dondas. She’s around, I just haven’t found an organic place to introduce her. Because, um, Alga is going to see a whole ass monkey and wojack point at her. Also if you’re wondering where Geta was because no one could find him, he was brooding. Skulking around with an evil ass Eeyore cloud following him. He had much to think about.

Lastly. Two warnings I feel morally obligated to share about this fic. One. The smut is going to be fucking weird, I must say. Geta’s a freak, Caracalla’s a freak, I’m a freak. It’s freak city in here. All the smut will be properly tagged and warned, and also skippable, yay! A few of the wilder kinks I’ll probably end up touching on will be medical / surgical roleplay and a bit of blood / pain stuff from Caracalla. I’m not an avid smut writer, so I can’t guarantee if it’ll be good, but it WILL be strange. Two. Alga’s ‘I Can Fix Them’ disorder just might win. I have character development planned for Geta and Caracalla, and I don’t want to be all love conquers all, because they’re both eternally fucked up people, but they DO get character development. They will get marginally better. Just a heads up.

Now, the real last thing. Oh my god, I would love to hear y’alls thoughts on this chapter. I was at this shit in my google docs like a blacksmith at a forge. Hanmering away at this molten steel like my life depended on it. I’m both proud and nervous to share this one, and I am so, so curious to know how people feel about it. Comment, reply, send an ask on anon, but seriously, it makes my DAYYYYY. I start glowing and flying like Spongebob in a goofy goober rock, I’m so serious.

Okay, done for real this time. Hugs you!!! Thank you for reading as always, bye bye!!!

Taglist: @snazzynacho @t6gse370 @cherrysweets-world @justlibra

#emperor caracalla x reader #emperor geta x reader #emperor caracalla x you #emperor geta x you #gladiator x reader #gladiator ii #gladiator 2 fanfiction #THIS IS SO LONG.

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grlsbstshot · 12 days ago

Text

NEON LIGHTS

Pairing (Original Characters):

Jameson Lucas (Aaron Pierre) x Imani St. Cirie (Megan thee Stallion) Genie Adesanya (Jayme Lawson) x Ellington “EJ” Dupree (Kelvin Harrison Jr.)

Chapters:

Neon Lights Masterlist

Chapter Synopsis: The Aspen Aftermath

Warnings: 18+ (!!!!! -- minors dni), mentions of cheating, toxic relationship, parental abandonment mention, mentions of therapy -- if we missed anything, let us know!

Word Count: 7.5k

Divider Template: @cafekitsune

Notes:

The following characters are original creations. Their voice claims are Usher / Lucky Daye (Jameson) & Summer Walker / SZA (Imani). We have no affiliation to any of those artists.

Strangely, the flight to Los Angeles somehow felt less lonely than the one she took to Aspen. This time she didn’t have Isaiah. She was by herself but her heart was full. Her vibrant smile, radiating with happiness, caught the attention of the stewardess and pilot as they asked about her glow. All she could say was: “I just got some good news.”

A small chuckle escaped her lips as she settled into her seat. Gazing out the window, Imani’s mind was filled with thoughts of her recent trip to Aspen. It had been a messy yet clarifying experience, especially with Jameson unexpectedly returning to her life.

It upended not only Jameson and Imani’s lives but also Isaiah and Camille’s. Isaiah wasted no time taking his grievances to Instagram. He posted vague messages on his Instagram story that sparked speculation from the tabloids. His words didn’t affect her much.

She shared a little jab of her own at the basketball player on Instagram, then she went about her day. She was unaware of Genie and Jameson’s posts and EJ’s DM to Isaiah until later, but even then, she didn’t care. Her friends were only having her back in the situation.

Camille, on the other hand, was radio silent. The group hadn’t heard a single word from her since she left Aspen. It was probably for the best. Imani learned about Camille’s betrayal to Jameson days ago and she already reserved more than triple the rage for Camille than she felt for Sloane. It was an on-sight policy if she ever ran into either one of them.

A soft ping broke through the silence of the airplane, jolting Imani out of her thoughts. With a quick glance down at her lap, she saw a text message from Jameson waiting for her.

[forever mine ❤️]: miss u already. let me know when you land.

A wide, genuine grin spread across her face as she reminisced about their earlier conversation.

“Come back to New York with me, baby. I want more time with you,” Jameson pleaded, his intense gaze fixed on her. His large hands rested gently and possessively on her hips as she stood between her legs, her own hands resting on his broad shoulders.

She couldn’t help but tease him in return. “Damn, you feenin’ for me bad, ain’t you?” Her playful tone masked her true desire. She wanted nothing more than to fly off to New York with him, to spend every moment in his arms to recoup all of the time they lost.

He pulled her even closer to his body and she wrapped her arms around his neck, resting her head against the top of his head. “Mhm. Just like you feenin’ for me,” he murmured against her skin. “So stop playing and come with me.”

Imani shook her head slightly, torn between wanting to be with him and the realities of their busy lives. She remembered telling him they should never spend a night apart again, but she had responsibilities. “I can’t, Jay. I have some important meetings with the label.”

“You could do a video conference.” Jameson placed small kisses against her neck, making his offer appetizing. Yet, she shook her head and pulled away slightly.

“I can’t, baby. Besides, I think we need to spend a week apart so we can miss each other.” She sighed, knowing they needed this brief separation to evaluate everything that had happened.

“Well, I miss you already,” Jameson admitted, his voice laced with sincerity.

“I miss you too,” she replied softly.

The wheels of the plane touched down on the runway long ago. Her bags were swiftly loaded into the sleek black SUV, and she was settled comfortably in the plush leather backseat as the blurred lights of Los Angeles passed by. She was just about to send a text to Jameson, letting him know she had arrived safely when a phone call from her aunt Toni interrupted her.

Imani hesitated, knowing the conversation was inevitable. Toni’s friendship with Anaïs and the messy tabloids surrounding the trip, she was bound to know at least a little about what transpired. Imani’s finger hovered over the “ignore” button, but ultimately, she pressed “answer.”

“Hello,” she said cautiously.

“I heard you had quite the time in Aspen.” Toni said, forgoing any greeting. Imani should have known that Toni would be business first. She worked in PR – she knew what a good look was and the shit with Isaiah online was anything but that.

“I-um, it was fun,” Imani replied hesitantly. Only Toni had the power to leave her at a loss for words like this. She didn’t know how to absolve herself of guilt over what had happened between her and Jameson. “Jameson and I are working through our differences and getting back together.”

At that moment, Imani forgot that they were supposed to keep their relationship a secret. But who was she kidding? Toni seemed to have a sixth sense about these things — she probably already knew everything.

“I thought you were done with him last year. Didn’t you say he wasn’t the right man for you?”

“I did…but I can’t live without him, Auntie." Imani admitted with a heavy sigh. “He’s the love of my life, my soulmate.”

“Imani, what are you doing?” Toni’s voice held a hint of concern and exasperation.

“What do you mean?”

“First you break things off with Jameson then you jump into three different relationships in the span of six months, and now you’re back with him? What’s going to be different this time?”

Imani fell into silence as she struggled to find an answer to Toni’s question. What was going to be different? She had thought that love would be enough to get them through anything, but clearly, that wasn’t the case.

Toni sighed, breaking the silence. “Listen, I like Jameson. You know I do. His mother is my best friend. But even I knew to keep him away from you when you two were growing up.”

“What the fuc–”

The silence on the other end of the phone was blistering. Toni didn’t take bullshit or disrespect. From anyone. “I mean…I’m sorry, Auntie. But excuse me?” It wasn’t a secret that Toni and Anais were good friends. Everybody knew that. But Imani didn’t realize that it wasn’t just coincidence she and Jameson didn’t meet until a few years ago.

“Thank you for getting yourself together.” Toni responded crisply. “Jamie – for all his positive traits – is almost exactly like his father. And you, my baby, are exactly like me. Hard exterior, all soft heart inside.”

Imani was silent — something that happened so rarely, it was astonishing. She didn't know his father but Imani knew herself. She was all heart for Jameson and always would be.

“You two need to make sure this is really what you want, or else you’ll just end up right back where you were before.”

As much as Imani hated to admit it, her aunt was right. They needed to approach their relationship with a new mindset if they wanted it to work this time around. “You’re…you’re right,” she said slowly, finally finding the words to speak. “I’ll talk to him about it,” she promised.

“Good. We need to have lunch soon. I have some opportunities for you that you might be interested in.” Toni said confidently.

“Okay, we’ll talk,” Imani agreed, grateful for her auntie’s support and guidance. After saying their goodbyes, Imani ended the call and opened her text thread with Jameson, typing quickly about her flight home. But before she could send the message, he beat her by sending one.

[forever mine ❤️]: i made it back to ny baby. wishin you were here with me.

The city's noise was background -- filtered through the glass doors of the quiet french bistro she'd decided to have lunch at. The faint hum of music played overhead but she couldn't place the song. Camille adjusted the silk scarf around her neck, a small attempt to present herself as composed, even though her heart still felt tender from the events in Aspen.

Breaking up with Jameson had been difficult. She cried the entire flight home, isolated herself in her penthouse, and watched with horror as Isaiah put on a stunningly obvious show. Despite her anger and hurt, she had refrained from lashing out at Jameson -- probably because she knew he wouldn't hesitate to tell the whole story. After watching Isaiah's crash out, she wasn't interested in being the next one. She hadn't even unfollowed anybody. Camille simply logged out of Instagram and focused on herself.

It was over. Why prolong the pain?

Her personal development was important and after the mess of a woman she had become to wrap Jameson around her finger, Camille was more interested in sorting herself out than getting revenge.

Reaching out to Kendrick and thanking him for driving her to the airport had been just good manners. After her behavior during his daughter’s engagement vacation, she felt it was important to show him a good side to who she was. He’d been gracious with his acceptance – had even been kind enough to accept her offer to buy him lunch. It was a surprise but Camille was determined to show him she wasn’t some deranged crazy woman who had lied to the man he considered to be his son. She was a normal girl who had lost her way a little bit.

When Kendrick arrived, his tall frame and calm demeanor instantly brought a sense of ease to the space. He greeted her with a warm smile, his eyes seemingly assessing – wanting to see if she was something his daughter should hate.

"Camille," he said, pulling out the chair across from her, "Thank you for inviting me. You didn’t have to though. I was doing what anyone else would have done.”

She shook her head, a soft laugh escaping her lips. "This isn’t about Aspen, not really. I just wanted to thank you. I’ve been…reflecting on things. You getting me out of there was the start of me wanting to change things in my life. You were being kind when I was falling apart...it meant a lot."

Kendrick studied her for a moment before nodding. "I figured you might’ve needed a kind face. And, truthfully, I couldn’t let you leave like that without knowing you were okay."

The waiter interrupted briefly, taking their orders, and as the conversation resumed, the initial formality began to melt away. They talked about the trip, about New York, and Camille’s plans to refocus on herself – of which he completely approved.

"I saw the posts," Camille admitted, swirling her glass of water absentmindedly. "Imani and Isaiah... It’s a mess.”

“Yes. It is.” Kendrick agreed with a nod of his head. His gaze came to her and softened. “But Jameson told me…everything. How you two ended. It's understandable. He feels guilty.”

