#and i may or may not have written something for him too

[maybefae]

If you were written into a book, what would be the story? (Fictional tropes?)

Pile 1 - Pile 2- Pile 3

Remember, this is a general reading and it may not resonate for everyone or completely. Tarot is a tool to help guide but you are responsible for your actions and life, you choose your path.

Pile 1

Tarot: King of Wands, The Tower, Three of Pentacles, Ten of Cups, Two of Swords, Five of Cups, Page of Swords, Three of Cups, Temperance, The Empress, Ten of Cups, Ace of Cups, Two of Wands, Judgement, The Sun

Oracle: The Cartographer, The Founder, The Scholar, The Captain

I am getting two versions but with the same “ending.” And I originally was gonna use the deck I picked for your pile a couple days ago but I kept shuffling and nothing was coming through so I had to use a different deck. But some of the previous cards did come through! I believe that the deck situation does actually play into the story I am getting too. 

The situation has to do with a switch in power. This story starts with a king and this king could either be your husband in this book or your father. (I’ll let you guys decide what version you like best.) 

If it was your husband, this was an arranged marriage and one you really didn’t get much of a say in. Your family could’ve needed financial help and you being married off to royalty probably helped them. You probably went through with it just so your family would be happy. But the king was selfish, wouldn’t see any other way but his. He didn’t care much about you, liked the look of you on his arm, but would bed any other woman or person he’d like because he’s king. You didn’t have room to grow during this part of the story.

However, there is a turning point where you had enough or your kingdom was in trouble with his ruling and you end up killing him. And you probably made this murder look like an accident. I do have the idea that you probably had a servant or night that helped. This knight could be a love interest that you end up with in the future. But this is your big tower moment where you then are put into power without much knowledge on how to rule. 

But the people of the kingdom as well as the workers that were for you and the King actually adored you. They knew how disgusting, selfish, and greedy the King was; they saw how the King treated you. That’s how he treated them as well! And so the workers helped you, taught you how to rule. And you did a lot of studying, independently but also getting word from around town. I’m not gonna say that it was easy being put in a position of power, but you did it as gracefully as you could. It has a lot of found family vibes. The other kingdoms may have had an issue that you actually helped your people and weren’t greedy and self-centered but there are also hints that you actually end up uniting a bunch of lands. But you did grow into a well-loved ruler.

It’s like the quote, “Is it better to be feared or to be loved?” And in your case, it’s better to be loved because the people would go to lengths to defend you and the land. They have something to be proud of. 

If you wanted a love interest, I believe you get one and I have a feeling it is the knight I picked up on earlier. Or there could be a character added later on for book two of your story.

Pile 2

Tarot: Knight of Pentacles (The Entertainer), Wheel of Fortune (Life Map), Eight of Cups, Three of Pentacles, Page of Wands (The Wanderer), Nine of Pentacles, The Tower (The Shore), King of Wands (The Protector), Five of Cups, Seven of Cups, The Hierophant (The Phoenix)

Oracle: The Pathless, The Fate, The Alchemist, The Walker, The Sentinel

So I wanna start with the fact that there are two cards about “fate” here. And there is a blatant story that is shown here. This story has to do with time travel and you, as a character, having a hard time accepting fate. 

In this story, you have a partner that you were madly in love with, as were they with you. But this could be a historical fiction where they are drafted or they sign up to go to war. And while they were deployed, they would send letters promising a future. However, you end up getting news that they died in war. And you are hysterical. You don’t want to believe it’s real and will go to whatever lengths to get them back. 

Thus, this is where the time travel part comes in. I don’t necessarily know how time travel would happen in this book but I keep getting the vision of you going through time line after time line trying to find the one where they survive and make it back from war. A time line where you both can live out the future you planned. But each one, they end up dying. And your character is supposed to accept this moment as a thing that was supposed to happen. No matter if you went back and changed something in the past, it was bound to happen anyway. It’s like you can’t change someone else’s life. Your love wasn’t wasted. And I see a being, personified death, try to tell you this and you’re just sobbing and begging death for help. But it’s like you just ask, “What am I supposed to do?” And you don’t ask how you can bring your lover back. You want to know how to live. And Death ends up telling you something, but in my vision it’s like it zoomed out and I can see the both of you. His mouth is moving while you look at him, listening to his advice. But I can’t hear it.

It reminds me of the letter a soldier wrote to his lover.

Pile 3

Tarot: Nine of Cups, Seven of Cups, Page of Wands, Nine of Pentacles, Nine of Swords, Two of Swords, The Star, Ace of Pentacles, King of Swords, The Hierophant. Page of Swords, Eight of Pentacles

Oracle: The Waker, The Sentinel, The Chiromancer, The Miser, The Guide

I’m getting a few books or pieces of media that can correlate: Pride and Prejudice, Little Women (Jo and Laurie in particular), and Anthony and Kate (Bridgerton).

I believe that your story revolves around the complexities of the “older sister” role. You are the character that needs to control and look after everything or else you think the world will fall apart. But there is also an energy here of high standards and “why do I need a lover if I already have everything I need?” or the anger of someone wanting to come in, love and take care of you but you get angry because you have had to do it all by yourself. The anger of wanting this person when you needed them but now you don’t anymore, so fuck off. 

This pile is definitely for the enemies-to-lovers fanatics. There is an energy here of one-sided feelings but it’s more that your character does like this person but the unchecked/unhealed anger overrides all good feelings. This story is a journey of letting go and letting yourself be loved despite how uncomfortable and scary it is. The female rage, the anger of the older sibling…figuring out how to deal with the anger, letting go of control now that you don’t need to live in survival mode anymore. It’s the older version of you protecting a younger version of you, protecting your heart…

The love interest is charming. They can come off cocky and a flirt but may say things the wrong way which makes you “hate” this person. You think they’re a town bicycle, everyone gets a ride with them. But they truly do have feelings for you. They like the chase and fall deeper in love with you the more they have to work to break down your walls so you can see how serious they are. There could be events in the book where they come around to help and they could be the only ones that do come around to help you when everyone else is blind to your struggles and pain. And over the course of the book, you see that and finally take down your wall, slowly, brick-by-brick. And even if they like the chase, they don’t lose feelings when they finally get to hold you in their arms. They are completely serious, completely in love with you. And you get to have the safe home you’ve always dreamt of in the end. They are your defenders, even though they know you can handle yourself. The slow burn was worth it, I promise. 

Decks Used:  Ophida Rosa Tarot by Leila and Olive, The Rider-Waite Tarot Deck, The Citadel: A Fantasy Oracle by Fez Inkwright, Ethereal Visions Illuminated Tarot Deck by Matt Hughes Dividers: @inklore

[requiemforthepoets]

you’re the closest to heaven that i’ll ever be

ONE - BETWEEN WORLDS

𖤓 𝒔𝒆𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒔 𝒎𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕 | 𝒑𝒍𝒂𝒚𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕 | 𝒑𝒂𝒓𝒕 𝒕𝒘𝒐 ☽

PAIRINGS: charles leclerc x celestial!reader

SUMMARY: charles was never meant to see you—no human beings can see you except for those souls you have to guide to the afterlife. but somehow, charles did, and ever since he did, he had been very persistent to catch you, and when he finally had you in his line of sight, you decided to disappear on him once again.

REMINDERS: this is purely fiction, the way how the character is portrayed in my story does not reflect the person that is portraying my character in real life. always separate fiction from reality, and do not repost or copy my work in any way.

WARNINGS: bible angel names references, some people may find this fic offensive, concept of divine beings and heaven & life and death, no use of y/n, angels and devils, mentions of papa leclerc (beginning is set in 2017) and jules bianchi, fluff, falling (literally & figuratively) in love, named side characters, angst but with a happy ending, purely written fic, a little but of world building (concepts), mentions of death, bad/evil people, cursing, not proofread, and typos.

WORD COUNT: 6k

AUTHOR’S NOTE: this is the first part of the series! again, i would like to reiterate, this fic may not be some people’s cup of tea, if you don’t like it, don’t read it. there will be a bunch of fast forward, but don’t worry, i’ll include everything as much as possible so that you will still be able to follow through. i wanted to limit the series to five parts, so each chapter will be lengthy. reblogs and comments are highly appreciated, and i hope that you’ll enjoy this first part!

As a Celestial, the warmth of human life and ache of human loss are always at a distance, intangible. Watching over humans and guiding them in unseen ways, you walk through the lives of people that are filled with laughter, sorrow, and strength. Your purpose is very clear, that is to help them transition from their earthly ties to the beyond. It was an endless cycle, yet you often marveled at the peculiarities of humans.

Beside you on many of these journeys is Gabriel, a fellow Celestial who, much like you, watches over humanity from afar. Though you and Gabriel guide people through their last moments, neither of you truly understand them, they are bound to the sensations you and Gabriel could not understand, things that you could never feel—touch, taste, the warmth of sunlight on their skin, and how humans held onto life fiercely. Their happiness and fears are a foreign concept, ideas that stir something within you and Gabriel, but will always remain incomprehensible without the senses the only humans possess.

2017

On an ordinary night by human standards, you had found yourself once again in Monaco, within the quiet sterility of a hospital room, where the soft hum of machines filled the room, a steady rhythm of life intertwined with impending loss. You knew, as you often do, that someone would soon pass—Hervé Leclerc, a man whose life was filled with passion for his family and his love for racing, lay fragile and silent on a hospital bed.

You stood nearby, unseen, feeling the quiet tension of the room, and watched as his family gathered around him. His wife, Pascale, sat at his side, holding his hand, her touch featherlight, as if she feared pressing too hard might shatter what little life remained in him. His three sons, Lorenzo, Charles, and Arthur, surrounded them, their eyes solemn yet determined, trying to be strong for their father and each other. As you waited, you felt Charles approach his father, bending down so only Hervé could hear him, and took a deep breath.

“Papa, I did it. I signed a contract to race in Formula 1 with Ferrari.” Charles softly murmured.

The statement hung heavy in the air, and you could sense the hope in Charles’ words—a gift, an offering of peace for his father in his final moments. Though you knew that it was not entirely the truth, you understood, in your own way, that it was a kindness, and an act of love. Hervé’s eyes remained closed, yet his breathing steadied, a faint smile curling on his lips. You knew that he had heard Charles.

Hervé’s spirit, though still connected to his mortal body, seemed to hover beside you, taking in the scene. He looked on, his gaze was soft and reverent as he watched his family, as if he was imprinting this final memory of them deep within his being. His presence was calm, accepting, and you felt like it was already time.

“Tell me,” you asked gently, stepping closer to him. “What was your favorite thing in life?”

You always ask this question to them, in their final moments, what their favorite thing in life has been. They would always recall something that is deeply personal, yet beyond your comprehension.

“My family,” Hervé answered as he looked at you, his ethereal form somehow both weary and joyful, his essence luminous even in the face of mortality.

“My sons, my wife. Watching them grow, finding their own passions, their own dreams…that was my greatest joy.” His gaze lingered on Charles, and you sensed an overwhelming pride emanating from him.

“I remember how Charles would always run into the house after a day of racing, his eyes filled with excitement. I could feel his dreams even then.” His voice trailed off as he was reliving those memories.

You just stood there beside him listening, absorbing his words, though the feelings themselves eluded you. Humans and their intricate emotions, it was like a puzzle with no answer. Your existence was outside the realm of these emotions, yet there was a beauty in his words, you glanced back at his family, sensing how they held Hervé’s life within their own, like a thread woven through each of them.

It was then that something had shifted. You felt the air grow thick, as if some unseen barrier dissolved, and turning, you saw Charles looking directly at you. His eyes were wide, face pale but intent, as if he was unsure of what he was seeing but could not look away. Humans were not supposed to see Celestials, they could only feel a faint brush of your presence, perhaps. But Charles’ eyes are fixed on you, gazing at you with a mixture of disbelief and wonder. You froze, unaccustomed to this kind of attention, as though he was staring into something beyond the grasp of reality.

“Charles?” Arthur’s voice had interrupted him, a gentle nudge that pulled Charles back, though his eye still lingered on you. “Why are you staring at the wall?” He asked Charles, glancing at your direction as well, but you knew that Arthur saw nothing there.