It was on the tip of her tongue to say that he should but she knew it was bitterness. She hadn't been honest with him but she didn't deserve for those two to carry on under the same roof as her. She scanned that whole weekend wondering if it happened more than once. Did they fuck and then laugh about her not knowing? Was she their foreplay? “It's…it doesn't matter. I realized I don’t want to be part of that strange, toxic thing they've got going on. I’ve been bitter, jealous, and honestly...It's exhausting. I need to move forward."

Kendrick tilted his head slightly, his expression thoughtful. "That’s a mature way to look at it. Not everyone can step back and admit when it’s time to let go."

Camille smiled faintly. "I didn’t want to end up stuck in a loop of what-ifs. Jameson and I were doomed from the night we met." She hesitated, her gaze flickering to Kendrick. "But I think I’m ready to start fresh."

The spark between them became undeniable as the conversation deepened. Kendrick shared stories of his past, his voice steady and soothing, while Camille found herself laughing and leaning in closer. It wasn’t until the waiter brought the check that they realized how much time had passed.

As they stepped out into the crisp New York air, Camille turned to him, her heart pounding with a mix of excitement and trepidation. "I know this might seem…insane. But I feel like there’s something here? I don’t know what it is yet, but I’d like to find out."

Kendrick hesitated, his hands slipping into his coat pockets as he searched for the right words. "Camille, you’re...a wonderful girl. But this is everything you aren’t looking for. It’s messy. It’s complicated. Jameson is—"

"Jameson and I are over," she interrupted gently. "And I’m not looking for anything messy. I just... I feel something, and I don’t want to ignore it."

She could see him waver, the loyalty to his family overcoming the brief spark of something between them.

“I’m very flattered, Camille. But I think it’d be best for us to leave things at…mutual appreciation.”

Disappointment set into her frame, slumping her shoulders. One afternoon with Kendrick had been more exciting than six months with Jameson. She couldn't help but think about what would have happened if she had met him first. “I…I understand. Thank you again. I'll never forget your kindness.”

He opened his mouth to say more but Camille turned on her heel and strode away, embarrassment tinting her skin.

Jameson cradled his phone between his shoulder and ear as he leaned against the kitchen counter, flipping through the images on his iPad. The suggestions for Midnight & Dawn’s next video shoots were missing something. His original plan had been to make Caught Up a single. Camille was meant to star but after his relationship with her had imploded, he wanted to move forward with something else. That meant his team had a week and a half to pick a new single, and storyboard a video. It wasn’t fully working. He couldn’t figure out what it was driving him crazy. “I’m not saying it’s shit. I’m just – it’s missing something.” He mumbled into the phone. His PR agent, manager, and creative director were on a conference call, doing their best to help him pull things together.

The week he had taken off to celebrate Genie and EJ hadn’t caused any plans to hit a snag but he was feeling overwhelmed by the level of decision-making he had to involve himself in. He had only been back in time a few days and everything was radically different. No Camille, new second single, new plans, EJ and Genie were engaged. And most importantly, he had Imani back. He was a different man than the one who had arrived in Aspen with his life ‘together’.

“We can always regroup, Jay.” He heard his creative director say with patience but he knew she had to be frustrated. They’d spent a month beforehand planning all this shit out.

“I know, I know. I’m just…I’m sorry. We’ll table everything but single two for now.” His focus was shot. All he thought about was Imani. He cycled between being frustrated she wasn’t with him and trying to keep his head above water. It was a blessing to be overwhelmed this way. The album had hit platinum quickly and people wanted more far sooner than he thought they would.

“I’m thinking we drop the next single soon. Give people something more to talk about. Build it with a few performances and then when the video is done, we drop it.” his PR agent said. It was a solid outline.

Jameson nodded before verbally agreeing. “Turnaround is going to be tight but I think we’ve got it.”

The conversation continued, his mind racing with plans to keep the momentum going. The double album was his most ambitious project yet, and every detail mattered. He barely heard the sound of the doorbell over his thoughts, distractedly he made his way to the front door. When he opened it, he froze.

Imani stood on the stoop, the cold night air curling around her in soft wisps. She wore a long coat, her hands tucked into the pockets, and her eyes held a mixture of hesitation and determination.

“You just gone stand there?” she said, her voice gentle but teasing. “It’s cold out here, boy.”

Jameson’s heart slammed against his ribs. “I gotta go.” He mumbled to his team, ignoring their continued chattering. He lowered the phone from his ear and hung up, completely forgetting everything that had annoyed him. “You’re here.”

He gave her a stunned grin before stepping aside, wordlessly inviting her in. She stepped inside his home for the first time ever as Jameson snagged her suitcase and heaved it inside. There was a beat of silence between them. He could smell her perfume and it settled in his bones that she was with him. It seemed to snap him out of his daze.

“I like your house, baby.”

Jameson’s gaze swept her body – from head to toe – as she walked around his living room. He committed her to memory as if she’d disappear. He had done his best not to envision her there. It was essential to give his relationship with Camille a chance. But Cami was gone. He wasn’t ignoring his heart anymore. And his heart felt glad to see her in his space. He dropped her suitcase and cast it aside.

“Thank you.” He spoke softly, a grin on his lips. “How'd you know where I lived?”

“Genie” she answered with ease. “She even offered me your key.”

Jameson laughed softly. “Well, thank God for Genie. I thought we needed to miss each other?”

Imani peered over her shoulder at him, shrugging as she kept walking. Through his living room and into the kitchen. “...I did miss you.”

He grinned, reaching for her, and was delighted she didn’t make him chase her. “I missed you more.”

Jameson lay sprawled on his back, his chest rising and falling steadily. Imani lay on top of him, her fingertips lazily tracing the contours of his skin. He kissed her neck softly, unable to let her go. His lips pressed to her skin constantly, soaking up every sigh or moan she gave him.

Her touch was light, deliberate, and distracting. He let out a quiet hum of contentment, his hand slipping beneath the sheet to glide along the curve of her hip.

“You’re quiet,” he teased, his voice low and rough. “I stressed you out?”

Imani smiled against his chest, her lips brushing his skin. “I’m just enjoying the view,” she murmured, her tone playful.

“What a coincidence. Me too,” he said with a grin, earning a soft pinch to his side.

She laughed, the sound warm and intimate, before falling silent again. A few moments passed before she broke the stillness.

“I told my auntie about us,” she said softly, her voice hinting at trepidation.

Jameson’s chest shook beneath her cheek as he let out a quiet laugh. “Already? I thought I was the one that couldn’t keep a secret.” Toni had come into his mother’s life when he was a kid. His father had left and Toni became their support. At least until Anais began dating Kendrick. But as far back as he could remember, Toni was around. And she didn’t hesitate to fuss at him.

“Shut up.” Imani muttered, lifting her head to look at him. “She called me when I got back to Los Angeles. The shit with Isaiah was…A lot.” Imani admitted, “And I couldn’t lie.”

Jameson raised an eyebrow, his fingers idly tracing the small of her back. “I can only guess what Toni had to say. Something about it not being a good idea? ‘You can’t trust him, Mani baby’ or something close?” It didn’t matter that she was his mom’s best friend, she disapproved heavily of Jameson and Imani getting together. She hadn’t been shy about it at all.

Imani’s lips curved into a small, knowing smile. “Not exactly. She said we’d better be serious this time. No games, no drama.”

“Well, she and I agree for once,” he murmured, his tone thoughtful but tinged with humor. “I’m not letting you go again. I’m not living without you anymore. I’ve had enough of that to last me a lifetime.”

Her expression softened, and she shifted to lay on the bed, her body pressing to his side as she rose on her elbow, her hair spilling over her shoulder as she looked down at him. “That’s why I was thinking... maybe –” She struggled to say the words and Jameson’s eyes were wide with surprise. She didn’t hesitate and she didn’t stutter. “Maybe…we…we should try couples therapy.”

If he wasn’t laying down, Jameson would have fallen over. His hand stilled against her back, his gaze locking onto hers. “That’s not a bad idea, baby.” he said, his voice steady and sincere. “Therapy has helped me work through a lot. And if it can help with us too...” He reached up, brushing a stray curl from her face. “I’m in. I want it, Mani. All of it. I want you. I want us.”

A slow smile spread across her lips, and she leaned down, her breath warm against his skin. “I want us too,” she whispered, her voice laced with quiet intensity. “More than anything.”

Her lips found his, soft and searching, and he responded in kind, his hand sliding up to cradle the back of her neck. The kiss deepened, and for a moment, the rest of the world ceased to exist. When they finally broke apart, she rested her forehead against his, a contented sigh escaping her lips.

“Think Toni will be proud of us for therapy?” Jameson asked, his voice teasing as his fingers danced along her arm.

Imani laughed softly, “Knowing her, she’d never say it. But even if she isn’t, it’s not about her. It’s about us.”

“Just us.” Jameson agreed, pulling her body over his again. For the first time in a long time, everything felt right.

Kendrick stretched out on his couch, one arm draped over the back, phone in hand. He stared at Anaïs’ name on the screen, his thumb hovering over the call button. He should’ve told her about Camille days ago, but every time he thought about it, something held him back.

Maybe it was how easy things felt between them lately, how after all these years, their friendship still stood solid despite everything they’d been through. Maybe it was the part of him that still wanted her to see him the way she used to. Whatever it was, he couldn’t get the words out of his mouth. If Anais asked if he was tempted — what could he say but the truth? He was. Kendrick exhaled, shaking off the thought, and hit the button. He had to tell her. Nobody gave him better advice than she did. He had to know how to broach the topic with Jameson.

The phone barely rang before she answered. “Ken.” Just his name, warm and familiar. A small smile tugged at his lips despite the weight in his chest.

“Hey,” he said, relaxing into the sound of her voice. “You busy?”

“Un-uh,” she said, and he could hear the rustling of fabric, like she was settling into bed. “I was actually thinking about you.”

That shouldn’t have made his heart kick the way it did.

“Oh yeah?” he murmured. “What about me?”

She sighed softly. “I needed somebody to talk to.” “You can talk to me about anything.” “I know. I..I heard from my mother today.”

Kendrick’s easy grin faded. He sat up, gripping the phone a little tighter. “What?” Anais and her mother didn’t get along. He didn’t know details but the two women had a fairly complicated relationship. He had only met her once…and it had been a disaster of a dinner. Ana had been in tears by the time it was over and her mother was uninvited from their wedding. It had been horrifying. He doubted the two would ever talk again.

“It was an email. She didn’t call.” Her voice was calm, like this was any other conversation, but Kendrick felt the shift and he didn’t like it.

“What’d she want?” Kendrick asked, sharper than he intended.

Anaïs sighed. “JG would like to talk to me.”

His heart dropped into his stomach. JG. Julian Gautreau. Jameson’s father. He was a ghost haunting them during their relationship and now he was haunting their friendship. Kendrick watched with envy as the two made a life together. He hated Julian — envy made things complicated. As Anais’ star rose, Julian withdrew more and more. He became a mystery to any and everyone around Ana. He was Mr. Anais Lucas…and he couldn’t take it. Eventually, he abandoned her and their son. Even though he was gone, the effects him lingered. Anais found it hard to trust. Jameson suffered the most. How dare he come back twenty years later?