Charles hesitated, a brief flicker of uncertainty crossing his face. He looked at Arthur, then back at the space where you were standing, his lips parted, as though he was about to ask Arthur, too, could see you, but he held back. He was still clearly torn between questioning what he had just seen and dismissing it as a trick of the mind. With a sigh, he chose silence, giving his little brother a faint shake of his head, brushing it off. He turned his attention again back to where you had been standing, but you were already gone, as silent and unnoticed as the night.

But, at that exact moment, a part of you had wondered, could he have truly seen you? Could he have felt the faintest echo of your presence, of your purpose?

You drifted back to Gabriel with the faint impression of Charles’ gaze lingering in your own consciousness—a reminder that even in your unseen world, sometimes the divide between the humans and Celestials could be momentarily bridged.

2024

Seven years. Seven years had passed since that quiet night in the hospital, but that moment with Charles had lingered in your mind like an echo. Since then, you had found yourself drawn to him, but not in a way that disrupted your purpose as a Celestial, but with a curiosity that seemed to grow with each passing year.

You had watched him move from promise to reality, the white lie he had told his father on his deathbed eventually blossoming into truth. Just a few months after that night, Charles had signed his contract with Ferrari, the fulfillment of a lifelong dream, and in some inexplicable way, you felt as if you had been there to bear witness to it all. Each race, every success and setback, despite going through a lot, you found yourself watching over him, a silent guardian he would never know.

Today, you sat with Gabriel atop one of Monaco’s high-rise buildings, the sparkling Mediterranean stretching out before you, and the entire principality sprawled below like a living diorama. The streets buzzed with celebration as the 2024 Monaco Grand Prix had come to a close, and Charles had finally claimed his victory in his home race. It was a win seven years in the making, a win that is not just for himself, but for the memory of his father, his family, and Monaco itself.

From above, you could see him clearly amidst the sea of red Ferrari colors, arms raised in happiness, face radiant with the kind of happiness only humans are capable of. Right in the middle of the chaos, he ran towards his little brother, Arthur, engulfing him in a hug that spoke of shared dreams and sacrifices, of family and bonds invisible, but deeply felt.

You just watched them in silence, the sight stirring something in you that had been dormant for as long as you had existed. Charles’ embrace was firm, his grip grounding, there was nothing restrained or hesitant about it. You felt a pang of longing, a wish as faint as stardust, and without turning your gaze from what was happening below, you murmured to Gabriel.

“Gabriel,” you began. “Do you ever wonder what it feels like…to feel someone’s touch?” Gabriel just looked at you, his brow furrowing slightly, a rare expression of contemplation on his normally serene face.

“Touch?” He echoed, as if the concept was foreign, a thing only humans grasped. “I’ve thought of it, perhaps, but…it is a human sensation. One we’re not meant to experience.”

“But don’t you ever feel…curious?” You pressed, your gaze drifting from the celebration below to Gabriel’s face. “We guide them, witness their lives, but we never feel what they feel. We only see it.” You let out a soft sigh, though it held no breath, a habit you had picked up from your time observing humans.

“To feel someone’s hand, to know the warmth they carry within themselves. It seems as if it would make understanding them so much easier.” You added.

Gabriel was quiet for a moment, his gaze had softened when he turned to look at Charles and Arthur below, watching as they held each other in a tight embrace that was filled with laughter and unspoken love.

“Perhaps,” he said, in a thoughtful tone. “But our purpose is not to feel as they do. If we were to experience what they do, to carry their joys and burdens…wouldn’t that make our task harder? Wouldn’t we lose sight of our main purpose?”

“Maybe…” you trailed off, there was a note of hesitation coloring your words. “But at times like these, it’s hard not to wonder. To see the way they hold each other, as if through touch they share parts of themselves they can’t express in words, it feels like we’re missing something that is essential.”

Gabriel tilted his head, considering your words. “I do understand,” he said quietly, though there was a trace of doubt in his voice. “But we are Celestials. We exist beyond the limitations of human senses, we are meant to guide, not to partake.”

You turned back to the scene below, watching as Charles lifted his gaze to the sky, as if looking for someone, or something, that could share in his win. You imagined, for just a moment, what it would be like if he could see you there, perched above, watching him as you had all these years. What would he think, if he knew that something beyond human comprehension had been by his side, through each win, each loss.

“It’s strange,” you murmured, almost to yourself. “Even after all these years, after guiding so many, I still don’t understand why they hold onto each other so tightly. Why do they need these moments of closeness?”

Gabriel gave a gentle nod. “Perhaps that is the beauty of humanity. Their mortality gives weight to every touch, embrace, and word. They cling to these moments because they know that their time is finite,” he replied quietly. “For us, existence is boundless. But to them, it’s fleeting. They reach for each other because they know it won’t last.”

“What do you think it would be like, if he could feel our presence?” You asked. “If he knew we were here, watching over him.”

“He sensed you once,” he reminded you, as he gazed softly at you. “That alone was a gift, rare and precious. Perhaps that moment, as brief as it was, is enough. Enough to remind us that we are a part of their lives, even if they never know it.”

For a long while, you and Gabriel sat in silence, watching as Charles continued to celebrate, his family and team surrounding him, arms draped over each other’s shoulders, and their laughter echoing through the streets. Though you could never fully grasp the intricacies of their lives, in the moment, you felt a rare, almost painful longing, a sense that maybe there was something beautiful in being bound to the world as they were. Something in their fragility made them magnificent.

Meanwhile, for Charles, that night in 2017 would always remain etched in his memory, shadowing his every step like a faint, haunting whisper he could never quite shake. It was something he never really fully understood, something he never spoke of, not to Arthur, not to Lorenzo, and certainly not to her mother, Pascale. Charles had kept it buried in the recesses of his mind, an unexplainable experience he half-believed and half-dismissed, but that, no matter how hard he tried, wouldn’t let him go.

The moment he had seen you inside his father’s hospital room, his first instinct had been confusion. In a place so intimately reserved for family, for whispers of love and tearful goodbyes, you were a stranger, someone so unfamiliar standing quietly at the edge of the room. Your form was as clear as anyone else’s, not blurred or shadowed like a moment of illusion. Yet, what unsettled him the most was that no one else seemed to notice you.

At first, Charles told himself that it must have been the weight of the moment, his grief playing tricks on his mind. After all, in that fragile state, it would be easy to imagine things that were not there. He watched you out of the corner of his eye, cautiously, hoping to see you disappear, to prove that it had been just a figment of his imagination. But you stayed, your gaze resting softly on his father, with an almost reverent patience, and as the minutes stretched on, his conviction that he was truly seeing someone, is real.

The memory of your gaze, so steady and detached, left a strange impression on him. Charles found himself glancing at you repeatedly, his heart pounding as he tried to think about who or what you were. He wanted to ask you why you were there, how you had come un unnoticed, but something about your presence was ethereal, inexplicably untouchable. You didn’t seem bound by the rules of this world, as if you were simply just passing through, a visitor from some place beyond.

Then, Arthur’s voice had snapped him out of his trance, asking him why he was staring at the wall. Arthur’s words were practical, a rope that pulled him back to the room. Yet, the second he had turned back to look at you, you were already gone—just as quietly as you had arrived, leaving no trace behind, it was as though you had never been there at all.

Over the years, Charles tried to put that night behind him, brushing off the memory as a momentary lapse in judgment, a strange vision conjured by the heartbreak of losing his father. But even as time passed by, the memory of you still lingered. He felt you in many ways he could not describe, as if you existed in the peripheral spaces of his life, just out of reach, yet somehow undeniably real. Every so often, in the hushed stillness of a race night or in the lonely hours before dawn, he would sense something—an invisible presence, a faint familiarity. It was as though you were watching over him, an unseen guardian who drifted along with him from one country to another, from one track to another.

Sometimes, he thought he caught a glimpse of you, a brief, shadowy figure in the distance, a subtle hint of movement where there should have been none. Once, while preparing for a race in Silverstone, he was warming up in the garage when he thought he saw you standing by the edge of the track. His heart had leapt, his mind suddenly thrown back to that hospital room, but when he looked again, you were gone, leaving only the flicker of your image imprinted on his mind.

Even his teammate, Carlos, noticed too. There were times when Charles would falter mid-sentence, his gaze drifting as if he was seeing something beyond their conversation, beyond the present. Carlos would follow his line of sight, seeing nothing but an empty space, a shadow that Charles seemed inexplicably drawn to. He would often give Charles a curious look.

“Are you alright, mate?” Carlos asked, looking at him weirdly. Charles just shook it off, smiling tightly, and offering a quick nod. “Yeah, yeah. Just tired.”

It became a pattern that he could neither understand nor dismiss. The feeling of your presence was both comforting and unsettling, a reminder that he was somehow never truly alone, even in the depths of solitude. There moment he had questioned his own sanity, wondering if he was simply haunted by the memory of his father’s death clinging to something he could not let go. But no matter how hard he tried, he could not shake the feeling that you were real, that he had seen you.

At times, he would catch himself searching for you in the crowd, hoping for just one more glimpse. Charles wanted answers, an explanation that would either ground him in reality or confirm that he is not going crazy, that his life had crossed paths with something beyond the ordinary. But as the years went by, he learned to finally accept your presence as a quiet, unspoken truth, something woven into the fabric of his existence that he would never fully understand.

SINGAPORE GRAND PRIX

The Singapore Grand Prix has always been one of the most electrifying events of the season, the country is a home for night racing—a race that is held under the city’s dazzling night lights, set against a backdrop of towering skyscrapers, and a sea of spectators from different parts of the world. The vibrancy, palpable energy, it all felt foreign to you, like watching scenes play out on a distant plane of existence you could never fully enter.

This year, the circuit was alive as ever, buzzing with the energy of fans and flashing cameras, the constant pulse of music and chatter weaving into the humid tropical air. Charles was in his element, navigating the crowds and the chaos with the ease of someone who had grown accustomed to the demands of fame. But in the middle of the swirling mass of people, someone unusual had appeared, unnoticed by most but utterly unmistakable to him.

You hadn’t meant to be seen. For years, you had existed on the fringes of Charles’ life, watching from a distance. But something about Singapore piqued your curiosity. It was the sheer energy of it all—the press, fans, and the kaleidoscope of colors. For someone like Charles, who seemed perpetually surrounded by people and yet remained alone in many ways, you wanted to understand just a little more about the life he lived. So you wandered through the paddock, watching from the shadows, taking in the sights and sounds, studying the excitement in the faces of those who adored him.

Then, as if some force had finally decided that it was time. You had found yourself standing right in the open, in the midst of it all, no longer bound to the periphery. There you stood, calm and composed, while people streamed around you, their movements fast and chaotic, yet never once brushing against you.

Charles arrived shortly after, dressed in his Ferrari team uniform, stepping into the crowd as he made his way through. However, his steps began to slow down as he walked, and his focus shifted the moment he saw you, your figure stark against the colorful, shifting background. You stood perfectly still, framed by the buzzing energy around you, as if the world had momentarily paused just for you. You were dressed entirely in black—turtleneck, tailored trousers, sleek shoes, and a long trench coat that seemed to absorb light rather than reflect it—you appeared like a shadow against the vivid scene, an undeniable presence, a figure of quiet, captivating stillness. The Singaporean heat clung to everything and everyone, beads of sweat visible on even the most acclimated locals, but you felt none of it.

For a moment, Charles thought his mind was playing tricks on him again. He blinked numerous times, expecting you to vanish, for your presence to disappear into the crowd as it had so many times before. But this time, you didn’t fade. You just stood there, watching him with a calm, knowing gaze that seemed to pierce through the noise of the crowd. His breath was caught in throat, and he almost faltered in his step. You were no longer a flicker in his peripheral vision, no longer a question lingering at the edge of his mind. You were unmistakably there, standing directly in his line of sight, unyielding and unfazed by the swirl of people passing around you.

Your gaze met his, and in that instant, he felt the weight of something intense, a connection that defied explanation. It felt like it was a bridge that seemed to span years and memories, drawing him back to that hospital room in 2017. Charles remembered your face so vividly, and here you were, the same mysterious figure who had watched over his father in his final moments. He knew instinctively that you were not something ordinary, everything about you, from the calm in your expression to the impossible composure you held, marked you as something beyond human.