“JG is a fucking—,” Kendrick muttered. “Ken, please.”

He could tell that she was getting upset so Kendrick stopped but he could feel the anger almost suffocating him.

“He asked about Jamie. Said he saw him on tv and could hardly believe that was his son,” she said carefully. “Wanted to know how he was doing. He—he told me he regrets everything.”

Kendrick scoffed. “Twenty years too fucking late.”

“I know,” she murmured.

But there was something in her tone—something soft. And it made something ugly twist inside Kendrick. For years, he had been the one beside her, the one who stayed. He helped pick up the pieces, he raised Jameson, he made sure she never felt alone. He knew her pain better than anyone. And now, what? One conversation and suddenly this man had a place in her thoughts?

“He doesn’t deserve your time, Anaïs,” Kendrick said, his voice low.

“I never said he did,” she replied gently. “But Jameson is his son.”

Silence stretched between them. Normally, it would have been comfortable. Tonight, it wasn’t. Kendrick’s fingers tightened around his phone. Jameson was his son? Then what was he supposed to be to him? He had called to tell her about Camille. He had called because Anaïs mattered too much to keep things from her. But now, jealousy had a stranglehold on his thoughts.

“I gotta go,” he muttered.

“Ken—”

He hung up before she could say anything else. The action shocking him. His jaw clenched as he stared at his phone. He didn’t like this feeling. Didn’t like the way it made him feel like he had something to prove. Without thinking, he scrolled through his contacts. Camille’s name stared back at him.

He had rejected her for his son. For Anais. She sparked something in him — something that hadn’t been touched since Anais left him — and he had walked away from it. It seemed to be for nothing.

Kendrick hit call.

She picked up instantly, her voice timid and hesitant. “I…I didn’t think I’d hear from you again. Hi.”

Kendrick leaned back, sighing. His chest still felt tight. “That date you wanted? I’m free.”

She was quiet, surprise evident. “I…I thought you said —” “I did. And I was right. But…you were right too. There’s something there. And I don’t think we should look away from it.”

Five minutes later, they had made a date. But it didn’t make him feel better.

The air in New York felt suffocating, a stark contrast to the playful energy she felt when she first arrived. Now, there was only silence — a heavy, all-consuming silence that seemed to grow larger with each passing moment. His house was colder than the city air in January. If she knew that therapy would end with them not talking, she wouldn’t have suggested it.

Imani sat stiffly on the couch, her discomfort palpable as she avoided making eye contact with Jameson. He sat just a few feet away on a barstool, but it might as well have been football fields between them. The tension in the room was thick and suffocating, mirroring the atmosphere of their relationship.

“So this it? It’s just gonna be silent for the rest of the time you’re here?” Jameson’s words cut through the air like a knife. His deep baritone voice, normally soothing to Imani, now sounded like a chair dragged across a wooden floor.

“The fuck else do we have to talk about? You said it all in therapy.” Imani shot back, her tone dripping with bitterness and resentment.

“Why’d you suggest therapy if you wasn’t with it?” Jameson turned to face her full, their eyes locking in a tense stare-down.

“I didn’t know it would turn into the ‘fuck Imani’ fest.”“You know that’s not what it was.”

“Yes it was! You were so comfortable telling a stranger everything I did wrong.” She scoffed. “Then the bitch had the nerve to say she don’t think we should be together. And then you gon’ say let’s hear her out.”

“I told her my dirt too! That’s what therapy is! You talk, you tell the truth. You figure out a way to live the best possible way you can.” Jameson retorted, “You didn’t even want to talk about shit. You just wanted to pretend.”

“Nah, that’s not it.” She shook her head. Her leg now bouncing like it had a mind of its own. “That’s not it. I would rather play pretend to a bitch than have her thinkin’ she can tell me what to do with my life like she did you. She don’t fuckin’ know me. She don’t know us!”

Jameson froze, the jab of him doing what his therapist told him to do sinking in. “Do you hear yourself?” he asked, incredulous as he leaned forward on the bar stool.

She glared at him with disbelief. “Yeah, what the fuck is wrong with what I’m sayin’? That bitch don’t know us. She only knows what you tell her.”

“That’s why you tell her the truth! What did I lie about, Imani?”

“I never said you lied,” Imani snapped back. “I said she don’t know us. She don’t know all the good shit we have goin’ on. That’s why she was so quick to say we don’t need to be together.”

“That’s not what she said. She suggested that we evaluate if we should be together. That’s her job. We’ve both said we aren’t good for each other, Mani. Just because she said that shit doesn’t mean we’re going to break up!”

“Okay, you ain’t supposed to be agreeing with her though! You was too quick to say let’s hear her out.”

“We should! I’m not saying she’s right about everything but at least let her finish talking before you get defensive. And she had a point about the way we use sex against each other, Mani, you have to admit that”

Imani scoffed, “she probably not even gettin’ good dick. That’s why she said that.”

Jameson rolled his eyes, brushing his hand over his face in frustration. “You’re acting like she had something against you. You mean as fuck right now.”

“And you being too nice about a bitch you don’t even know!”

“Should I do like you? Lash out because somebody made a valid point about our broken ass relationship?”

“Oh fuck you, Jameson,” Imani spat back at him. “At least one of us is sticking up for us.”

Jameson laughed sardonically, shaking his head. “Well, it’s about time you decided we’re worth fighting for.”

Imani’s eyes narrowed as she retorted, “nigga, fuck you!”

“Mhm. Yeah. Since it upset you so much, we don’t have to go back. Happy?”

Her glare intensified as she murmured, “Fine with me,” Imani crossed her arms tightly over her chest. “You probably fucked her anyways.”

He stared at her for a long moment, silent before he closed his eyes and took a deep breath. A minute passed before he spoke again – his voice tense. “I love you but you pissing me off. I’ma take a walk. I’ll be back with dinner. You want something?” He was clearly forcing himself to be calm.

“Nope. I’m fine.” She answered quickly with a sharp tone. Right now, Imani didn’t want anything from him. Jameson being out of her sight sounded more appealing than anything else.

With a roll of his eyes, Jameson rose from the bar stool and headed out the front door. It clicked closed softly behind him – not the slam she expected.

Paris had been good for her — time to think, to breathe, to put distance between herself and everything that had kept her stagnant. She’d worked on herself, on her art, on her emotional baggage. She’d tried to forget about Jameson, or at least push the ache of him to the back of her mind, but it hadn’t been easy. Especially when she heard about his reunion with Imani. Part of her knew that exposing Camille had done that but Sloane didn’t particularly care. Her former friend had really thought she could double cross her. Even if it meant putting Jamie and that girl back together — she wasn’t going to let Camille beat her.

Sloane had always been good at pretending — good at being the supportive friend, the person who kept her feelings in check, who never let her emotions get in the way of getting things from others. But now, as she passed through the sliding glass doors and out into the crisp, early evening air of Los Angeles, the facade cracked just a little. Her phone buzzed in her pocket, the familiar sound almost jarring in the quiet of the night. She pulled it out, her heart skipping when she saw the name flashing on the screen. It was a text from Christian.

"Long time no talk. I hope you’re okay, Lo."

Sloane hesitated, her thumb hovering over the screen as she thought about her answer. Paris had been a beautiful distraction, but she was still the same person, still struggling with the same feelings she had when she left. Christian had put his feelings away. He didn’t mention Imani to her, he didn’t hang around her. He knew when to let go. Sloane wish she had that instinct. Her fingers typed quickly, a simple response: "It was good. Needed some time away."

She hit send and stuffed the phone back in her pocket, stepping into a car waiting at the curb as she left the building. As the car pulled away, she couldn’t help but feel a sense of dread creeping up her spine. She was home, yes, but nothing felt the same. It felt like she was walking into someone else’s life.

The car sped through the city, lights flickering by in a blur. She could already see the places she’d been—places that now held memories of a life that felt too far away. She wasn’t the same person who had left months ago. She had changed, but Los Angeles hadn’t. And maybe that was the problem.

Her apartment building loomed ahead, the comforting sight of it suddenly feeling a little less familiar. The doors opened, and she stepped inside, taking a breath before making her way to the elevator. When the doors closed, it felt like she was closing off a chapter. But what came next? That was the question she still couldn’t answer.

Sloane’s phone buzzed again. Another text from Christian. "Dinner tonight? Let’s catch up."

She smiled, her heart lifting just a little. It was a sweet offer but she had far too much to do."Busy tonight. Tomorrow?" As the elevator doors opened, Sloane stepped out into the hallway. Her apartment, still the same, greeted her with a silence that felt heavy, a silence that only seemed to echo her uncertainty. But she was here. She was back. She could still hear herself screaming, watching Jameson walk away from her. A shudder ran through her body as she shook the memory away.

She was going to fix it. Everything would be fine. And he’d never walk away from her again.

#aaron pierre #megan thee stallion #aaron pierre fanfic #megan thee stallion fanfic #aaron pierre x black!oc #megan thee stallion x black!oc #original characters #celebrity ocs #celebrity fanfic #fic: neon lights #yall missed us?#WE BIKE

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khaylin27 · 8 months ago

Text

Down Bad

pairing: daniel ricciardo x reader

series: the tortured poets department

synopsis: daniel's childhood best friend, y/n l/n, has always been by his side no matter what. over time she started developing feelings for the driver but it was one sided love.

warnings: one sided love, mentions of depression and suicide

author's note: i knew this song was for daniel because of the tiktok edits of this song with him 😭 hope y'all enjoy!

Did you really beam me up? In a cloud of sparkling dust Just to do experiments on Tell me I was the chosen one

You and Daniel grew up living next to each other in Perth, Australia. Your parents were close with Daniel's so it was obvious you two would be close. Your family would spend weekends supporting Daniel in his karting and Formula 3 days.

Once Daniel got into Formula 1, he would invite you to races. You would always say yes because he was your best friend and you had feelings for him. Of course he didn't know because you didn't want to distract him from getting a World Champion title.

Every time you were invited to a race, Daniel would take you to F1 events. He would beam you up as his girl friend. Not the girl he was dating but a girl that he's been childhood friends with.

It hurt you so much when he would tell people you were just friends. You wanted to be more but you didn't want to distract him from getting a World Champion title. You were in a cloud of sparkling dust as you ignored the questions people asked about you two.

"Hey Y/N," Daniel calls your name. You were currently watching the mechanics fix Daniel's car. "Do you mind if I hold you like this?" Daniel puts your back on his chest as he wraps his arms around your waist.

You blush by this interaction. Daniel has never been this close to you before. "What are you doing Daniel?" You giggle to hide your blushed cheeks.

"Just doing an experiment on you." He smiles at you while the cameras are on you. Daniel then kisses you on the cheek. "You're the chosen one." He whispers in your ear so the media couldn't hear what he was saying. You laugh at his whisper while he continues holding you like this.

Show me that this world is bigger than us Then sent me back where I came from For a moment I knew cosmic love

Later that day, Daniel won the Monaco Grand Prix. He was so happy about winning that he ran up to you and kissed you before going on the podium. You were happy at the moment because your best friend had won and kissed you. That high of happiest ended when Daniel did his post-race interviews.