Charles could feel his heartbeat pounding in his ears, a strange mixture of awe and disbelief surging through him. He wanted to reach out to you, speak to you, but the weight of the moment made it very impossible. The last thing he wanted was to draw attention, especially from the media and fans who circled around him, unaware of the encounter unfolding before them. He didn’t want to appear crazy, pausing in the middle of the crowd to address a person that, for all he knew, only he could see. So he kept his expression carefully neutral, his gaze lingering on you as he moved forward with deliberate steps, passing just a few feet away from where you stood.

As he brushed by, he felt a soft, cool gust of wind graze his shoulder—a breeze that did not seem to belong in the humid heat of the Singapore air. It was as if your presence had left a subtle mark on him, an unspoken reminder that this moment was real, that you were real. Charles continued walking, the weight of your gaze lingering on his skin, the connection between you evident as he moved away. His mind whirled with so many questions, with the need for answers that he had long since buried but that now surged back with renewed urgency.

Who are you?

What were you?

Why did you seem to appear only at the most pivotal moments of his life, watching him with a calm that suggested knowledge he could barely fathom?

But as he glanced back over his shoulder to look at you one more time, you remained exactly where you were, standing with your hands casually tucked into the pockets of your coat, observing Charles with the same quiet intensity. He didn’t need words to understand that, somehow, you were there for him, that whatever role you played in his life was not a figment of his imagination but something far more profound. It was as if, by some cosmic design, you had been an integral part of his life, even if he could not understand why.

It was both terrifying and strangely comforting for Charles, knowing that you were there, connected to his life in ways he could not even explain. Though he continued to walk away, blending back into the crowd, he could still feel your presence, like a steady anchor amidst the chaos of his world.

The night had already fallen over Singapore, casting a warm, beautiful golden haze over the circuit as the city lights reflected off every glass surface, every curve in the architecture. The air still held the weight of the humid day, though there was a subtle breeze stirring now, drifting through the emptiness of spaces high above the throngs below. This was where you and Gabriel often met, removed from the world you observed, yet close enough to feel its pulse.

You sat together on a ledge that overlooked the bright labyrinth of the track, each car flickering past like the streaks of light, their paths twisting through the city like a thread woven into the heart of human life. Gabriel sat beside you, posture relaxed, gaze steady on the crowds moving below. He had a serene presence about him, as all Celestial did, though his was tempered by a slight curiosity, a kindred spirit in your shared wonder at the lives below, though he carried the wisdom of countless lifetimes.

“Today…” you began, breaking the silence between the two of you. “I saw him again. Charles.”

“And this time…he really saw me. Not just a passing glance, not a flicker. He truly saw me, Gabriel. It was different.” You added.

The words felt very strange in the open air, as though they held a weight that went beyond their sound. Gabriel’s gaze turned towards you, a subtle light of interest in his eyes, nodding as though encouraging you to continue, so you tried to put it into words that felt almost too elusive to capture.

“When I first saw him years ago, in the hospital room, I thought that maybe he only sensed me. It’s not unusual—though I know that some humans have that…intuition. They feel our presence, but they never truly see us,” you paused, searching for the words.

“But this was different. I was standing right in front of him, in the open, and he looked at me as if…as if he recognized me. As if he has always known I was there, even though we’re not supposed to be seen. It’s as if there’s a connection between us—one I can’t fully explain.” You continued.

Gabriel’s expression softened with understanding, a hint of knowing in his gaze. He looked out over the city, his voice a low murmur that held the weight of something ancient.

“Sometimes,” he began. “There are rare occasions when certain humans have a heightened sensitivity. They can feel what others cannot, see what lies just beyond the veil of human sight. They can perceive glimpses of our world, though they never fully understand it.”

You considered his words, recalling the many faces of humans who had felt your presence, brief shivers down their spine, faint chill in the air. “But this doesn’t feel like that,” you said softly. “This isn’t just intuition. It’s more than that…I—I think he truly sees me. As if I'm as real to him as any other person in his life.”

Gabriel met your gaze, his eyes thoughtful. “There are many possibilities,” he said, his voice holding a trace of reverence. “It could be that Charles was born with a rare gift, a unique soul attuned to the spiritual realm. Sometimes, humans like him are able to see beyond what others can, though they seldom realize it. Perhaps, he was always meant to see you, even if he doesn’t understand why.”

“But why him? Of all people, why would I form this…this kind of connection with him?” You leaned forward, elbows resting on your knees, feeling a mix of wonder and bewilderment.

“Maybe it isn’t for us to know,” Gabriel replied gently, his gaze soft with empathy. “But there’s another possibility.” His tone grew contemplative, as though he was drawing from knowledge buried deep within him.

“Sometimes, when a Celestial spends enough time around a particular human, they may develop a tether—it is a bond that links their existence to that person’s life in a profound way.” Gabriel replied.

“A tether?” Gabriel nodded at you.

The word felt heavy with significance. You had heard of it, of course, in ancient stories, tales of Celestials who had unknowingly bound themselves to a single soul, a single life, whether through empathy, admiration, or something far more elusive.

“A tether is rare, but it does happen. It is formed not by choice, but by some force beyond even our understanding. When a Celestial is tethered to a human, it is as if they share a part of their essence with them. It could be because you watched over him so closely after his father’s passing, you saw him through one of the most pivotal moments of his life.” Gabriel explained.

The notioned lingered between you, reverberating like an echo. You had indeed been there, unseen, at some of his most significant moments, his quietest doubts, his rare happiness. You had felt compelled to follow Charles’ journey, though you could never quite explain why.

“But if I’m tethered to him, what does that mean for us?” The question was one you had not thought to ask before. It felt really impossible, like trying to decipher the meaning of a shadow that has been casted by an unseen light. “Is it my responsibility to stay close to him…to protect him?”

“Not necessarily.” Gabriel considered this, his expression calm and wise. “A tether isn’t a duty. It’s simply a bond. It doesn’t force you to act or change your purpose, but it can shape how you experience your existence—how you feel, and perhaps, in rare instances, it allows the human on the other end to see us, as Charles did today.”

You let Gabriel’s words sink in, the idea that your connections with Charles might be something outside either of your control. A rare, inexplicable bond that went beyond the boundaries you had come to know.

“Does he know?” You wondered aloud, the thought both terrifying and exhilarating. “Can he sense it as I do?”

“It’s possible,” Gabriel murmured. “Even if he doesn’t consciously understand, he may feel it. An inexplicable comfort, a quiet sense of your presence. Humans don’t often recognize such things, but in their hearts, they understand more than they realize.”

“I thought I understood my purpose,” you said quietly. “To guide, protect from a distance, never to interfere. But this…it feels like something more. I didn’t think I could feel this way.” You closed your eyes, absorbing the realization that your connection to Charles might be as real to him as it was to you.

Gabriel gave you a look of quiet understanding. “Feelings are not foreign to us, though they are seldom as strong as what humans experience. It is only natural to be curious, to want to understand what draws us to them, and what makes them so fascinating to us.”

He paused, then added softly, “but remember, the tether doesn’t mean you must change your purpose. It only means you’ve shared part of yourself with him, and in return, he has shared a part of his essence with you. It’s a gift, though one we may never fully understand.”

You nodded, a deep sense of acceptance settling over you. Charles might never know the truth of who you were, or why he saw you, but perhaps that was the beauty of it. He would carry the sense of your presence, a constant and silent connection, and in a way, it would be enough.

You just sat in silence with Gabriel, looking out over the glittering cityscape, you felt the comfort of his companionship. The two of you were bound to different souls, different journeys, but you shared the same questions, same yearnings.

As the night wore in, and the world around was now silent in the aftermath of the race, and the Singaporean circuit lay quiet, already emptied of the usual buzz of engines and the thrill of spectators. Only a few distant voices and the gentle hum of machineries being packed away punctuated the stillness.

Charles lingered in the Ferrari motorhome, his mind far from the day’s race. Finishing in P5 and scoring point should have filled him with satisfaction, yet something lingered beneath it all, a presence far more pressing. You. The image of you, standing amid the crowd, hauntingly calm and out of place, had filled his thoughts since he had passed by you that afternoon. He had always known you, even though Charles was certain he had never seen you before. The fact that you were gone the moment he had looked away haunted him, and now, despite the silence around him, his mind raced with the need to see you again.

As Charles stepped out of the motorhome, running a hand through his damp hair, he slowed, his eyes searching the dimly lit surroundings as if hoping to catch a glimpse of you. Then, just beyond the edge of the shadows, there you were. You stood there, calm and still, a silhouette framed by the city lights, a vision of dark elegance against the fading glow of the circuit. You were wearing the same all-black ensemble he had seen you in before, a stark contrast against the remnants of bright lights and flashes that had filled the paddock earlier, and the subtle breeze caught your coat, giving you an almost weightless presence as if you were somehow apart from the world around you.

For a brief moment, neither of you moved. Charles’ gaze lingered on you, studying the way your features seemed almost unreal, too striking to belong to the ordinary world he inhabited. It was as though everything he had ever seen had paled in comparison. He could feel some type of strange warmth radiate from you, a kind of serene beauty that pulled at him and silenced everything else in his mind. If ethereal were to take a human form, it would look like you, he was sure of it. Then you spoke.

“Hello, Charles.” You greeted him.

Your voice was soft, almost like a gentle breeze yet clear in the quiet of the evening. There was a soft smile on your lips, one that carried both mystery and warmth. Charles’ eyes widened, his heart seeming to stop for a second.

“I know that you can see me.” You said gently, the faintest trace of amusement in your voice.

For the first time, Charles felt a strange mixture of exhilaration and vulnerability. He had spent so many years convincing himself that you were just a figment of his imagination, yet here you were, standing mere feet from him, speaking as though you had been waiting for this moment just as he had.

Charles opened his mouth to respond, but no words came out. He was torn between asking if you were real and confessing that he had thought about you since that day at the hospital, wondering if he had imagined you. He felt as though the ground had shifted beneath him, everything he knew upended by this encounter, but before he could gather his words, a voice had brought him back.

“Charles!” A friend called out, waving him over from across the clearing, and instinctively, Charles turned his head to. “We’re already heading out, you coming?”

Charles nodded in acknowledgment. But the moment he glanced back to look at you, you had already disappeared. A rush of frustration flared in him, sharper than anything he had felt in recent memory. The moment he finally had you there, standing before him, speaking to him as though you understood this strange, silent connection, you had vanished again, leaving only the soft night breeze in your wake.

He just stood there, his chest tightening with an unnameable sense of loss, staring at the empty space where you had just been. Charles could still feel the subtle warmth of your presence, a lingering trace of your smile that had somehow left an imprint on his mind. His hands clenched and unclenched as if he could somehow reach for you and pull back, his jaw set in determination.