"So Daniel, we saw that you kissed your best friend before going onto the podium. Are you and Y/N finally dating?" The interviewer asks Daniel.

Daniel smiles before he answers back to the interview. "Great question," He laughs and continues. "No we're not. It just felt right in the moment. She's my best friend and will always be that. She's always supported me through my F1 career and my passion to win a World Championship."

At the moment your whole world came crumbling down. It showed you that F1 and him winning a World Championship was bigger than your relationship with Daniel.

After the post-race interviews were over, Daniel went to his driver room to change into normal clothes. He then sees that you're crying. "Why are you crying Y/N?"

"You know you're a big jerk Daniel." More tears start falling as you continue to explain. "This whole weekend you've been playing with my feelings and I was thought you were trying to imply that you have the same feelings I do. But then you embarrass me to the whole world saying we're just friends."

Daniel watches you as tears continue to fall down your face. He didn't apologize or even comfort you. Instead he changes and leaves the room to head to his Monaco apartment. That night you decided to fly back home not wanting to celebrate with Daniel after his Monaco win.

For a moment you knew cosmic love, but it ended you being sent back to where you came from.

Now I'm down bad crying at the gym Everything comes out teenage petulance "What if I can't have him" "I might just die, it would make no difference."

ynfan @/yourusername posted an instagram story earlier today at the gym with taylor swift lyrics as the caption. she hasn't posted since daniel publicly embarrassed her by kissing her before stating in an interview that y/n was "just a friend."

user1 the taylor swift lyrics 💔

user2 SHE WAS SO DOWN BAD FOR DANIEL 😭

user3 is teenage petulance shading daniel for his insolent behavior during the monaco gp weekend?

user4 i think she did. daniel was publicly being affectionate to her this weekend to then saying she was "just a friend." friends don't do that to each other.

****

After the Monaco Grand Prix weekend, you've been hitting the gym nonstop. You would listen to Taylor Swift songs and cry while running on the treadmill. Once you got home to your Melbourne apartment, your mom called you to see how you were feeling.

"How are you feeling Y/N?" she asks while you were cooking lunch for yourself.

"I feel like I'm dying," You tell your mom with all honesty. "I've always supported Daniel even when I started developing feelings for him. I hoped that maybe he would feel that same way one day. But not having him in my life makes me want to die. It would make no difference." You start crying as you express your feelings to your mom.

"I wish I could hug you right now Y/N." The flight from Perth to Melbourne was 3 1/2 hours. "Your father and I hate seeing you get hurt by Daniel. We all thought you two would fall in love."

Down bad, waking up in blood Staring at the sky, come back and pick me up What if I can't have us. I might just not get up, I might stay

A couple hours later, you woke up from a nap to a nasty blood bath in the media.

f1news DANIEL RICCIARDO CONFIRMS HIS RELATIONSHIP WITH CHILDHOOD FRIEND Y/N: During the Canadian GP weekend, the Australian driver was asked about Y/N. Her absence in the paddock has been noticed since the driver wasn't happy throughout the weekend. Ricciardo says "Y/N and I are not on speaking terms at the moment. I guess what I did really hurt her." The driver says with no remorse.

user1 who wouldn't be hurt if their childhood friend/crush just friend zones you while playing with your feelings?

user2 daniel please fix this 😭 i need you and y/n to be together again 🙏

user3 was monaco gp the last we'll ever see y/niel 😢 it didn't seem like he wanted to fix what he did.

user4 what if we don't get y/niel ever again 💔

****

After seeing that instagram post, you didn't feel like getting up. Daniel had no remorse for what he said to the press. You stayed on your bed the rest of the night crying over Daniel.

Did you take all my old clothes? Just to leave me here naked and alone In a field in my same old town That somehow seems so hollow now

Since your weekends were already reserved for when Daniel had races, you decided to fly back and forth to Perth to visit family. Every time you land in Perth it gelt like Daniel had taken your clothes. The old you. You felt naked and alone because you and Daniel would always come home together.

As you walk around the fields your parents owned. It felt so hollow without Daniel. You two would always walk around your parents' fields talking about the future. Daniel would talk about him winning multiple World Championships while you talked about starting a family with a certain man. He didn't know but that certain man was Daniel.

I loved your hostile takeovers Encounters closer and closer All your indecent exposures How dare you say that it's -

Coming back to Perth overtime became easy for you. It didn't bring you sorrow anymore instead it brought you happiness from all the memories you made with Daniel.

Every time you would go swimming in the ocean, it would bring you closer and closer to the memories you had with Daniel. All the times Daniel had some accidental indecent exposures. You two would laugh when someone saw Daniel being 'indecent.'

It felt wrong to say that it's over. But you were finally healing from the one sided love you had for Daniel.

I'll build you a fort on some planet Where they can all understand it How dare you think it's romantic Leaving me safe and stranded

yourusername I'll build you a fort on some planet Where they can all understand it 🇦🇺🌊🦘

user1 MOTHER WHAT DOES THIS MEAN!?

yourfriend are you in perth? since when!?

yourusername yes i am ☺️ i reserved weekends a while back for other things but i ended up back home! yourfriend we need to hang out soon! we have lots of tea to catch up on. yourusername of course 💗

danielricciardo you look so romantic 😍

user2 how the hell do you think it's romantic leaving y/n stranded for months!? you haven't publicly apologized for your behavior to y/n. user3 and he seems like the person who wouldn't apologize privately as well.

Down bad (Like I lost my twin)

What if I can't have him (I'm done bad)

yourusername down bad like i lost my twin

taylorswift you're better off without him now

yourusername that's right @/taylorswift 😌🩶

user1 MOTHER CHOSE VIOLENCE TODAY

user2 they were my endgame 😓

user3 it's truly over when mother agrees with mother tay 😭

Down bad (Waving at the ship) What if I can't have him

danielricciardo down bad, waving at the ship - archives venice 2022

user1 DANIEL CHOSE VIOLENCE AS WELL

user2 we all know this archives post was an excuse to post y/n

user3 HOW CAN YOU POST Y/N BUT NOT EVEN APOLOGIZE TO HER!?!?

user4 god i hate men 🙄

tagged: @omgsuperstarg @splaterparty0-0 @2pagenumb @c-losur3

#f1 #taylor swift #the tortured poets department #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #f1 fanfic #daniel riccardo x reader #daniel ricciardo x reader #daniel ricciardo #daniel riccardo imagine #red bull racing #visa cashapp rb

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starlostseungmin · 10 months ago

Text

stray kids ─── as one direction songs.

✰ pairing : non-idol!skz x afab!reader

✰ genre : fluff, angst, maybe suggestive?

✰ warnings : subtle mentions of sex and drugs, kissing, mentions of food and profanity. lmk if i missed smth.

✰ notes : uhm i really don't know what i wrote. this has been sitting on my drafts since november and thank god anon reminded me about it (i actually went on hiatus after minho's birthday last year so yeah) the songs i associated with skz members are just strongly my opinion mehehe i hope you guys like it, idk if you agree with me in regards with the songs but DO NOT FORGET TO REBLOG, COMMENT AND LEAVE TAGS after it! thank you so much <33

✰ tags : @notastraykid , @ameliesaysshoo , @l3visbby , @reignessance , @lix-ables , @skzfelixlove , @rachabreathing , @hyunverse , @minluvly

masterlist | taglist.

chan ─── perfect

honorable mention: little things

you already know how fucked up your life is but ever since he came, those days became different. it is always the small gestures that one fails to notice in the blink of an eye. you are just going to be surprised by the time it is done or how you managed to get out of a small inconvenience. he loves you so much that he would put you first before anything else.

chan is different from everyone else. maybe because he is labeled to be kind and so above average of doing the bare minimum which people seek from their partners. he’s perfect but he doesn’t think of it the same way.

you tried to convince him a hundred times but all you got in response is him being a blushing mess and his giggle that makes your heart warm every time you hear it. a smile would tug on your lips that would make him stare at you, he’d bounce back on the things you said to him and you think about what did you do in your past life to deserve someone as perfect as him.

“baby, you’re perfect,” you said for the nth time, “no, i’m not, but i’m perfect for you,” he winked. “that was smooth, chan,”

lee know ─── night changes

he might be the type to not show his feelings immediately but he’s the one who subtly shows them. it started slowly, he reassured you that everything would fall into place once you both could figure out what was going on with this relationship.

but as long as you’re together, the love you and him shared will never change. although the process of this love story has made things go in different directions, the thought of having to stick together is essential.

your parents didn’t like him at first, they had someone in mind and that wasn’t him and yet, you didn’t care even if your first date was a disaster and the next one after that, but that didn’t stop you. it took a while for your parents to finally accept him after tons of convincing them that he’s a great guy, but it succeeded later on.

you had a place on your own and welcomed his cats to live with you when some of them were wild, that’s what you think. minho was a mess when you met him, but thanks to you, it’s not that bad anymore.

changbin ─── temporary fix

honorable mention: i want to write you a song

changbin is the type to offer himself as someone you can lean on but it’s not always because of this friendship you have, but as a lover who wanted to make you feel better and forget about shit.

temporary fix is not always meant to be a cover-up of something you’d open up again to allow another train of bullshits in your life. it felt like he was being sent from the heavens to look out for you, an angel whose sole mission is to make you happy, the same feeling like something that keeps you high.

there’s this thing on changbin’s vibe that you don’t want to share with anybody else and he makes you feel things when you’re with him. even though this relationship sounds like a fling and a guy who sneaks into your dorm late at night to make out with you, well, it used to be. but you know changbin is so much more than that after a while.

the phrase, “you can call me when you need me, you know?” whenever he sleeps with you is now in the trashbin the moment you settle to be someone to each other.

hyunjin ─── last first kiss

remember the time when he said that he chose to be the last love instead of the first? exactly. being the last person to love is basically spending the rest of your life with him, even if he’s not your first kiss, not your first love, not your first in everything, it’s fine as long as he’ll be the one you’ll remember as your eternal love.

hyunjin being fitted into this song is like a message that he wanted to convey to his love, a sentiment that would indicate how much he’d spend time and effort to stay by your side until the end of time. indeed, a hopeless romantic man he is.

last first kiss is the very first song that reminds you of him, it is part of those memories you made with him. it was that time when he decided to take this relationship to the next level, yes, he did mention that he wanted to be your last, and by what he meant, an everlasting love.

“let me be your last,” and when you heard him say that, you knew he was the man who fits perfectly into your broken puzzle that would mend the wound forever.

han ─── rock me

honorable mention: midnight memories

rock me suits him as well as midnight memories. but midnight memories have their effects on han, giving him the vibes of being a musician specializing in the rock genre. and as someone who loves to listen to almost every genre in the world, you fell in love with him after watching him busking by the streets.

you were amazed by how talented he is. his fingers strummed that guitar well, and his voice? like an angel. one could say that he is a free-spirited human being who does whatever he wants and writes songs about some things that piqued his interest.

then there’s you, a broken melody who longed for him to come back, the same goes for him who let you go. both of you thought that you were too young to be in love and jisung was better off alone but his songs were dedicated to your break up. you rocked his world when you came and left broken notes when it ended.

but he always believed that what you had back then, was real and that you’d always remember the love you had.

felix ─── why don’t we go there

honorable mention: kiss you

felix is someone who gets hyped easily whenever you’re with him. his bright smile, his funny reactions, and the unidentified sounds that came out of his mouth made him a fun guy to be with. it started with a fling that turned out to be something you didn’t want to rush but it is slowly beginning to have a label.

having a relationship with him offered different dynamics. it is the way he grabs your hand when you both start to get caught by the waves crashing by the shore or how he felt when you kissed him for the first time. he is someone who can get dragged with you to whatever your plan is, a great ball of sunshine to your rainy days, someone that you don’t want to be the one that got away.

he does think the same, especially the fact that he treasures you so much and it became an opportunity to love you more when you spend that one night together somewhere, alone. it was an invitation actually and it made you realize a lot of things.

it is the way he looked at those stars with those dazzling eyes of his. the constellation plastered on his cheeks glowed along with them, it is what they call freckles, you love them as much as how felix felt for you. having him as a getaway made you don’t want to come back, ever again.

seungmin ─── no control

night changes was the first choice but then no control became the one for him, no control, because he is, a menace. he believed that being in love was something that gullible people would do and get hurt, maybe a few of them proved it to be valid and worth it, yet he isn’t convinced because it is just a waste of time.

and yet, you came out of nowhere. it is the way he looks at you with those dazzling puppy eyes, the way he obeys the things you wanted him to do, and it gets worse when you share intimate affections. from a gentle puppy to a wild wolf. there’s something about you that drives him crazy every time.

nothing matters to him when you’re around and he never felt this way before. he’d kiss you out of nowhere when you reached home with your back against the wall as your hands played with his hair. he gets weak and powerless, but gets hyped and rough which you get caught off guard every time.

and he is very loyal, he always makes sure that no other will ever meet his interest. you don’t want to share, anyway and you got him down bad.

jeongin ─── summer love

honorable mention: fool's gold.

loving jeongin is like a breath of fresh air, the freedom that he finally held in his hands, and the time he can make up for himself to be with you. it was a reckless summer that you spent in your grandma’s place, away from the bustling city and this boy showed up on your doorsteps.

it didn’t take a while that you immediately had this puppy love type of interest in each other. you started sneaking out in the middle of the night when your grandma was in her deep sleep, swimming together by the river across the small town on a random afternoon, sharing a kiss under an oak tree that tasted like your grandma’s apple pie, it was great. you didn’t want it to end.

and just like any other summer, it did. you didn’t know if you would still have this continuous conversation when the school year starts since jeongin is miles away from where you live.

you saw him sitting on one of those branches of the oak tree where you kissed for the first time, and there you promised not to lose each other even if the summer ended. you couldn’t believe that what you did for less than two months was this serious. it was hard to say goodbye, yet you hoped nothing would change after the last summer’s sunset.

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wangxianficfinder · 5 months ago

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Fic Finder

Sep 5th

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1. Hello :)

I'm looking for this fic where lwj, jwy and maybe some others use wwx's inventions to travel back in time to before wwx was brought to yunmeng after wwx died and both lwj and jwy have all these plans to make wy's life better. lwj wants to bring him to gusu while jwy is planning to make his mother treat him better.

But, plot twist, the years pass and wwx hasn't been found and the time travellers start theorising that because it was his invention, maybe it pulled him back w/ them. later on, my is killed further establishing their theory that wy is alive and avoiding them. this goes on for years until the wen discussion conference when the top shooter is an archer from the wen sect named wei ying. the closing line of this fic was jwy, lwj and the others thinking that the sunshot campaign has been lost before it even started.

Also, there was a flashback showing that wrh's spirit had lingered after his death and he saw everything that happened after. so, when he saw them making the time travel array, he entered and went back with them. also, he was the one who killed my, I think by slitting his throat.

I don't remember if this was a multi chapter fic or not (I'm only like 60% sure it was), but I remember one of the author's notes saying that while jwy is saying that he'll make his mother treat wwx better this time, he knows deep down that this isn't true and that his form of love is selfish.

Hi again. I'm #1 from the sept 5th fic finder and I'm sorry, but it wasn't sunset, sunrise. It was more jwy-centric, and it's implied that wrh is still planning a war

NOT FOUND! Sunset, Sunrise by Ariana Deralte (ArianaDeralte) (T, 41k, WWX & WRH, WangXian, WIP, Time Travel Fix-It, Crack, Temporary Character Death, sorry I killed a-Yuan for a few paragraphs before the time travel, WWX is a Wen, Genius WWX, WRH gets to rewatch the series as a treat, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, in this house we acknowledge that all the sects have flaws, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, WWX Has ADHD, Bad Parents JFM & YZY, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Autistic LWJ)

FOUND? Lost Oppurtunities by Scarlet914 (T, 5k, JC & LWJ, WWX & WRH, Canon Divergence, Time Travel Fix-It, JC Needs a Hug, Sad JC, JC is Bad at Feelings, JC-centric, Golden Core Reveal, Sad LWJ, Sad LXC, BAMF WWX, YLLZ WWX, POV WRH, Qishan Wen Sect Wins the Sunshot Campaign, Gusu Lan Sect, YZY Bashing, Bad Parent YZY, Mentioned JYL, One-Sided WangXian, WWX is a Wen, Inventor WWX, Genius WWX)

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2. hi thank you for all you do! i’m looking for a fic that starts during the cloud recess arc. wei ying steals lan zhan’s clothes/blankets and makes a nest on his bed? and lan zhan notices someone is stealing his laundry but doesn’t immediately realize it’s wei ying? @hashtagad

FOUND! this mattress is a desert island by bbyminmaki (E, 19k, wangxian, A/B/O, no sunshot au, mating cycles/heat, nesting, omega WWX, alpha LWJ, getting together, scenting, pining, friends to lovers)

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3. Hello! I have a request for ficfinder!

I don't remember much about it, but Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian were married (it was not post canon) and Wei Wuxian was walking in the woods at Cloud Recesses without his sword, and Su She attacked him. Wwx was able to dodge Su She's attacks. Su She was insulting Wwx and his relationship with Lwj, and Wwx was taunting him for being jealous. But then Lan Xichen showed up and was really angry at Su She. I think Su She got exiled and Wwx was kind of uncomfortable with that punishment, but the Lans were like "he attacked an unarmed person in the woods, even if you weren't married to Lwj, exile is a light sentence." I cannot for the life of me remember anything else about that fic, just that I think it was kind of long?

Thank you all so much!

FOUND! 🧡 Stunted, Starving Juvenility by TomatenMark (E, 859k, WangXian, WIP, Fix-it of sorts, Talisman master WWX, Not JFM Friendly, Study Arc, Getting together, Fluff and Angst, Engagement) They aren't married yet when that happens, but very engaged.

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4. Hi! This is for fic finder. Ithink this fic is about LWJ and WWX in arranged marriage. I think its for LWJ protection (? Not sure about this part). Then WWX is sent to a war but failed to come back and declared as dead. LWJ become a widow (it is a correct term?). Because he is still young, many pressed him to remarried, but he use a griefing period to avoid that. I think he write a poem and become famous because of those romantic poem and ballad using a fake name. And then near the end there are a negotiation to exchange prisoner and WWX is not one of them (?) It was revealed that someone want him dead and dont want him be rescued (i think it was yxy?). A yuan, who should not be there tells lwj about wwx. Wwx then rescued and the three of them in the inn. As wwx rest there, JWY visited and talked. Lwj then bring wwx and a yuan to his house in capital. I think there are a sheep/goat involved?. Wwx healed but there are some injuries that cant be fully healed. I think because of that he cant do something he was proud of doing. I dont remeber if it was his hand or leg or maybe his eyes?. I think then lqr teach wwx something. Thats all i can remember. Thanks

FOUND! ❤️ Where the nightingales are singing, and a white moon beams. by Moominmammashandbag (M, 52k, wangixan, jin zixuan & lan wangji, no powers au, grief/mourning, aftermath of war, angst w/ happy ending, reunions, fluff & smut)

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5. Hiiii, can u pls help me find a fuc where lwj plays cleansing gor wwx coz if he does that wwx will be free of resentful energy but his body is literally held together by resentful energy so it almost kills him but wen qing saves him and the core secret is also revealed. Pleaseeree help me find it, thanks!

FOUND? 🧡 decay by antebunny (G, 15k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Angst, Misunderstandings, Miscommunication, Fix-It, Angst with a Happy Ending, the fluffiest ending, Hurt/Comfort)

FOUND?🔒A Heart Undying by NonsensicalRambling (M, 114k, WangXian, Undead WWX, Canon-Typical Violence, canon-typical dead things the burial mounds, Fix-It of Sorts, Canon Divergence, Eventual WangXian, No Yīn Tiger Seal, Morally Gray WWX, Animals Eating People, WWX's questionable choices, Morally conflicted LWJ, Oblivious WWX, WWX Creates a Sect | Yiling Wei, YLLZ WWX, Sect Leader WWX, LWJ & WQ have an Understanding)

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6. Hi! For the fic finder

I have scoured ao3 dark lan zhan tag and similar but I still can't find this fic. I remember Lan Zhan gets like cursed (i think he got the curse from a junior accidentally) and the curse like lowers his self control and amplifies darker urges so he takes wei ying to a cottage to live his domestic dreams but at some point wwx realizes lwj is isolating them and wwx tries to trick him to send a letter to lan sizhui. This doesn't work abd LWJ doesn't realize he is cursed. The curse like hides the mark too i think?? It ends happily I think.

I wonder if I'm mixing fics or it's been deleted bc I just can't seem to find it?? Thank you in anycase!

FOUND! Clouded by diamondbruise (M, 15k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Getting Together, Case Ficish, Curses, Dark LWJ, It's a curse, Dubcon Kissing, Jealousy, Sharing a Bed, Angst with a Happy Ending, Dubious Consent, no sex in this fic just in general)

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7. Hi! This is for fic finder. Qin Su ressurected someone (either wwx or jyl im not sure but i think it was wwx). Whoever in that body now do qin su duty and trying to make her own power without jgy knowing. And then there was a flood. She help people there as expected, but she do her duty too competent. JGY now suspect it was not QS in that body and confront her. Thats all i can remember. Thank you! @idontknowwhattowriteforusername

NOT FOUND!🔒Everyanything by deliciousblizzardshark, lingeringdust (E, 46k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Franken-canon, Gender Identity, Gender Dysphoria, Trans WWX, Protective LWJ, Accidental Baby Acquisition, tCanon-Typical Misogyny, Fluff and Angst, Vaginal Sex, Canon-Typical Major Character Death)

NOT FOUND! the problem with authority by isabilightwood (M, 139k, wangxian, qingli, Canon Divergence, Sacrifice Summon, slightly dark!JYL, wq lives because i said so, Angst with a Happy Ending, Chronic Pain, Mild Sexual Content, Top/Bottom Versatile | Switch WangXian, manipulative relationship (background xiyao))

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8. Hello! I'm trying to remember the name of a long fic where wx are hooking up, no relationship. Wwx will come to lwj's super nice modern apartment, they'll have sex in lwj's big modern bed with a moving headboard that exposes restraints and then after wwx will take a bath and sleep in the guest room. Does this ring any bells?