Though you were gone again, the mystery of you wrapped around him tighter than ever, leaving him certain of one thing—he would see you again. He had to.

taglist : @charlesgirl16 @chloes-book-corner

[mythalism]

more me verbally processing my feelings on this game and it's story that i sent in discord but i know reading these things can be helpful to others processing so im sharing them here <3

even though i think i personally am able to find coherent meaning in solas's ending, specifically the status of the veil, and i do think its good and i like it, i really have to work to do it. the way its written is kind of confusing because the message is like ok. let go of your regrets. but you also have to atone for your mistakes. but solas believes he is atoning by taking the veil back down and bringing immortality back and making sure more spirits are not turned into demons? but the story tells us that version of atonement is Wrong, but why is it wrong? because people will die? but people also die because of the veil? mages are mass incarcerated and lobotimized bc of the veil, elves have been enslaved for millenia, PEOPLE AGE AND DIE, BECAUSE OF THE VEIL? so he isnt supposed to atone for that mistake by fixing it he's just supposed to accept it and let go? so are we supposed to atone for our mistakes or not? what determines whether or not we need to atone? he has to atone for what he did to the titans but not what he did by accident to his own people i guess? and he is going to atone by maintaining the status quo that he created because people have gotten used to it?

i think the answer based on the regret prison scene with rook escaping with varric's help and that banger line of varric's is to take accountability and own up to your choices, they are yours and no one can take them from you. rook says something to one of the regret statues (for me it was harding) thats like "i made a choice and so did you and you knew the risks" or something so i think that is the key. solas cannot accept his choices and so he is desperate to undo them no matter what kind of harm it may do. he is trapped in regret and the past to the point that he cant accept them and move forward, and varric is the perfect contrast of this with how readily he accepts his death as a consequence of his love and hope for his friend. even mythal accepts her own choices when she tells solas that she turned him from his purpose. and she doesnt apologize or even express regret at all, partly because shes a crazy bitch (affectionate) but partly because i think her quiet, cold acceptance is part of the lesson solas needs to learn in that moment. solas is constantly saying, "im sorry, but", "ir abelas, vhenan, but i cannot". mythal just states her actions plainly; i forced you to take a body, i brought you into war, these burdens are ours to bear together, i release you. no apology, no rumination, she is at peace with her decision even though it is wrong. i think this works wonderfully on a personal individual level of personal regrets. it is a good lesson; regret does not serve any purpose other than to hurt you. it brings no one back, it helps nothing, it does not make the world a better place. solas has to let go of his regrets so that he can become the hero that varric sees deep down in him. it is an essential part of his personal journey as a character... but it gets stickier when we are talking about systemic change. obvi a lot of dragon age's modern, young audience is very much in favor of "tear it all down!!" and i am too but i think with solas they are trying to tell a very personal and individual story of a man and his regrets rather than make a social commentary on radical change, but they also dont make that clear enough, so the two get muddied together when it comes to the question of the veil in a way that feels like they are advocating for maintaining the status quo, which i dont think was their intention.

i think this is so muddied because inquisition very much makes clear commentary on systems and institutions with the chantry, the orlesian empire, ferelden monarchy, mages and templars, and the inquisition itself being all vulnerable to corruption, and solas has a lot to say about all of this and he is very much presented as being right (like when he tells you about the corruption in your own ranks in trespasser and how hes spying on you lol) and then veilguard does not do this AT ALL, all of the issues are very personal ones of people and their identity, people and their family, people and their regrets etc. so i think a lot of us are in this mindset from inquisition of like.... yeah disrupt the status quo install a puppetmaster elf to rule an imperialist empire, make leliana pope and radicalize the chantry even if its bloody, dissolve the inquisition, abolish the circles etc. etc. and the question of the veil is very much an extension of these philosophical questions about systems and organizations. and for those of us who leaned towards dissolution of all of those corrupt structures, dissolution of the veil is the logical conclusion to a story thats sending us that message. but then veilguard just. does not even engage with these topics at all. like its not even a question. it takes the question of the veil and translates it into a personal issue of solas's psyche (which is super interesting, just different) and connects it to his past actions, his relationship with mythal, and his perception of himself, rather than a macro-level question of what is best for the world when pursuing change, and the answer for solas on a personal level ends up being different from the answer that inquisition was asking us, but it feels disjointed as a result.

so the veil staying up was the right decision because it forced solas to let go of his regrets and the game is about him. so it was an exercise in his therapy session with his two ex-gfs and some annoying kid who wont leave him alone. but the problem is it doesn't answer or engage with the greater questions and themes about systemic change that the series has been building up to.

veilguard is interesting because it wants to be dragon age 2 so bad while simultaneously being terrified of dragon age 2. solas bringing down the veil would have been the answer to the question that anders blowing up the chantry asked, but veilguard decided to ask a completely different question instead. and i think it did a good job in that specific goal, but it doesnt satisfy 15 years of build up and instead just throws it out the window in favor of something else.

[pedroscurls]

training partners (pt. 10)

summary: with your trainer's help this last week, you slowly find your way back to yourself again... and you finally have the courage to tell hugh more details about your relationship with jack and it only makes him angrier. pairing: hugh jackman x fem!reader warnings: angst - mentions of toxic relationship, verbal / physical abuse (not with hugh!). implied age gap (hugh is 55, reader is in late 20s-early 30s), no use of y/n. word count: 2.4k a/n: anyway, we're getting into the reader's backstory with jack, so it's going to be a bit dark... and consider this the first argument between reader and hugh... gonna be a tough next couple of chapters, but trust me when i say there will be a happy ending at the end of all of this! as always, this is purely fictional! i mean no disrespect to hugh jackman. prev part.

You’d taken today off to drop your trainer off at the airport. This last week had gone too fast and while it was emotionally and mentally exhausting, it was just what you needed to remind yourself just how far you’d come. There’s still something lingering in the pit of your stomach, the anxiety that you’ll need to have a conversation with Hugh about everything that’s happened with you and Jack. He knows bits and pieces that you’ve shared before, but he doesn’t know the full picture. 

“You gonna be okay?” she asks. 

“I think so,” you nod. “I can’t let Jack run my life anymore.”

Your trainer pulls you into a hug, holding you tight. “You’re a good person,” she whispers. “And you never should have gone through what you did. He should have never put you through that.” 

You can feel tears stinging your eyes as you wrap your arms around her as well. She had been a godsend and so important in your journey in finding yourself again. She empowered you, motivated you, and helped you see just how worthy you are. 

When she pulls away, she smiles in your direction. “Hugh loves you,” she points out. “Allow yourself to be loved because you’re worthy of it. You’re enough.” 

You nod, wiping any fallen tears from your cheeks. “I just don’t want to disappoint him… What if he realizes that I’m not what he thought I’d be, that maybe all the pain I’m still working through isn’t worth it?”

She rolls her eyes playfully. “You don’t see the way he looks at you, do you?”  

You share your head. 

“Well, that man looks at you like you can do no wrong. Like you’re the only person that matters. Trust me, you are worth it.” 

“Part of me is also nervous… To talk to Hugh and tell him everything. He knows bits and pieces, but…”

“He’ll understand,” she replies. 

“And if he doesn’t?”

“He will.” 

You sigh and then pull her in for another hug. “Thank you for coming here, for being there for me. Again.” 

She lets out a quiet laugh and gives you a tight squeeze before she pulls away. “If Hugh wants to invite me back, let me know. I’d be happy to visit again,” she winks. 

“I’ll let him know. Get home safe.” 

“Remember how far you’ve come, okay?” she says. “And if Jack crosses any lines, it might be time to get the authorities involved.”

You nod in agreement. “I know… I just don’t want it to get to that point.” 

“Let’s hope it doesn’t.” 

—

Later that night, you’re sitting out on the balcony of the hotel room with a notebook on your lap. You had tried to write some talking points to go over when Hugh gets home. You know he’s going to be tired, but you know that if you don’t have this conversation with him, you may never will. 

You know he’s on his way back to the hotel and your heart races faster and faster. You can feel the anxiety course through your veins and even with the notes you had written down, you still don’t feel all that confident. It’s not the fact that you have to tell Hugh what happened, but it’s the fact that you’d have to relive everything that Jack had put you through. 

When you hear the hotel room door open, you stand up and turn to look over your shoulder and make eye contact with Hugh. He looks tired, but at the sight of you, his eyes light up and a broad smile lines his lips. This must be what your trainer was referring to… about the way he looks at you. It eases your nerves, calms you down and keeps you grounded because with Hugh, you have always felt safe. 

He steps out into the balcony with you and pulls you into his arms, leaning down to kiss your forehead. “Hi, baby. Missed you on set today.” 

You smile to yourself and shut your notebook, setting it on the chair you were sitting on and away from his line of view. “I missed you too.” You wrap your arms around his shoulders, hands playing with the hair at his nape. “How was filming?”

“It was good. Movie’s coming along.” Hugh holds you closer to him, eyes falling shut as he holds you in his arms. This was what he was looking forward to all day. Being with you. He knows that this last week had helped a great deal, having your personal trainer here had helped immensely. You weren’t so much on edge anymore and it felt like things were going back to normal. Before Jack entered the picture. “And how was your day? You get home safe after dropping her off?” 

“Oh yeah,” you nod. “It was nice having her here. Thank you for doing that, baby. You really didn’t need to and–”

“I know,” he says quietly. “But I wanted to. I knew she would help… in ways that I couldn’t.” 

“I love you,” you smile. “I’m really lucky.” 

“I love you too, baby.” He pecks your lips and then slowly pulls away. “I’m gonna take a quick shower and maybe we can order in for dinner?” 

“Wait, Hugh…” 

“Yeah?”

“After your shower, can we talk?” 

Hugh’s brow furrows, biting the inside of his cheek as his hands move to rest on your hips. “What about?” 

“Just…” you bite your lower lip. “It’s nothing bad. I just–” 

Hugh tilts his head to the side. He can sense your worry, your anxiety, so he just nods and leans in to peck your lips lightly. “Okay, baby. We’ll talk after my shower.” As he turns to walk back into the room, you reach out for him and pull him back into a tight hug. Your face buries into his chest, arms tightening around his frame as you hold onto him for a few seconds longer. 

“You sure you’re okay?” he whispers. 

“I will be.” 

—

Hugh’s shower doesn’t last that long. He tries not to overthink about what you wanted to talk about, but he can’t help the tug he feels in the pit of his stomach. Now he’s worried, he’s concerned. He quickly changes into a pair of black sweatpants and a Global Citizen t-shirt. He dries his damp hair with a towel and steps back out into the room, seeing you still outside on the balcony. You’re writing in your notebook again and he knows that you only write when you have something on your mind, something that you can’t shake. 

Quietly, he steps out with you and smiles in your direction. Hugh watches you close your notebook, setting it on the small table. He doesn’t let you get up, instead, he scoops you into his arms and then sits in the same chair with you on his lap. 

“Okay, let’s talk, baby,” he says, leaning in to kiss your cheek as he drapes an arm over your legs. Hugh tries not to make it seem like he’s nervous and he isn’t even sure if you take notice because he can see that your mind has drifted, and can feel the tension in your shoulder blades. 

“Jack–”

“What?” 

You take a deep breath and move an arm around his shoulders. “I need to tell you about– about Jack.”

“Baby, you don’t have to–”

“I need to, Hugh.” 

He can see the tears in your eyes and a piece of his heart breaks at the sight. Hugh cups your cheek and gently brushes his thumb across your skin, leaning in to kiss the tip of your nose. “Okay,” he says softly. “I’m here. I’m listening.”

You nod and bite your lower lip. “So, we were together for three years…” 

“That I knew.” 

“The– The abuse, the manipulation, everything happened so fast. I didn’t even realize what was happening until I realized it was too late.” 

Hugh tightens his jaw. He feels anger bubbling within him, but he opts to remain quiet, to keep a neutral look on his face. He knows that you need this, that you need to tell him and he can’t react because he fears that if he does, you’re going to pull away and he knows how important this is that you’re telling him. 

“I had gotten used to his insults… so much so that I started to believe him.” you’re about to get off his lap, about to pull away from him, but he keeps a firm hold on you. When you look into his eyes, all you can see is the concern in his features and the subtle desire to take your pain away. 

“Oh baby…” Hugh whispers quietly. 

“I’m weak and I’m not brave,” you continue. “And that’s because of Jack. I should have left at the first sign of his verbal abuse, but I always–” you can feel your breath catch in your throat. “I always justified his actions. Always felt like it was my fault, that he was acting the way he was and saying the things he’d say because of me. Because I was making things difficult for him.” 

Hugh tightens his jaw when you look away from him, the anger simmering in the pit of his stomach. 

“And I believed him. I thought– I thought I could give all of my love to him and he’d see how much I cared for him, how much I was willing to do anything for him. Because I did,” you say with a disappointed tone. “I did love him and when he broke up with me – he broke up with me –” you shake your head. “It was my fault. It was always my fault. Mine.” 

“Baby, no…” Hugh shakes his head and cups your cheek, his gaze locked onto yours. 

“I couldn’t even break up with him, Hugh. All of the nasty things he’s said to me and I couldn’t–” you shake your head and stand up from his lap before he can pull you back. “I was heartbroken when Jack broke up with me because he made me believe that no one would ever love me… that I wasn’t worthy of love and I fucking believed him.”

Hugh’s foot taps against the floor incessantly. He wants to reach out for you, but he always wants to find Jack and cause him just the same amount of pain – if not more. But then, he hears the words leave your lips and he jumps up from his chair. 

“He hit me once.”

“What?” 

“Hugh…”

“No no, he what?” 

You bite your lower lip and stare up at him. You can see the anger clear in his features and you gently reach out for him, but he just shakes his head. He’s fuming, hands shaking at his sides at your admission. You know this was going to happen, had even expected this reaction, but seeing it firsthand is entirely different. You don’t know how you can even calm him down. 