FOUND? A Sure Thing by vesna (mrsronweasley) (E, 95k, WangXian, Modern, Sugar Daddy, Sex Work, Light Dom/sub, Aftercare, Semi-Public Sex, Exhibitionism, Bondage, use of sex toys, boundary setting, Relationship Negotiation, many baths, Barebacking)

FOUND? show me a quiver, give me tonight by spookykingdomstarlight (E, 115k, wangxian, lwj/others, communication failure, mutual pining, artists, demisexual wwx, angst w/ happy ending)

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9. please help oh wonderful mods : a favorite Cloud Recesses Study AU with injured talisman genius Wy, ace Jin Zixuan, good mother Jin, WY explodes badguy Wen’s heads - couldnt find it again!! @oldoni

FOUND! 🧡 To have and to hold by Moominmammashandbag (M, 78k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Major character injury, CQL verse, Happy Ending)

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10. hi i’m looking for a fic i read a long time ago. it was a post-canon jc & wwx reconciliation fic. i believe it was jc and an oc jiang disciple on a night hunt where they ran into wangxian who were also working on that case. i remember there was some sort of misunderstanding regarding this (i think he found some letter?) but not the exact details of it. one scene i remember clearly was jc finding out wangxian were married and being a little hurt that he wasn’t invited. after they opened up, wwx told him he was there for it and when jc realized he meant the two bows in the jiang ancestral hall, he said smth like jyl would be rolling in her grave and demands a proper ceremony i think @nalalie

FOUND!🔒asunder by alessandriana (M, 51k, JC & WWX, JC & LWJ, WangXian, Post-Canon, Hurt/Comfort, Whump, Twin Prides of Yunmeng Dynamics, Reconciliation, Golden Core Reveal, Violence, Implied/Referenced Torture, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Child Death, Case Fic)

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11. Hello to fic finder so here's what I'm trying to search for I remember it as a podfic and I remember it was in Lan zhan POV I think and it was like him thinking about wei ying leaving the cloud recesses soon and I remember one Pacific scene where Wei ying was teaching the baby Lan how to sew their clothes

FOUND? [Podfic] And Yet Here You Are by zaffre (T, 1-1.5H, WangXIan, Post-Canon, Domestic Fluff, Location: Cloud Recesses, settling down, LWJ needs a hug, Separation Anxiety, Teacher WWX, People being nice to wwx is my kink, And probably lwj's kink too huh, very light angst, Chief Cultivator LWJ, And Yet Here You Are by cosmicmilktea)

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12. hi! i’m looking for a fic where lan zhan has a type of hanahaki where he has a tree/plant growing roots in his back that he removes a few times. i believe he also worked with textile production and the fic itself had a very stylized writing and was quite angsty. thank you!!

FOUND? The Roots Grow Riotous by hansbekhart (E, 104k, wangxian, modern, fashion au, garment company, casual sex, group sex, implied/referenced cheating, switching, recreational drug use, angst w/ happy ending, single dad WWX, panic attacks, implied/referenced self-harm, grief/mourning, catharsis, body horror, floral horror) is the absolute masterpiece , Roots Grow Riotious by Hans Bekhart , it's taken off ao3. however I have a copy and I've gotten permission to share from the author, DM your email so I can send you a pdf. @/the-marathon-continues-nip

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13. Guys~ I love u blog and am so desperate so I will cut to the chase:

There was this wangxian time travel fic where they meet their younger selfs and go back again. I think it was 7 chapters. Pov was mostly LZ (Young and old) and young Lz was confused about why he "didn't" marry Wwx ( Wwx introduced himself as mo xuanyu)

Hanguang-jun’s Husband by lilacevergarden (T, 6k, Time Travel, post-canon wangxian being disgustingly in love, wwx bullying teenage wangxian, Yeah that’s it, Jealous WWX)

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14. Hello, hope you’re doing well! I’m asking about a fic I read a while back. Lan Zahn and Wei Ying meet as children, but Lan Zahn doesn’t take him back to the cloud recesses. Instead, years later, they meet during the disciples visit to Gusu. Lan Wangji remembers Little Wei Ying as Wei Wuxian, but Wei Ying has no memory of him.

Highlights include drunk lan wangji with other disciples, su she getting punished for trying to assault lan wangji, and more I don’t remember. I read this in 2019, so my memory is pretty spotty.

It’s probably been deleted, but I really enjoyed this one. Thanks for your help. @myshallweplay

FOUND? Sun on a rainy day by MiiMi (M, 194k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Childhood Memories, Childhood Friends, Idiots in Love, Happy Ending, First Love, Fluff and Smut, Angst, Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Reversible Couple, Bottom LWJ, Top WWX, WangXian/XianWang, XiCheng, Top LWJ, Bottom WWX)

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15. Hello! I'm looking for a Wangxian fanfic. It took place in a modern au. LWJ and WWN's entire family were gathered for a barbecue, and Wangxian was fighting. There is a moment when Lan Wangji is about to eat something spicy, and Wei Wuxian stops him from eating, but they continue to fight. I remember that at some point, Wei Wuxian is eating this spicy dish, and Lan Wangji gets up to kiss him. And horrified by this situation, Jiang Yanli spills a glass of wine on Lan Wangji's shirt. I remember the story ended with Wei Wuxian saying that her husband was a knight with him and them going away to clean Wangji's shirt @a-ghostking

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17. This is probably some sort of canon divergence, not post-canon. I think it might take place somewhere after WWX busts out the Wens but before the shit hits the fan. Anyway, the specific detail we're working with here: WWX asks how the yin iron pieces were destroyed, please don't say you just chucked them in the volcano, then tells the sect leaders they fucked up and Qishan is going to explode with resentment if something is not done soon. Thank you 🖤 @linderel

I don't believe I've read this before, and I'm pretty sure the fic I'm looking for was neither crack (treated seriously or otherwise) nor time travel, but I'll certainly mark it down for later!

NOT FOUND! 🧡 built by the fires of volcanoes by isabilightwood (T, 26k, wangxian, time travel, crack treated seriously, canon divergence, fluff & humor)

FOUND! 🔒In search of safety by SomeDumbGuy (M, 22k, One-Sided WangXian, Canon Divergence, Angst, Hurt No Comfort, Incomplete Fix-It, Unreliable Narrator, JZX Lives, distruction of the yin tiger seal, Is it still hurt/comfort if it's comfort then hurt?, Blood and Gore) Here is a quote from chapter 3: “What do you have on the destruction of the Yin Iron at Nightless City?” Wei Wuxian asked. “We don’t have anything. It was thrown into the lava in the aftermath of the battle,” Lan Xichen replied.

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18. Hello

I'm looking for a fic published @ 2020 or so

Idk if it was dark lwj, but at the meal in Yiling, LWJs inner monologue was very critical, on how Yuan had no manners and the Wens were very bad for WWX.

Wwx might've also been outwardly hostile, but put up w it for the food @midnightlighthowlite

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19. Hiii, hope you're having a nice day :)) i was searching for a certain fic in which both wei wuxian and lan wangji are assassins and housemates. They both dont know that the other is an assassin too but they keep coming across on their missions.(i think they were competing and sometimes lan zhan was just watching wei ying do his job? idk) i remember wei wuxian accidentally revealing his identity by talking?? Something like that! Hope you can find it bc i've been searching for it nonstoppp T-T anywayss thank u in advancee!!! @for13years-i-play-inquiry-foryou

FOUND? silhouettes to steal this night by moonsteps (T, 51k, WangXian, Graphic Depictions of Violence, Modern, Assassins & Hitmen, Roommates, Rivals to Lovers, Fluff and Angst, Identity Porn, Violence, Blood and Injury, Mutual Pining, Slow Burn, Secret Identity)

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20. Hi! This is for fic finder. Its modern with magic (i think? Because the tech is not showed much) and single parent wwx. I think that lwj is sent by an institution to make wwx accept a contract to familiar because he didnt have a familiar for years and usually people who didnt have a familiar for yearst went crazy/died (i think it was a familiar. Not sure about that). In wwx house, lwj meet lsz. He then tried to confince lsz to study in institution. After that, i dont remember much. I think lsz transform and became a dog that kinda declared to the world that he is a wen. Lsz is left by wq as a baby and found by wwx. Wwx then raised lsz. I think they have a cat (or crow) that reminded wwx of wq. Lwj found out the reason why wwx didnt go crazy/die is because wwx make a clone of himself and killed it. Lwj found the corpses in wwx's backyard in a grave. That grave is near a tree. Long story short, at the end of the story, it was implied that wwx faked his death with jyl, jwy, jzx, and lwj help and moved to england (?). Thank you! @idontknowwhattowriteforusername

FOUND! Howling by MimiSpearmint (E, 40k, WangXian, Modern with Magic, Mortal Instruments Fusion, Horror, Eldritch, Domestic Fluff, Single Parent WWX, Witchcraft, Getting Together, shifter!lwj, yllz!wwx, Intercrural Sex, Hand Jobs, Angst with a Happy Ending, Switch WangXian, a bit of a degradation kink, anti-STI sex talismans, Anal Sex, Oral Sex)

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#wangxian #mdzs #wangxian fic finder #wangxian fic search #the untamed #wangxianficfinder #long post

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fandomsnrambles · 11 months ago

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The spinjitzu family has recently become my roman empire for some reason, you’re all going to see so much of them 😭

Anyway, i’ve been thinking about his relationships with his sons recently. And I know he doesn’t have a good relationship with any of them.

I know people argue ‘Wu was his favourite’ but i think if we actually look at how he acts, you realise he didn’t really have a favourite. I also feel personally inclined to respectfully mention that just because Garmadon said it, doesn’t make it true. Characters have biases that mess with their worldviews after all. It’s like saying Wu’s to blame for the devourer’s bite because he said he was. Even though he was like seven, maybe nine and had no idea that snake even existed.

Thats why you should take everything they say with a grain of salt and then consider their actions.

Wu’s relationship with his father is complicated. In the spinjitzu books he mentions how he wants his father’s approval, but doesn’t know how to start with getting it. We also get hints of the FSM’s (flawed) parenting methods in the show. I’ve noticed he’s emotionally distant even if he’s physically there. I mean, Wu says his father talked to them (Garmadon and Wu) less after the Aspheera incident. Makes me think that the FSM was definitely not there emotionally.

Due to this, Wu’s emotional needs as a child weren’t really met. His fathers distance hurt him and the FSM (maybe accidentally) neglected him. I say accidentally because i’m pretty sure the FSM is a traumatised child soldier who doesn’t know how to properly cope with everything so they just shut down/dissociate.

Wu was also raised with high expectations (alongside Garmadon.) This probably put him under a lot of stress to keep up. I’m thinking gifted child who got burnt out and more depressed as he aged.

I also think the FSM has trust and paranoia issues. You can look at Nineko and the way they went about dying for this. This guy really hands their son a script of where he died without telling him he gave it to him and mentions the bare minimum details. (I wonder if mentioning too much details got the FSM hurt. Maybe thats why he’s so distant.) Of course, trauma doesn’t really excuse being a flawed parent.

I also feel the need to mention that Wu unintentionally copies his father’s trauma responses. Heck, we could even talk about how Garmadon does the same, and later Lloyd. They all bottle their emotions and issues and hope nothing bad ever happens with that ever. Too bad for them though, we know how this ends

(Oof this is ✨generational trauma✨ at work)

Moving on to Garmadon, we know that after he got bitten by the devourer, the FSM helped him through his episodes and tries his best to find a cure. From this i can honestly say that the FSM did love and care for his sons. But this doesn’t mean they knew how to properly show that they did (especially because he doesn’t have a proper basis for what parent-child relationships should even look like.)

We see this when we get to know of Garmadon’s insecurities as a child. He doesn’t think there was anything wrong with him and seems to hate how the FSM tries to find a cure for him. Maybe because he doesn’t like the implication that he needs ‘fixing’ more than anything else. Garmadon’s also different than Wu in the sense that he grows more resentful of his father as he grows older whilst Wu clings to his father’s attention to get approval/praise.

I also want to mention how this resentment built up also affects how his perception of Wu’s relationship with their dad. He thinks Wu is favoured probably because Wu doesn’t have the venom and is the good one (because the venom apparently makes Garmadon the ‘bad’ one) and he sees his younger brother as the golden child. This probably built to jealousy and then guilt for the jealousy because Garmadon does love his brother a lot.

The high expectations also come’s into play here. It probably puts a lot of weight on Garmadon’s shoulders. Which doesn’t make his growing feelings of resentment better nor does it make his insecurities about his venom any better.

What makes this whole situation worse is that NO ONE in this family knows how to communicate. Wu doesn’t tell his dad or his brother how he feels, Garmadon doesn’t as well and FSM wouldn’t be caught breathing a word of his feelings to be honest.

This whole family would rather die than communicate ffs.

In conclusion:

#ninjago #sensei wu #lego ninjago #ninjago wu #lord garmadon #ninjago garmadon #ninjago lloyd #kinda? hes mentioned #master wu #sensei garmadon #garmadon #ninjago fsm #fsm ninjago #first spinjitzu master #ninjago first spinjitzu master #btw i hc he/they pronouns for the fsm #along with aroace #spinjitzu brothers

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bellarkeselection · 1 year ago

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Cross My Heart Promise

Gif belongs to @miyagiverse

Request from Wattpad Treassuredavis33 reader has cancer and is in the hospital while Cole is her boyfriend she tells him to promise her something on her almost deathbed.

Tag list- send me an ask to be added @cognacdelights @connieisthesun @bbabycass

The Walter family had been forced to remain in the living room by Cole’s request when I collapsed on our date out tonight. I tried to lie and say it was nothing but now there was no way of keeping it a secret. He would know sooner rather than later I suppose now. Laying in the hospital bed I had an iv in my left arm. My hair was pulled back in a messy ponytail done by my boyfriend. “Y/n, I finally got the doctors to let me see you. What’s wrong?”

Cole came into the room dragging a chair right up to my bedside where I could see true concern in his green eyes. “Cole, I’m fine. I just…how much did the doctors tell you?”

“Nothing. They said that they will only talk with your parents or relatives. So what exactly is going on?” He asked me running his fingers through his hair.

Laying my head further back against the pillow I sighed tiredly. For our date we went riding out on horses like we did on our first date. He was riding in front of me while I felt myself getting dizzy and I fell off my horse. “I should have told you before now. I just didn’t know how you would react or if I could handle telling you what is going on because it scares me really bad…” I felt tears falling down my face getting emotional over this.

Unfortunately at the age that I am the doctor found out that the cancer that my mother had was passed down to me. My hair had started thinning meaning that it would start falling out soon. “Hey, hey, don’t cry on me. Just tell me what’s going on and I can try to fix it.” He reached forward, wiping away tears that had fallen.

“You can’t fix what is going to happen, Cole. So I decided that we should just end things now before we get too involved with each other.” I admit avoiding his gaze.

He shook his head confused. “Why would we end things? I know I’m not good at the whole boyfriend thing but I don’t want to break up with you.”

“Cole, we really can’t afford to be together anymore. I’m not good for you -“ He cut me off climbing up to sit on the edge of the bed and holding my face in his hands so I’d look him in the eye.

“That’s ridiculous Y/n. If anything I am not good for you. I normally do hookups and commit with girls. Until I met you…I want a real relationship with you.”

Blinking through my eyes I sniffed. “You’d want to be with someone who has cancer?”

“That’s what you weren’t wanting to tell me. Why did you think you couldn’t tell me about something? That’s a big deal to have cancer.” Cole declared in a baffled tone,

Shaking my head I felt more tears coming down. “Be for real, Cole. You don’t want to date someone who has cancer. You’re the popular guy at school and could have anyone else. I understand that so I’m ending this so you don’t have to deal with all the stress later down the road.”

“What makes you think that I’d want to break up with you over that? I don’t care about my reputation. It's ridiculous to me that people don’t consider I might be more than the guy who sleeps around.” He rests his forehead against mine. “I’d want to be with you no matter what Y/n L/n.”

Placing my head against his chest he wrapped his arms around my waist. We let silence fill the hospital room. He had his whole family in the room and they had all been concerned since I had a relationship with each of them. Cole kissed my forehead hearing me sniffing through some more tears.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. I was just afraid you’d walk away from me.” I mumbled into his brown jacket clutching my fingers on his forearms.

Cole slightly pulled away from me and I saw some tears coming down his face too. “I’d never leave you because of your illness. I freaking have feelings for you so bad that I don’t want anything bad to happen to you. I want to make you happy and everything else. So you’d never be just a hook up to me.”

“I can’t believe you’re sticking around for me, Cole. I….I want a real relationship with you too.” I wrapped my arms around him in a tight hug and he hugged me back blinking away more tears.

A few minutes later he felt me draw away from him where he tilted his head downward to my gaze. “What’s wrong, Y/n?”

“Now that we talked about my situation there’s something I want to ask of you.” I trailed off and he nodded letting me keep talking. “I need you to promise me something important. I need you to promise me that you’ll be nice to Jackie if things get worse for me.”

Cole shakes his head not wanting to think about the worst happening. “Things aren’t going to get bad for us. Not while we are together.”

“I know you don’t want to talk about that. I don’t either but it is possible. So promise me, promise me that you will be nicer to her. She doesn’t deserve someone being mean to her after the trauma she has to deal with….so as your girlfriend I’m asking that you promise me this.” Squeezing his shoulder blades in my nails he didn’t waste a second in kissing me slowly.

I leaned into the kiss lightly smiling and he broke it whispering under his breath. “We’re gonna get through this, Y/n. But I do promise to be better around her for you.”

“Thank you, Cole. I appreciate it…” I smiled feeling him climb in on the other side of the bed once I scooted over. Cole wrapped his arms around me and I cling onto his embrace before we just let silence fill the room. Not wanting to talk about the struggles of me having cancer just yet. So we remained just holding onto one another for comfort.

Comments really appreciated ❤️

#cole walter #cole x reader #cole walter x reader #noah lalonde #my life with the walter boys #mlwtwb #jackie howard #cancer #reader with cancer #ask box is open for anything #requests open #comments really appreciated #wattpad request #hospital #colewalteredit #horse ranch #promises

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thetrashywritingwitch · 9 months ago

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Random midnight "Need and Want" snippet...

Figuring things out was hard. This whole 'dating each other and there's three of us' thing, plus adding his daughter into it... But they could do it.

And rather than wing it or tough it out with zero experience, you actually did some research and found some books and articles that came highly recommended.

"A book? Is this some self help shit?" Katsuki narrowed his eyes as he pulled the book out of the bag you handed him.

"I think we all should read it," you retorted while holding your own copy. Eijirou stood between you and flipped through the pages looking skeptical. "It's highly recommended from the forums and stuff I looked at for poly and nonmonogamous relationships."

It was still weird to hear what they were referred to with proper terms, like it was too formal for just saying dating each other. An unfamiliar, scientific name for a new favorite dish with conventional ingredients.

Eijirou grunted. "I mean, do we really need to read a book on it though? We've been doing ok so far, right? And it's not like we're unfamiliar with relationships in general."

"Did you already forget about when you got jealous and upset last month?" He immediately looked bashful as his thumb paused in the middle of a random page.

Katsuki still wasn't convinced. "What does a random author know about us and what we might need? One bit of advice doesn't fit every scenario." He didn't want to read about things that didn't apply to them or problems they could fix on their own. Yeah, he was far from perfect in regards to communication, but like everything else, he was working on it.

"So you think we can't learn a single thing from someone else?" You figured Katsuki would get defensive about this, but it seemed worth it to at least try.

"That ain't what I said-"

Eijirou sliced the air between the two of you with his book trying to literally cut the tension. "I don't wanna argue about this stuff... I think we can all agree that none of us are perfect and... " He sighed. "Maybe we've got weak spots that aren't easy to see. And I mean, we wanna set good examples for Hatsuki, right?"

At the mention of Katsuki's daughter, the chill left the room. Yeah, of course he did. She was his everything. Setting a bad example for her wasn't something he ever wanted to do. If he could read books on parenting, then maybe doing the same for their new relationship was the right step. He'd always set his pride aside for Hatsuki, and you and Eijirou now, too.

A week later, Katsuki sat up in bed with the damn book and his reading glasses while Hatsuki was asleep. Two chapters in and he hated how much he thought he knew, but details slowly became obvious the more he read. It also sucked feeling vulnerable, but that was also something he was working on.

His bedroom door creaked opened, light spilling in as a sleepy Hatsuki stumbled and rubbed her eyes before climbing into his bed.

"You're supposed to be asleep, firecracker," he said, shutting the book to rub at her hair.

Ignoring his implied question, she mumbled, "what are you reading?"

"A book," he answered flatly. Now was not the time for this conversation at all.

"Can you read me some?" She held her stuffed bunny and snuggled under the covers like she belonged there.

"No. This ain't a book for you. It's for grown ups."

Yawn. "Oh." A beat of silence. "So it's about taxes?"

.....

"Yep. It's about taxes."

#this so stupid lmaooo not sorry tho #kiribaku #bnha x reader #mha x reader #bakugou x reader #need and want #bakugo x reader x kirishima #i thought of the taxes line and just it got me idk why #the rest was just build up to her thinking adult books are about taxes and have no pictures and thats it #the dumb shit kids say with zero lead up or context

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inamindfarfaraway · 1 year ago

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The Morality of Mabel and Dipper Pines

Warning: Dipper Levels of Overanalysis Ahead

I’d like to make it clear at the start that I love both of these characters equally and they’re both good people, just in different ways. But I’ve seen a lot of criticism of Mabel’s flaws and less of Dipper’s, so I’d like to contribute to the discussion of their respective characters by exploring a divide between them I haven’t seen talked about much.

Mabel really wants to be a moral person. She places a lot of intrinsic worth in the concepts of ethics, like kindness and fairness and the wellbeing of others. Being a bad person could be considered her worst fear. It’s definitely up there with her other greatest fears of losing her relationship with Dipper and the inevitability of change, and those fears developed later largely in response to Ford and the baggage he brought with him.