“I got angry because he had made me make him dinner after a long fucking day at work and–” you sigh. “After that, I learned how to fight because I knew that if he put his hands on me again, I’d fight back and–” 

“Wait, he hit you? Put his hands on you?”

“Hugh…”

“No, baby.” Tears are now pooling at his eyes. “He doesn’t get to do that, do you hear me? He has no fucking right–”

“Hugh!” you raise your voice, staring up at him. “I’m not telling you this to make you angry. I’m telling you this so you can understand why he had so much control over me, why I reacted the way I did when I saw him that one night at dinner, why it’s so fucking hard for me to see how worthy I am of this, of you.” 

Hugh shakes his head. He’s trying – truly, he’s trying so fucking hard to understand (and there’s a big part of him that does), but all he can see is this man putting his hands on you, putting thoughts and words into your mind that aren’t true. 

“Give me his number. The number he called you from a couple of weeks ago,” Hugh says. 

“No.”

“Baby, he can’t just get away with thinking that what he did to you was okay. He can’t get away with still making you feel the way that you do.”

“What are you going to do? Go and beat him up?” you ask, shaking your head. “Hugh, you’d get arrested! It’d be all over the media and–”

“I don’t care!” Hugh yells – it’s the first time that he’s ever raised his voice at you and when he sees you take a step back, it brings him back to reality. “I’m sorry,” he sighs. “I didn’t mean to raise my voice. I just– I can’t fathom this man walking around thinking like he did no wrong, baby.” 

“Nothing you do will help him see that, Hugh.”

“No? Well he hasn’t dealt with someone like me and–”

“Just stop!” 

Hugh furrows a brow. “Baby–”

“No, Hugh…” you cross your arms over your chest, wanting so badly to just get away from this all, away from Jack, away from Hugh. “I don’t need you to save me… I don’t need you to go back to my past and make things better. I just need you to understand the shit I went through is what made me who I am today. And I’m still healing… I’m still working on it, and I just–” your breath catches in your throat once more. “You’ve been so patient with me, so understanding that I figured I’d at least tell you everything because… because I will have moments where it’ll be hard for me to snap out of it.”

“I know, and I appreciate you telling me all of this, baby–” Hugh sighs. “But I can’t just sit here and not do anything about it.”

“You know what,” you tell him, opening the sliding door to walk back into the hotel room. “I’m gonna go for a walk. I can’t be here right now. This wasn’t how I thought this conversation would go.”

“Baby, no–” Hugh walks after you, watching you pull on a jacket and slip on your shoes as you grab your bag. “Please, just stay. I’m sorry.”

“I’m not mad at you,” you tell him quietly. “I just need some space right now.”

“I love you,” Hugh whispers. 

“I know,” you reply, grabbing the hotel key card and setting it in your bag. “I love you too, Hugh, but I just need to be alone right now. We both need to calm down before we say something we’re both going to regret.” 

You don’t give him a chance to respond because just as his mouth opens to say something, you’re already out the door. 

---

taglist (if links don't work, i'm sorry!): @corvusmorte - @dragonqueen89 - @whimsiwitchy - @kellyxo1

@wolviehugh - @moonxknightx - @sullyselena - @angelofthorr - @spectorrrhgf

@needz1nk - @fandomxo00 - @godlypresley - @kythefangirl25 - @callsignyourmom

@sue8724 - @squishyfruitloop - @sylviavf - @emotrash1 - @dissentientss

@sir-thisisadndserver - @absolutepie - @millajay - @itsallyscorner - @haytchee

@wolverigrl - @its-in-the-woods - @d3ad2you - @definitely-not-chill - @khxna

[unintentionaloracle]

The Honorary In-Law (Part One) [Fic]

Hoo boy this took a while (so long I said "screw it" to trying to make it plausible to the current timeline of events in actual kayfabe) but now my baby is done! And boy do I need it between The Jhea Drought and whatever is happening with Zowens. (Trips why are you hurting me specifically?)

Summary: Rhea and Jey have been keeping it casual for a while. But when Jey tries to arrange a meeting with her and Sami, can Rhea handle the pressure to not screw up her new romance? And will Kevin throw a wrench in them taking their next step?

(Also I do have Liv and Dom in here and mentions of Rhea having had relationships with both of them, but I'm not tagging those so far because it's only for like, a scene and it seems rude to tag past relationships that are only mentioned in passing. IDK I can tag those if you need me to I'm so tired, y'all.)

Part One: Double Your Trouble, Double Your Fun

 Rhea chuckled mischievously, planting one last kiss on Jey's lips. She glanced down at her handiwork: his mouth coated with her black lipstick. Her own probably looked like a mess, but it was worth it. She shifted her position on the couch from pinning and straddling the Intercontinental Champion to one that allowed her to curl up on him–head on his chest–almost like a contented cat.

 She could practically feel Jey grinning ear to ear as he held her. “I know I say this every time we make out, but...damn, Rhea...”

 Rhea grinned, rubbing his chest. “Oh, you ain't seen nothing yet...” She purred.

 “...Baby, this stuff is gonna wash off easily, right?” He asked, trying to check for himself.

 Rhea laughed. “No, you'll be walking around with that for a while. I got the good stuff,” she joked. “I gotta mark my territory, after all...”

 “I mean...I could've just written “Mami” on my sunglasses...”

 “Yeah,” she looked up at him with a smirk, “but then I wouldn't have had to kiss you.”

 “...Okay, nevermind...”

 A content warmth spread through Rhea. “Although, to be fair, I've got a million excuses to kiss you...” She said, wiggling her eyebrows.

 Jey laughed. He shifted them both around so Rhea was on the couch and he was on top. “Oh really? Do you need one?”

 Rhea smirked. She cupped his face as she pressed a spellbound Jey’s forehead to hers. “Nope. Especially not if you ask me nicely...”

 “Well then...Miss Rhea Ripley, may I please kiss you?” Jey said in a low, flirty tone as leaned in for another kiss.

It was then that Priest walked into his and Rhea's hotel room. “...Really? On the only couch?” He said as they turned to see him. Then he glanced at a flustered Jey. “That’s not your shade, man.”

 “Oh, come on, Damian. We aren't even screwing yet.” Rhea replied, making Jey choke on air. “And True Abyss is absolutely his shade!”

 Damian scoffed, trying to hide a smirk as he shook his head. “Just give me some heads up next time you have your new boytoy over, okay?” He said, heading to the bathroom.

 “Oh, fine.” She turned her attention back to Jey. “I swear, sometimes he's like a brother in an annoying way. Where were we?”

 “Actually,” Jey said, putting a finger to her lips...before he appeared to remember Rhea was an absolute menace of a flirt. He removed it before she could even open her mouth to do anything with that finger. “That reminds me: there's something I wanna ask you...”

 Concern rose through her body. “What?”

 “It’s nothing bad, I was just thinking...I kinda wanna introduce you to Sami...”

 Rhea somewhat relaxed, concern replaced with confusion. “...I've met Sami, Jey...”

 “I meant re-introduce him. You know, somewhere where you're not beating him and Kevin up to help The Judgement Day? A do-over.”

 “Why?”

 “Because you're important to me. And Sami's important to me, too.”

 Rhea felt touched, but also compelled to ask: “wouldn't it make more sense to introduce me to your family first? Or re-introduce me, I guess?”

 “I mean, Sami’s practically family,” Jey said plainly. “And right now, introducing you to my family is out of the question...”

 “Not even Jimmy?”

 “Nah. We're still trying to fix things between us...”

 “Roman?”

 “I can't stand to be in the same room as him longer than I have to.”

 “Your dad?”

 “No, no. Definitely not him. Trust me.”

 Rhea sighed. “And obviously Solo and his Bloodline are also out, even if I could take them...”

 “You could, but...” Jey cupped her face, rubbing his thumb against her cheek and smudging her initials she'd written on them. “Rhea, I don't want to make you have to deal with them, too. The Bloodline takes almost every good thing I have from me,” he pressed his forehead to hers. “I don't know what I'd do if they somehow took you, too. Plus, with all the crap you've been dealing with? I’d hate to get you tangled in my family ish because of me, baby. Know what I mean?”

 Rhea blinked. She didn't think she'd be touched by such a sentiment, but here she was, thinking of all the times she had to fight the men of The Judgement Day’s battles (especially Dom’s). And now Jey was here, not asking such a thing. He never would. It'd almost make her cry, if she didn't want to spoil the mood. Especially at this phase of their relationship: the “we aren't putting labels on it yet” phase.

 So instead, she wrapped her legs around his waist and pulled him closer, cupping his face back. “Yeet,” she purred.

 Damian left the bathroom, but this time the lovers barely registered his presence as they lovingly stared at each other in the far more suggestive pose. “WEPA! Jey, I'm taking your hotel room key and I'm crashing in there!”

 “Uh, that might not be a good idea, Uce. Kevin's crashing with us right now, and he and Sami have been really–”

 Damian swore, mumbling something under his breath about “how can Sami still be with that guy?” before declaring “Guess I'm heading out.”

 Jey gave a thumbs up before Rhea dragged him back down for a quick kiss. “Is that a yes?” He asked.

 “Yes...” She said, tangling herself around him.

---

 The next night on Raw, Rhea prepped for her match backstage. Liv wanted to make sure Rhea couldn't get her next shot at her and the title so easily. So she had arranged for there to be a Battle Royal to determine her next Number One Contender. Idiot. I’ve won a Royal Rumble from the Number One spot. A Battle Royal is nothing. Rhea thought.

 Still, Rhea knew she didn't exactly have friends in the women's locker room. She'd done some terrible things to a lot of the girls over the past two years. Stuff she hadn’t exactly apologized for. So, naturally, it was awkward between her and everyone else in the locker room. So much so that, when she went to get her gear, she just got changed in the bathroom and hung out everywhere but the locker room, instead.

 (She knew it was bad when Damage Ctrl shot her dirty looks.)

 As she made her way to gorilla position backstage, she had a brief run-in with Raquel. Rhea opted to ignore her and the impulse to forget everything she was aiming for to get some sweet revenge. She had a match to win, she just couldn't get distracted by any annoying–

 “Daddy Dom, it's gonna suck having to be away from your handsome face two matches in a row,” Liv said, pouting before Dom rubbed his nose to hers.

 “Son of a bitch,” Rhea said to herself, rolling her eyes at the display.

 “Yeah, cuz right after you observe the battle royal, I have my Intercontinental Championship match against Jey, and he’s got you and the guys banned from ringside. It's not fair...” Dom whined.

 Rhea couldn't help but gag. “That you have to fight your own battles like a man for once?” She said, aloud.

 The couple finally noticed she was in the room. Liv rolled her eyes. “Don't listen to him, Daddy Dom. You're plenty man for me. She's just jealous she has to settle for Jey, now.”

 “Oh honey, I am not settling with Jey. I'm more than satisfied...” Rhea replied, shooting Dom a look that made him avert his eyes.

 “Yeah, well... you're still probably gonna screw up with him! Just like you did with me!” Dom fired back, throwing his arm around Liv.

 “And me.” Liv added, cattily.

 Rhea felt a slight pang, but she couldn't let either of them notice. Or dwell on it. She put on her best smug smirk. “Uh huh...so tell me: do you enjoy making out because you're so into each other? Or is it because you both can still taste me?”

 Liv nearly lunged at her as Dom yelled, holding his girlfriend back. Rhea braced herself, motioning for them to bring it. She cackled as Liv flailed in Dom's arms and Dom struggled with her. That's when Rhea felt a hand ease around her waist.

 “Is there a problem, here?” Jey said, lowering his sunglasses. Rhea glanced at him, he was wearing black and purple on his gear, along with his signature blue and pink, and a pair of “Mami” sunglasses. She grinned a little at him before going back to glaring at her exes.

 “No...” Dom said (earning a groan from Triple H as he motioned for the cameraman to leave). “Just control Rhea...” He said, finally (and ungracefully) putting Liv down.

 “Yeah, control her!” Liv said, straightening her hair and outfit as she glared at Jey.

 “Y'all know nobody can control her,” Jey said fondly, squeezing her closer as Rhea threw an arm around him. He looked at Dom. “We'll finish this later,” Liv's music hit. “I think that's your cue to go...”

 Liv rolled her eyes. “C’mon, Daddy Dom! Walk me to the announce desk?” She said with a pout before they headed for the curtain. “And by the way, Rhea? The gear’s a bit much...” She added before leaving in a huff with her boyfriend.

 “YOU’RE ONE TO TALK IN THAT MINISKIRT WITH “PROPERTY OF DOM” ON THE ASS!” Rhea yelled back.

 Jey gave them a stern yeet goodbye before he finally seemed to notice Rhea’s outfit: white, blue and pink gear with a “YEET” collar. She even had sunglasses that had “R+J” written on them (her makeup had the same written on her cheek). He grinned. “Well, I like it.”

 “Yeah, they aren't really my colors, but I love them on you...” She said, grinning back. “Oh, did you talk to Sami about tomorrow morning? Doing breakfast or brunch or whatever together?”

 “Yeah. I actually came to talk to you about that...”

---

 Jey gave a gentle knock to door of his and Sami’s hotel room. Sami sent him a quick text telling him to wait a moment, followed quickly by the all clear to come in.

 Jey entered the room to find Sami, half-dressed and still sitting in bed. “Mornin’, uce!” Jey said brightly.

 Sami tried to motion for him to be quiet.

 Kevin, who was lying beside him with his arms wrapped around Sami's waist, stirred. The Prizefighter had been crashing with Sami and Jey since his fights with his friends and subsequent suspension. (“I'm all he has left, Jey,” Sami had pleaded. “He needs somebody in his corner right now.”) He seemed to be chill with Jey, therefore Jey was chill with him. Besides, he knew there was no talking Sami out of helping someone, especially Kevin. 

 Kevin said something sleepily in French, eyes still shut.

 Sami rubbed Kevin's back and said something sweetly in French. Jey guessed it was something like “It's just Jey, my love.”

 Kevin nodded, squeezing Sami tighter. He said something else in French.

 Sami replied in French.

 Kevin repeated what he said in French as a question.

 Sami huffed and repeated himself, apparently correcting what he'd said before. Kevin chuckled and settled back down.

  “Merci, beau,” Kevin said, smiling contently as he cocooned himself in blankets. He actually looked relaxed...and happy. More than Jey had seen him in weeks...or ever. It honestly kinda scared him a bit. Jey knew how to handle an angry, rampaging Kevin. But a blissful one? A blissful one felt like a trap.

 But Sami's the happiest I've seen him in weeks, all things considered, Jey thought. So I can live with that...

 “Someone looks like he had a good night with his girlfriend,” Sami teased, his voice a whisper.

 Jey covered the hickey on his neck and tried to wipe the lipstick smudges from his mouth again, flustered. “Ah, c'mon, man. We haven't made it official yet.” He said. “We're taking our time...”

 Still... Jey thought. He was more than willing to give Rhea the time she needed, but sometimes he kinda worried that maybe she wasn't as serious about him as he was about her.

 “I know...” Sami replied. “But seriously, you seem happy.”

 “I am! I did have a good time...” Jey said, rubbing the back of his neck. “And I asked her about meeting up with you...”

 “And?”

 “She's down for it! She thought maybe we could get breakfast on Tuesday. Or brunch. She just kinda thought it might not be as awkward as a dinner after work or something,” Jey said.

 “Oh! Okay, yeah. I think I could work with that...” Sami said.

 Kevin stirred again. “You're going to breakfast with Jey?” He said, now more awake.

 “And Rhea,” Sami said. He explained the plan to “re-introduce” the two to Kevin. Kevin stared at him groggily the whole time, his eyebrow raised.

 “Can I tag along?” Kevin asked.

 Sami blinked. “You want to “re-meet” Rhea?”

 Kevin nodded. “We're a package deal, aren't we? Plus, what if this is all a ploy and she turns on you guys? You need some protection. What're they gonna do? Suspend me more?”

 It's called firing, Uce. Jey thought. He had other concerns, too. Kevin was so unpredictable, lately. Did he really want to bring that around his girl? Especially when he didn't want her around his mess of a family?

 “I mean, if she's cool with it, I'm cool with it,” Sami said. “It'll almost be like a double date...”

 “See!? A package deal!”

 Jey chuckled awkwardly. “I can run it by her...”

---

 “So...” Jey said, one hand on his hip. He scratched at his goatee with the other. “How are you feeling about that?”

 Rhea folded her arms, thinking. The idea of Kevin hanging around didn't exactly thrill her. Not for his behavior, of course. (She knew she could lay him out if he acted up.) But she was already somewhat anxious about trying to win over Sami, given their history. Throwing his unstable boyfriend in? Who held a hell of a grudge? You might as well ask her to do an MMA fight with a kangaroo, that'd be easier.

 Still, Dom and Liv’s taunts about their failed relationships with her started to echo in her head. I'm not gonna screw this one up! She thought.

 Her music hit. She jumped a little, startling Jey. “Oh, damn it...” She said. “Sure, he can come! I gotta go!” She quickly kissed him. “Bye!” She said, making her way to the curtain.

 “Uh, bye...Good luck, baby! You got this!” Jey called after her.

 Rhea smiled, confidence returning. She shoved the personal drama aside in her head and went into Match Mode. As she did her signature stomp in her entrance, she thought: I do got this. I'm gonna get my title shot, then I'm gonna crush the whole “winning over Sami and Kevin” thing!

---

 Rhea threw some stuff around backstage after the match, screaming. Priest ran up to her, “Hey, take it easy, Rhea! What's up?”

 She stopped her rampage, breathing heavily. “Did you not see that match!?” Rhea asked. 

 “No, I was talking to Pearce about getting my title back. I take it it went b–?”

 “Raquel and Liv cost me my shot by cheating after I eliminated Raquel because they're bloody cowards!” She shouted. “Now MAXXINE has my title shot!” Rhea let out another yell before burying her face in Damian's torso and hugging him.

 Damian patted her back. “Ouch. I'm sorry, Rhea. But hey, good for Maxxine, at least...”

 “Whose side are you on?” She asked, as if she hadn't enjoyed a hyped-on-victory Maxxine performing an arm drag on Liv when they faced off after and the latter held up her title in the ring, trying to act like she was the baddest to ever do it.

 “Yours. Always. Need me to put the fear of God in them? Maybe put Dom on the shelf?” Damian asked.

 “No, I don't want you suspended...” Rhea said. “Besides, I need to take out Raquel first...” She was gonna get nowhere with Liv's little bodyguard around. She clung to Damian a little tighter.

 Damian chuckled. “Alright...” Damian hugged her back. “Hey, is that all that's wrong?”

 “I'm just stressing about this breakfast thing I'm doing with Jey and Sami. Kevin apparently invited himself along so now I have to deal with that too.”

 “Oof. Need me to come along?” He asked.

 “I'd love you to, but I gotta do this on my own, Priest...” Rhea replied. “I don't want to make this messier...” Or more awkward.

 “Okay, but if you need me, or an excuse to leave, just hit me up and I'll get you out of there, all right?” He said, giving her a kiss on the top of her head and a pat on her back before letting her go.

 “Thanks, Priest. I appreciate it.” Rhea waved goodbye as Damian walked off. She took a deep breath, ready to just take a moment to collect her thoughts...

 Cathy came by, mic and film crew at hand. “Rhea, tough loss tonight. How do you feel—?”

 Rhea let out a scream of frustration and stormed off, in search of a breakable outlet for her rage.

To Be Continued...

[fxckn-sxck-fr]

Okay so this idea is kind of meh but what about AU frat boy! Dick Grayson who everyone likes but with a reader who’s kind of wary of him like gets put off vibes and discovers to their horror he’s a serial killer? Like maybe catches him in the act? Could be romantic or platonic either or :)

𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐅𝐑𝐀𝐓 𝐁𝐎𝐘 𝐃𝐈𝐂𝐊 𝐆𝐑𝐀𝐘𝐒𝐎𝐍…

!!! GN reader, egregiously long post, paranoia, mind games, brief mention of suicides, death, blood, dead body, can be translated as romantic or platonic, idk what else needs to be warned.

Frat boy Dick Grayson AU, you will forever be famous in my heart. Why haven’t I written something like this before.

He’s got it all. The charm, the good looks, the surprisingly tasteful humor (considering he’s a part of a frat)… what’s not to like about him? He’s the number one campus heart-throb, with just about anyone throwing themselves at his feet.

Well, everyone except you.

Because there’s just something so off about him. For whatever reason, alarm bells go off in your head whenever he’s near. Some may call it paranoia, some may call it straight-up jealousy. But to you, it’s something much more; enough to make the hairs on the back of your neck when he decides to sit next to you in lectures.

At first, you thought it was due to the envious looks from other students. I mean, the Dick Grayson has decided to sit next to you of all people? That’s bound to start some nasty one-sided shit from people you don’t even know. But no… it’s not the whispers or glares. It’s him. The voice in the back of your head practically screams that it’s him. You just don’t know why.

Again, he’s got it all. Charm, good looks, humor. Maybe what’s so off-putting is that he’s just so friendly. Due to his outgoing personality, it’s no shock to see him hanging around someone new every day, and it’s to the point where you’re convinced he knows everyone on campus by name. Maybe you just need to understand the nature of a social butterfly more. Then he’ll stop being so off-putting. Right?

But, the more you interact with him, the less sure you are. It drives you crazy when he picks you as his lecture buddy because there’s just something so wrong. But what? Is it his casual questions about your hobbies? His friendly, gentle shoulder-grabs when he wants your attention? His relaxed demeanor around someone who should realistically be a total stranger to him, as neither of you share the shame lifestyles outside of classes?

No, you randomly realized one day; it’s none of that.

It’s the fact that his smile never reaches his eyes.

Dick Grayson has beautiful crystal blues; you’ll give him that much. They’re bewitching to look into, and you’ll find yourself captivated by his gaze even if you aren’t big on eye contact. But whoever came up with the saying, “the eyes are the window to the soul” clearly never met Dick Grayson. No matter how warm his smile may be, it’s impossible to know what he’s truly thinking with how guarded his stare is. A damn mystery, with no clues other than the slightest hint of a knowing twinkle every now and then.

You quickly decided that it’s creepy as hell. Why would a guy who acts like an open book have eyes so frosty? Has anyone else noticed this, or are they too busy being charmed by his honey words and pearly whites? Maybe it’s a part of his allure. People drool over the secretive ones, don’t they?

(Upon having that thought, you’d feel a shiver go up your spine. You can hear the echo of Dick Grayson’s voice saying, “you’re a secretive one, (Y/N). I’ll admit, it’s kinda cute” somewhere in your mind.)

(If you recall correctly, it was the day where you began to wonder where exactly he heard your name from.)

But you’ve begun to observe this anomaly named Dick Grayson. You’ve begun to pick up on how he carries himself around other people, and something became immediately apparent. Whatever the deal is with weird, closed-off look he has in his eyes… it’s situational. Strategic, even. While you have yet to pick up on the pattern, some conversations — or people, even — warrant shimmering eyes filled with mirth, while others get that plotting, calculating stare.

And, for whatever reason, everything about you seems to earn the latter.

(Like when you think he doesn’t notice you watching him. A seat ahead of you, he’ll carry on with the cheerleader just fine, his eyes sparkling with whatever emotion he desires. Then, when the conversation lulls, he’ll subtly crane his head behind him the slightest bit, icy eyes darting in your general direction.)

(You might be going crazy, but you swear he smirks a fraction of an inch when your gazes accidentally connect.)

So, yeah. Either you’re reading into things way too much, or this guy’s just not what he seems to be on the surface. And if this is really the game of cat and mouse you think it is, you’re pretty sure he knows you’re on to him. Because why else would he give you a peek behind the curtains of his true intentions? Okay, maybe that’s a little too far, as you’re not sure what his true intentions are, but still… something about how he interacts with you — which seems to be a lot, by the way — just has this subtle taunting undertone to everything. Like he knows you know something and no one will believe you.

God, if only you actually knew what he knows you know. It would make this game of mental fuckery much more palatable.

Something is so off about Dick Grayson. You’re not sure if anyone else feels the same way, but it’s just… true. That jolt of fight or flight you get when he’s looking at you has been there since day one, and it will probably continue to be there for as long as you’re in the same classes as him. And you know what doesn’t help? The strange disappearances happening around campus. Because of course there has to be some sort of side plot happening. It’s not just enough that you have this weirdo friendly frat guy wanting to get all-chummy with everyone. Nope; students and faculty alike seem to be dropping like flies, some of them even found dead after an accident or an unfortunately successful suicide attempt.