Dipper just doesn’t care about that as much. That isn’t to say he’s a bad person! He's compassionate, selfless, brave and unquestionably heroic by the end of the show. They both are. But it sticks out to me how differently they think about ethics. For example, Dipper literally kills Wax Sherlock Holmes, while Mabel is so averse to hurting someone’s feelings that she can’t bear to break out of a false, one-sided relationship with Gideon until Dipper's life is at stake. You see what I’m getting at here? But I have more evidence! Buckle up, this is gonna get long.

Compare how they treat their rivals, Pacifica and Robbie. These are ordinary humans with no real authority over them who, age and class gaps aside, they're basically on even footing with in confrontations, so this is a good metric for how aggressive they are when upset and how much they hold grudges in mundane situations.

In “Irrational Treasure”, Mabel is deeply hurt by Pacifica’s mockery to the point of giving up her silly identity, and sets out to prove her wrong that she can be competent. But at the end, when presented with the opportunity to destroy the Northwest family’s fake prestigious legacy that they use to justify putting others down, she declares, “I’ve got nothing to prove” and lets it go. She’s secure in herself. Her motivation is satisfied. Why bother putting more pain and strife into the world? It’s Dipper, who has been only been hurt by proximity to Mabel, who insists on exposing the truth specifically to spite Pacifica and takes away that “Man, revenge is underrated. That felt awesome!” Revenge is arguably a form of justice, especially in this sense of revealing an unfair lie, but still, he takes great pleasure in bringing an enemy down for the sake of it, not to fix the damage they did.

In “Fight Fighters”, Dipper’s vindictive streak returns. He manipulates the ridiculously powerful Rumble McSkirmish into brutally beating up Robbie on the fraudulent charge of murder, threatening Robbie’s life. He didn’t realize Rumble would try to kill Robbie, but he was fine with him severely injuring him. Rumble is a fighting game character, a superpowered master martial artist. Robbie is a normal fifteen-year-old. This is not a sportsmanlike matchup. By the end Dipper learns his lesson and takes responsibility, but so does Mabel about hurting people to try to have a perfect life and people still complain about that!

In “The Golf War”, Mabel is again the twin with a bone to pick with Pacifica, but Dipper takes her rivalry more seriously than her and is more willing to be mean about it. He encourages her to cheat when she doesn’t want to, justifying it because Pacifica is “cheating at life”. Understandable, but still underhanded. While Mabel bonds and buries the hatchet with her rival by the end, outright declaring their rivalry to be stupid, Dipper holds onto it, refusing to forgive Pacifica at all. He disapproves of Mabel's offer to give her a ride home afterward, despite the pouring rain and her absent parents. He still wholeheartedly considers her “the worst” and tells her so to her face at the beginning of “Northwest Mansion Mystery”, even though he saw her and Mabel help each other in their fight against the Lilliputtians and Pacifica thank Mabel and accept her apology.

In “The Love God”, Mabel’s compassion is on full display. She makes it apparent that she wants everyone she knows to be happy, to the point of making a chart to show her friends’ feelings with stickers, and goes out of her way to help Robbie just because she doesn’t think any human being should be so lonely and sad. Dipper initially has no sympathy for Robbie’s misery and sees the twins and his old friends leaving him to rot as a good thing.

Dipper is more emotionally invested in hating people and willing to play dirty. Mabel prefers to see the best in people, forgive, deescalate conflict and turn enemies into friends whenever possible, and has more respect for honour and sportsmanship.

Compare the insecurities they highlight in "Society of the Blind Eye". These could have been their last words spoken with their memories of the summer, so they are fully candid and vulnerable.

Mabel confesses, “I only love some of my stuffed animals and the guilt is killing me!” She reprimands herself for not having sincere affection for all the people in her life… who are inanimate objects, hence this being a joke about how immature and overly sentimental she is. But she’s telling the truth! Not being honest about your feelings toward someone who loves you (as toys are assumed to love their kids) is wrong. It’s something a bad, or at least flawed, person would do. We also know that it’s something Mabel can do with real consequences - she loves Dipper unconditionally, but her frequent teasing of him instead of letting this on damages his self-esteem more than she intends and often realizes - and when she does realize as in “Little Dipper”, she’s ashamed of herself. Her guilt is that she’s failing morally, that she hurts the people around her despite her good intentions.

Dipper admits, “Sometimes I use big words and don’t actually know what they mean. I mean, I’m supposed to be the smart guy! If I’m not the smart guy, then who am I?” He primarily thinks of his worth in terms of competence. Dipper is generally not that confident, at this point in time. He has an intense drive to prove his worth. He is acutely aware of his physical and social shortcomings. But the one thing he knows that he does well is analytical, deductive and strategic thinking, and so to always have value he’s built his entire identity around being particularly intelligent. He’s the planner, the mastermind, the guy with the specialized knowledge and important big words who people have no choice but to respect and listen to, because a lifetime of loneliness besides Mabel has taught him that given a choice, they probably won’t. Except just like Mabel’s all-loving attitude, there’s an element of performance. He doesn’t know everything; he’s inherently irrational to a degree like everyone else. So he tries to seem smarter than he is. His guilt is that he’s failing intellectually and practically, that he isn’t contributing enough to be worth something.

This is where Dipper diverges. He wants to be ethically good less than he wants to be good AT things, and respected for it. But they both beat themselves up when they don’t live up to their self-assigned archetypes of All-Loving Hero and The Smart Guy, when they aren’t good enough by their own unreasonably high standards.

"The Last Mabelcorn" deconstructs Mabel’s fixation on her moral perfection. Celestabellabethabelle, who I will henceforth call C-Beth for short, manipulates it to keep her out of the unicorns’ way. She makes manifest Mabel��s fear that she isn’t good enough no matter what she does. We see Mabel push herself further and further to try to prove herself, much like Dipper in episodes like “Dipper vs Manliness”, and emotionally unravel until she’s miserable, self-loathing and openly listing her vices in a way never seen before. But this isn’t productive! Wallowing in shame doesn’t motivate her to be better! She needs to learn that although she isn’t perfect, the virtues she has are good enough to work with to both get out and kick C-Beth out of her head. She decides to stop worrying about meeting an impossible ideal of goodness and just focus on doing good, by using efficient (if violent, and therefore immoral under certain paradigms) methods to protect her family. Her plot in this episode has its detractors and I understand the criticisms that the message wasn’t handled as well as it could have been. But I think it does okay. Mabel definitely reevaluates her need to feel like a good person here. She switches from prioritizing what’s important to her, the validation of being "pure of heart", to what’s important to others and in the bigger picture, simply getting the unicorn hair to keep Bill out of the Mystery Shack.

Finally, compare the twins’ disastrous errors in judgement in “Scary-Oke” and “Dipper and Mabel vs the Future”, when they both accidentally unleash terrible forces of evil upon the town and set in motion a local apocalypse.

Dipper recites an incantation from Journal 3 that causes the dead to rise as bloodthirsty zombies, desperate to prove to the government agents before they leave that the supernatural is real and warrants their help investigating, driven by both his desire for knowledge (his tool to feel secure in himself) and more immediately his fear of being dismissed as unworthy. He is emotionally vulnerable, but still creates the dangerous situation on his own initiative. Since he doesn’t need a blacklight to read the spell and the beginning of the episode established that he’s already familiar with all Journal 3’s visible entries, he knows what the spell would do. He doesn’t realize how many zombies will appear or how dangerous they’ll be. But he is aware that there are risks. Plus, the Shack is hosting a party full of innocent civilians and Mabel has explicitly asked him not to interfere with weirdness. The one thing she told him not to do that night was raise the dead! And what does he do? Raise the dead.

Mabel is actively deceived and manipulated into giving who she believes to be Blendin Blandin, an expert in time-altering technology, what she believes to be an item of such technology, with the intention of warping time to extend the summer for the town. This is a selfish choice. But on top of how emotionally compromised she is, sobbing in despair after “the worst day of [her] life”, consider her internal logic: the end of summer is going to mean the trials and tribulations of growing up for both her and Dipper, and they won’t even have each other if he gets his way; Wendy is already going through that and has told her how awful high school is; she overheard at least some of the Stans’ conversation at the end of “A Tale of Two Stans”, meaning she might know that Stan will have to give up his home and business once the summer is over; and she and Dipper both have true friends here who they will miss and be missed by, as opposed to Piedmont where we only see them supporting and comforting each other and never hear of any friends. And it isn’t like she’s the only one having fun! Stan is happier than ever, Ford is back home, Dipper’s come into his own more than she could ever have anticipated. He’ll still get to delve into the mysteries of this town that he loves so much. But she’ll be there too. If you want more Gravity Falls, you can see where she’s coming from. She genuinely thinks that “just a little more summer” would be a positive experience for everyone, with plenty of good reason. Yes, she’s recklessly messing with powerful forces that she doesn’t understand. Yes, she isn’t nearly as suspicious of this sudden miracle solution as she should be. But she has no evidence that this would harm anyone.

Their responses after making their mistake are also noteworthy. They’re both horrified and remorseful. But Dipper expresses no concern for the agents for the rest of the episode when it looks like they’ve been killed due to his actions. He even nonchalantly remarks that he thought they were dead when he sees them again. Mabel, however, reaches to stop Bill and begs him to “wait” before he knocks her unconscious. Then she’s imprisoned in Mabelland, which is designed to make her never want to leave and based on how it only occurs to her after she renounces it that the neon colours and repetitive background music are too much even for her, may additionally have a direct, though subtle, influence on her mind. So she’s a little distracted from her guilt. But by risking her life to fix the repercussions of her actions and save the town, she shows much more responsibility for the townspeople’s lives than Dipper showed for the agents he’d tried so hard to impress. He just happily went about his business for weeks believing he had two people’s deaths on his conscience. Never even looked into whether they survived.

These differences in their personal moral philosophies add another layer to the parallels between the two generations of Pines twins. Typically, Dipper parallels Ford and Mabel parallels Stan. But less so here! Like Mabel, Ford very staunchly believes in abstract moral theory, namely that the needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few. He holds a grudge for weeks against Stan saving him from being lost in the dimensions through the portal, because it endangered the rest of the world by creating the Rift. It was a good deed with good intentions… but it didn’t only make life better for everyone. To Ford, that means it isn’t good enough. Hmm, which younger twin has a problem with judging anything short of ‘pure good’ to not be worthwhile? Also like Mabel, Ford’s self-righteousness is often hypocritical, considering his pride, selfishness and willingness to disregard the possible negative consequences of his actions, e.g. trusting Bill and building the portal in the first place.

Like Dipper, Stan is willing and ready to use underhanded methods to win against his enemies, to lie, cheat, steal and leverage assets he doesn’t really have the right to. He’s more inclined to be aggressive, spiteful and smug. As for holding grudges, even to an unreasonable extent, he personally despised a nine-year-old child even before he knew that the child was a bad person. He would absolutely summon Rumble McSkirmish to attack a rival for him. He prides himself on his cunning, another form of intelligence, and prioritises being good at what he does best over holding the moral high ground. He is shown to have lifelong insecurities about Ford being better than him in other fields (and thus explicitly valued more by their father); so his pragmatism is his way of trying to always be useful to the people he loves, and indeed a key way he shows them his love.

#gravity falls #mabel pines #dipper pines #pines twins #gravity falls analysis

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