So, maybe you consume too much true crime content. Maybe people are right about that shit fucking up your mentality, and now you’re just a paranoid loser who thinks everyone is out to get them. But… I mean… a charismatic guy who’s enchanted pretty much everyone within a ten-mile radius? Come on. Where have you heard that one before. The signs are right there. Why are you the only fucking person seeing them?! Why is no one else suspicious of this weirdo who’s obviously up to something?! Why is no one calling him out on this behavior?!

… Because it’s all in your head. Because you’ve officially lost it, and the only weirdo here is you. Because when a girl started having an allergic reaction, the one who was able to control the situation and save her life was none other than Dick Grayson. Because his tone was so serious, his eyes were so focused, and his hands were so gentle yet methodical as he administered her epipen. Because he went through breathing exercises with her to calm her down, and asked with a genuinely worried expression how she was feeling.

Because Dick Grayson is a nice person who wanted to walk her back to her dorm, and all you are is a judgmental creep who comes up with batshit crazy conspiracies when someone looks at them weird.

Maybe nothing is wrong with him. If there was, why would he look so sincere during that whole thing? Aren’t life or death situations the perfect way to pick up on people’s true natures? Being right there, all you saw was a a natural-born leaver commanding the room, eyes ablaze with conviction as he ordered you to hand that girl’s back to him so he can dig for the epi. Sure, he might get a strange look in his eyes every now and then, but does that really matter in the grand scheme of things? As long as he’s got his head on his shoulder when needed, a mischievous glance or two never hurt anyone.

That night, you walked back to your dorm feeling like a piece of shit. There was no plotting. There was no game of cat and mouse. The friendly frat boy was always just that; a friendly frat boy. So, now here you are, even going as far as to take the long way back from your 8 pm lecture in order to fully maximize this time to reflect. Maybe you should somehow apologize to him. While you didn’t outwardly do anything wrong, you’ve always had this slight distrusting attitude towards him, and it was about time you change it. Who knows, maybe you’ll be the one to take initiative and sit next to him. Start the conversation yourself, ask him some questions, just generally return the friendliness he’s always shown you.

That’s when the hairs on the back of your neck began to stand.

You stopped dead in your tracks, your foot barely even flat on the beaten path before you. He was near. You knew he was near. That fight or flight instinct has basically been conditioned to sense his presence at this point, and now here it was, screaming at you that he’s near. Whatever thoughts you had to make amends with Dick Grayson were immediately thrown out in favor of that old, reliable fear.

He’s near, but you don’t see him.

No. You hear him.

He’s humming. Somewhere behind the tall, untamed shrubbery next to the path, friendly frat boy Dick Grayson is humming an unfamiliar tune, his soft voice smooth as a stone in a river. However, what would probably sound soothing to a normal person instead fills you with a sense of dread. What the hell is he doing out here?! Close to 10 in the fucking night, singing a little tune like some fucking creep?

Then, you noticed it. The sounds of something heavy scuffing against the dirt. Or, rather, dragging.

Behind the bushes and trees, Dick Grayson is dragging something. At 10 in the night.

What the actual fuck.

Curiosity is a dangerous thing. As much as you sure as hell wanted nothing to do with whatever he’s doing, a dark voice in your brain — which sounded a bit too close to Dick Grayson’s voice — urged you to look. Come on, just a peek. This bastard’s been playing mind games with you all semester, hasn’t he? Don’t you wanna know what his intentions are for sure? I mean, what kind of a frat boy hangs out in the bushes while he could be out partying on a Friday night?

Isn’t this just weird, (Y/N)?

Before you even knew it, your feet were moving on their own. Gentle steps. Avoid the twigs, avoid the leaves. Do not let him hear you. With a feather-light touch, your hand steadied itself against a nearby tree as you used it for cover.

A few long, quiet breaths. Just to calm your nerves.

Then, you slowly craned your head out from behind the tree.

There he was, slightly hunched over with his back facing you. He had a fist full of something, though you couldn’t tell quite what it was due to the night’s shadows. Dark, inky stains caked his sweater, and while the naïve part of your brain wanted to call it mud, the dread in your gut knew better. You craned your head out a bit further to get a better look at the scene.

A body. In front of Dick Grayson’s hunched over form was a body lying face down. His fist was clutching its hair, assumingely dragging it by the head from… wherever. The new angle also gave you the advantage of seeing Dick’s other hand, clutching what looked to be a hammer cover in… definitely not mud.

He was still humming. That bastard was still humming after doing whatever the fuck he did to that poor person. That person… Dick finally stood up straight, lifting the head with him by their hair… that girl. It was the same one who had the allergic reaction. Bloodied and with a dented forehead — god, you were going to be sick — but you knew it was her. She was limp in his grasp, swaying aimlessly as Dick rotated her a bit as though he was admiring his own handiwork.

He killed her.

Dick Grayson killed her.

You didn’t move. Christ, how could you after seeing something so horrific? The alarm bells in your head were much louder than your own heartbeat, screaming for you to run run run run runrunrunRUNRUNRUNRUN—

His head suddenly swiveled towards you.

No more humming as his gaze found yours.

The two of you were locked in a stalemate, staring at each other with such intensity. Those icy blue eyes held no readable emotion, not even a hint of surprise that you caught him in the act. No; he just stared at you, one hand holding a fist-full of hair and the other absently fiddling with his hammer.

A sly smirk slowly broke out on his face.

He knew you were watching the entire time, didn’t he?

Because he is a plotting piece of shit, isn’t he? This has always been a game of cat and mouse to him, and he knew you were on to him since the beginning. That friendly, charming exterior… the disappearances. Goddamnit, you were fucking right.

Something is so off about Dick Grayson.

And no one will believe you.

[wlfchnlv3r]

Heyyy I saw your requests are open! Would you write about teacher and student? I know many people don't like to write about that, that's why I'm asking. Hope you have a great dayyy🫶🫶

I’m not comfortable writing about big age gap, so i just thought about making a fic where he is a new college teacher (around 26 years old) and the reader is NOT A MINOR, so she is an ADULT therefor she is +18 (I’m European you can imagine her being +21 if you feel more comfortable).

Right person wrong time

Studen!Fem Reader x Art teacher!Hyunjin

Synopsis: Hyunjin is your college art teacher… or maybe was?

Word count: 1k

Wearing: none

Note: please like i said over here, THE READER IS NOT A MINOR, so please don’t come at me :) enjoy lovely people ✨

Hyunjin was your art teacher… your young and gorgeous art teacher, he had moved to your university a year ago, and since then he just had eyes for you.

You two started talking after classes and even exchanged numbers… it was wrong but you couldn’t help it.

As months passed, one thing led to another, you guys started dating and everything seems perfect until one day of May, which you remember as one of the worst days of your life.

Hyunjin called you after his class into his office, and you both started arguing because of your “relationship”, you just wanted to be with him, but he said your whole story was wrong.

It was the first and only time he yelled at you, “we can’t be together! Why can’t you understand it?!!” Hyunjin shouted at you before leaning down on his chair.

You were taken aback and just watched him in silence.

"You dont understand! We can't be together because I can lose my job… you're my student... and-“ he said and looked at you while his head was on his hand. He was in pain as he placed a hand on his forehead before continuing “I'm a teacher and you're a student.. and I know we both have feelings for each other... but- this relationship cannot… exist” he mumbled and looked away while his heart was hurting like hell.

You were hurt, everything was… falling apart, your relationship, your plans and everything you two have shared.

You tried to talk back but all that came out from your mouth was a whisper “what?…”.

Hyunjin looked at you again and leaned more on his chair, covering his face with his hands, clearly frustrated.

"It doesn't matter if I like you... We can't date because I'm a Goddamn teacher, y/n, I will lose my job if someone finds out, and you're- you are my student..." he let out a long sigh as he started to watch some papers to distract himself from what was going on.

You stayed silent for a few moments, before speaking with a low tone “it’s- ok” you just wanted to go home and cry.

He slowly placed his hands down on his lap and looked up at you, his face expressing the pain he was feeling “You... you really understand it..?" Hyunjin asked in a quiet voice, almost surprised.

You started to feel a mixture of pain and anger, what he was saying was right, you understood it, you weren’t stupid or something, “I’m not dumb but- damn you knew it! You knew it from the start and you didn’t stop. You didn’t even stop me from feeling something for you.” your voice started to raise involuntarily.

He took a deep breath, his expression turning to guilt “I know, I should've never.. I knew it from the start...” Hyunjin mumbled to himself, his eyes avoiding yours, as he fiddled with his fingers, clearly frustrated with himself.

"I know, I should’ve just ignore my feelings for you and stay professional.." He finally spoke while throwing some paperwork on his desk, his head hurt like hell, and he felt like he was going to throw up.

He looked down, guilt and pain written on his face "But i .. I couldn't.. I just couldn't keep it in.." He almost whispered.

He knew it was wrong to develop feelings for a student. He should've stayed professional in the first place. But it was too hard to hold it in.

You were starting to shake but you just took a breath before nodding.

Hyunjin looked at you again, his eyes filled with pain and contrasting emotions "It's not that I don't want to date you... I do... I really do.." he said quietly, his eyes locked on yours "But it's just... it's just.. impossible... and wrong” he finished.

You wanted to go home, or just leave in general because it was becoming too much to handle “i- i have to go” you said.

Hyunjin's expression changed drastically as you said that you have to go, and he quickly stood up from his chair and walked to you, not wanting you leave. “Wait- just... don't go.." he said desperately, grabbing your wrist to stop you, not letting you leave.

He held onto your wrist tightly, his eyes filled with pain. "Please... please, stay... I-" Hyunjin took a deep breath, his voice cracking a bit "I don't... want you to go.. not yet.." His hand was holding your wrist firmly.

You let out a shaky breath “you said it clear and i understand- now i wanna go home” you were trying so hard not to cry.

He let out an unsteady breath, his eyes watering up a bit, but he knew he had to let you go. But it was so hard to.

He slowly released his grip on your wrist, but his hand lingered over yours for a moment, before pulling away. "O-okay... okay.. go.." Hyunjin said in a quiet whisper, his eyes avoiding your gaze, as he was hurting more and more.

You nodded and for the last time left his office.

Once you were gone, Hyunjin couldn't hold it anymore. He leaned his back against the closed door, and slide down until he hit the floor. He placed his head on his knees, tears streaming down his cheeks, as he silently cursed himself for being so weak for you. He desperately wanted to hold onto you and never let you go. But he just couldn't "Goddammit...".

After a week of not showing up to the lessons you change degree program and just start to ignore his existence, just like he did.

5 years after college (present)

You are walking with your boyfriend in an art gallery, it’s so crowded and you cant help but bump into someone.

“My fault, sorry” you hear a familiar voice and look up before meeting his gaze.

You just stay silent for a moment, a lot of emotions going on inside your head, it’s him.

You boyfriend approaches the man and, the one you think is his girlfriend, “sorry man”

You remain silent like the person you hit a few seconds ago.

Finally your boyfriend breaks the ice “did you two know each other?” At those words you just snap out your mind “no- uhm…nice to meet you, I’m y/n” you fake a smile.

“Hyunjin and this is Kayl… have we-“ Hyunjin stops confused by your words “- met before?” He finally finishes.

“no- I don’t think so…” you lie.

Taglist: @felixleftchickennugget @kiwininja35 @sweetpickledjins @slmnheart @elqivxstxr @catffeinexo-xx @multistancheck @justwonder113 @mylittleponeypinkrosieposie @hello-stranger24 @raptorbait529 @cocofia143 @minniesverse @eastjonowhere

(Comment to be added to the tag list🎐)

[t1oui]

thinking about how living w regulus would affect harry like

he's such a fucking snob about everything. food, decor, fashion, you name it, he's got opinions on it.

he does ballet despite being the least graceful person on the planet. he's somehow pretty good at it, likely out of spite

speaks french

very much a cat person, has a cat named leo who is his baby

like yk how james and sirius are extremely codependent? that's how harry is w leo. both of them can not handle being apart from each other too long

reads a lot of stories

thinks seeker is the best quidditch position

on that note, lots of slytherin house pride. james hates it. harry refuses to put any gryffindor decorations up in his room

harry loves taking pictures just like reg so the house is filled with photographs

and ofc harry is snobby about what types of cameras he uses thanks to reg. james now just lets them deal with the cameras & photography stuff bc he's scared to get the wrong thing lol

harry is taller than reg but bc dysphoria all of reg's old clothes (like quidditch jerseys + hoodies and stuff) are his size so half his wardrobe is from reg's hogwarts days

definitely the type of guy to change his bedding & curtains & everything in his room based on the season. will anybody actually be in there other than him and his parents? not really, but he MUST redecorate

idk what this even means but snobby about candles. this is another thing james is scared to buy him

harry and reg speak french w each other more than english

since james doesn't speak french w harry (i hc he's only comfortable speaking it w reg) harry is used to having a conversation in two different languages so sometimes he'll be speaking french w his friends without noticing

he'll be in the middle of a rant and realize they don't understand a thing he's saying lol

reg and harry control the decorating for every holiday, every birthday, etc.

the one thing harry knows how to do that reg doesn't/reg didn't teach him is cooking. reg never cooked for himself as a child so james was the one who taught him

doesn't look like it most of the time but all of harry's clothes are very expensive... did i mention he's a snob

harry is such a dry texter/writer... he's such a dick about grammar when it comes to writing even tho he can barely string a sentence together when speaking

deeply sarcastic (look! a canon detail! we never thought we'd see that on this account, did we?)

will take his partners on the most expensive dates & whatnot like it's nothing... cedric the farmboy™️ is not prepared

writes sad boy poetry when he gets annoyed w someone... like harry will storm off all pissed and then he comes back 20 mins later with a beautifully written, very angry poem for whoever made him mad

has so many clothes & different curtains and bedding sets for different seasons that he also uses the closet in the guest room (reg takes up 99% of his and james's closet for the same reason)

has an inherent hatred of fake plants

bedroom is simultaneously tidy and so messy a hurricane might as well have come through

leaves a book behind everywhere he goes

secretly the worst sense of humor lmao

he may not have gotten his love of drawing/painting from regulus, but you def see reg in the way he is, you guessed it, a massive snob about art supplies

soooo indecisive. redoes his room at least twice a year

an asshole when he gets less than 10 hours of sleep... he's mildly tolerable after 3 cups of coffee (black, of course) but you might as well just ignore him until he gets a nap in

on that note is very good at making coffee and is, drum roll please, a massive snob about it. who would've guessed (somebody count how many times i've said snob in this post and comment it please and thank you)

if he doesn't like a gift he's horrible at pretending he's happy w it so people usually go through reg whenever they buy him something... this goes both ways too, people go through harry when buying something for reg

is visually james and lily's but in personality is really just reg's (and also lily's... he definitely inherited his spite from her lol)

is a crazy cat lady by age 20

at least 10 pictures of leo in his room... he has whole photoshoots for her and she poses for them

might as well not hang out w harry at his house bc he'll make out with his cat the whole time

loves going to art museums w regulus

he's a, surprise surprise, snob about art. james just doesn't comment on art altogether atp

his vocabulary is a weird mashup of french, english, and hindi that makes it very hard for anybody who doesn't know him well to understand what he's saying lol

looks angry until he smiles (he got this from lily but a life with reg has perfected it)

needs a golden retriever to his black cat in any given relationship (enter cedric and cho) (yes i'm going to push my rarepair on everyone reading this)

tl;dr being raised by/living w regulus has turned harry into a massive snob about literally everything and regulus is proud of it (blink twice if you need help, james)

[0mysticmidnight0]

★heyllo heya hey urhh—

so werh. requests — requests are open right?? I werhhh, have something that I wanna request, yippie (0‹ 0)

okay so urhh— my request is for a platonic!yandere!donatello with a mute child reader

(!long description below!)

TRIGGER WARNING FOR: kidnapping, child captivity, mention of breaking bones, implied child abuse (??)

— |★| So, it has been a while ever since Donnie has kidnapped- sorry, 'kindly took in', (child!reader) in the lair and he made them a little space in the corner of his lab for them to call a 'room'. Now, (child!reader) may have trusted Donnie a lot in the past, letting him inside of their room- communicating with him through writing or sign language in order to express themselves- or maybe even, the troubles that they had at home. Maybe their parents just weren't so patient with them being mute, and maybe they were a bit pushy for them to communicate in a way that's considered 'normal' for the people around them- and that, may have stressed (child!reader) out.

— |⁠☆| Maybe their concerns for their parent's pushy- and rather rude behaviour towards them may just be the reason that triggered Donatello's decision of taking them in the lair. He most likely tried to pursue them to come with him, saying that it's all for the betterment of their safety and comfort- explaining to them that he, and only him- is the only one who understands their wants and needs despite them not being able to verbally communicate. Also, random little concept- Donnie, may have built a little communication device for them.. a little idea that's gonna get mentioned later.

— |★| Though, (child!reader) may- or may not have been scared of the sudden change- that change being them being taken away from their home. And so, that trust that they had in Donnie starts to falter by each passing day. For someone who claims that he understands them fully, he sure does neglect their wants for going back home- or be left alone every once in a while. It's as if he forgot how to read their signing and hand-written notes and such. As for that communication device ?? Yeah- they could try and type down their little protests or pleas to get back to their family, though it seems that whatever mention of their home, their family- or even whatever insult that's targeted towards Donnie's decision of kidnapping them are all discarded from the device.

— |☆| So, that leaves them with only one option. To try and communicate with the other turtles to let them know that something is off. Subtly signing at them from afar, trying to alert them of the fact they- in fact, do not want to be here. Though, one thing that they are not aware of, is that Donatello is noticing their tries to try to inform his brothers of their situation- and that is something that he may not take kindly.

— |★| Now, I can't really see him hurting a child, however- let's just say, that their constant nagging and attempts to alert others that they want to leave, may have just been enough to push him to the edge. So, let's just say that, he is not afraid to break a wrist or two.

so werhhh, erhh— here it is.

werh, take your time— urhhhh take care of yourself, let cats just erhh

just take care and such =P

m'kay, bye bye midnight, I appreciate you reading through this (0‹ 0) !!★

HEY ASTROOO!! I'm going to have some fun with this!

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

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

WARNINGS! YANDERE BEHAVIOR, KIDNAPPING, ETC.

HEAD CANNONS FOR DONATELLO WITH MUTE! CHILD! READER

I have a feeling that near the start, he'd make you feel comfortable. Too comfortable.

Instead of a room, you get a corner in his lab. He's working on it.

Probably had all your favorite things, even asked Mikey to make you a welcome meal! He played whatever game you liked. After all.. he's the only one that understands you.

He takes care of whatever you need the first few weeks, let's you do whatever you please. But as time goes on, he can't ALWAYS excuse your bad behavior. Wouldn't want you growing up to be a brat.

It's likely the first time you misbehaved, he brushed it off. Kids will be kids.

The next few times though, a slight warning. A stern talking to. And if you don't listen after that.. What else could he have done? You did this to yourself..

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

You were huddled in the corner.. looking at him with pure fear as he looks down at you. your face glossy with tears. He held the hammer high. "What did we learn?"

You trembled as he started looking at you and the hammer. You wrote to him in sloppy handwriting. "Don't escape paradise." He nodded and put the hammer away. Tending to your wounds or broken wrist..

Apologizing and peppering you with soft kisses on the forehead, telling you he won't do it again. Whispering about how you "made him do that" and a new and better room of your own. Not without cctv. Toys galore.. maybe then you'll forgive him for what he did to you family. Oh well, he'll tell you soon enough. How cruel.

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

AHHHH THIS IS SHORT 😔😭 Still, I hope you enjoyed!

Your's truly,

MysticMidnight

[bloopitynoot]

Reading SVSSS: Bonus- Chapter 32

For those who don't know, I am reading SVSSS for the first time and sharing my thoughts!

If you have not read it, there will be spoilers! Consider this a warning.

Also- if you want to follow along, I am aiming to post updates daily. You can find all the posts in the tag bloopitynoot reads SVSSS. You can also check out the intro post for context on my read.

Yes it is 8 am and yes I am eating chicken gnocchi soup for breakfast. I stand that soup is and always will be a breakfast food.

No hot drinks today! This wedding required a feast :'3

I can't believe this is it! The series finale if you will.

I have been waiting 32 chapters for this moment. at last!!!

This man (SQQ) has been sleeping with this other man for what- months(?) years(?) at this point and he is STILL over here totally bewildered at the fact that LBH does not want to marry a woman. p355

This is kind of sweet though. I'm so glad Cang Qiong Mountain sect has embraced these two absolute weirdos. I love that they can visit now! It warms my romantic heart that they can travel for a while and then come "home" for a time. p355

omg these two are so embarrassing. The way in which LBH is asking him to marry him is so awkward. p359

oh no, now I feel like an asshole because LBH was SO NERVOUS the days leading up to him asking. (granted totally fair with how SQQ acts towards him/about their relationship- I too would not know if he wanted to actually marry me or not in this situation). I just want to pinch LBH's cheeks though, why is he so cute. p360

aaaaaah- this is so cute. SQQ being actually happy about him asking instead of trying to gaslight himself and side step his feelings or "reluctantly" agreeing to marry LBH pp360-361

my heaaaaaaaart LBH's confession pp362-363

The fact that LBH had wedding outfits ready. I need to know two things; 1. where/how did he get them and 2. how long has he had them and had this planned. p363

I truly don't know if MXTX has written a tender sex scene. Why does it always have to be a little traumatic? Granted I have only read SVSSS and MDZS BUT both of these series have either uncomfortable (SVSSS) or just have freak4freak energy (MDZS-but I will take this over crying and bleeding) there's never something soft and lubed. I hope that TGCH has something (no spoilers pls) but my bar is so low. (okay but wangxian was fine for the most part- they just were also dry and mutually unhinged). pp366-367

NO LOL the wife-ing of SQQ. p370

Okay okay- the ending was so sweet. The little shy embarrassed SQQ calling Binghe husband and him pretending not to hear. My headcanon is that eventually over time SQQ feels less and less embarrassed, works through his internalized homophobia, and learns to say what he actually feels more often. Even without my hopes and dreams, I still think this ending was such good character growth for SQQ.

Holy shit we did it!

Thank you to everyone who joined me on this reading journey. It has been so fun getting to read the books along with you and talk about the experience.

I am a little bit sad that it is over :'3

I do however, now have a pile of fanfic to start working through and am so stoked to continue this journey via fan works. Thank you, thank you to everyone who sent me fics to read!!

In terms of what is next- I will likely spend some time reading SVSSS fanfic- if I get to a point where like Wangxian, I have hundreds of fics in my collection, I may start recing Bingqiu!

BUT in terms of danmei, I am hoping to read TGCF next and round out my MXTX collection (likely end of December start)!

This has been such an amazing experience that I will continue to live blog future danmei series :)

Thank you thank you again!

[a-whispering-echo]

hey! have another onshot from my book! this one was written for @thatidiotutartist who let me write up one of his ideas once!

this ones fluffy to balance out the angsty one! this ones horrordust, too! <3

In the heart of the weathered, sombre castle, lies the main hall, a hauntingly alluring room that echoes with the lost memories of time and the secrets it may hold. Phantom breezes shift around the room as if the very air mourns the castle's past.

Flickering candlelight's cast solemn spotlights of softened spectres across brittle, moth-eaten tapestries. Faded cloth, hanging in tattered disarray, shows only the remains of the art it once held, its former glory a distant memory, much like the images of the people it had hoped to immortalise.

Even if the building wasn't haunted, it certainly felt it.

In the centre of the room, an extensive, ornate fireplace crackles and sparks, engulfing the room in a warmth that both soothes and torments. The room breathes with the cry of a thousand forgotten stories, all whispered in the unspoken language of the past.

The walls exude a sense of archaic resilience and waned grandeur. Small cracks littered the stone, just large enough for ominous eyes to scrutinise every step taken, as shadows cut deeper into twisted souls.

Or, that's how it usually looked anyway.

Today, it looked quite the opposite.

The walls were now decorated with blankets and clothes pegs, the cracks barely visible beneath all the colourful fabric. Music echoed through the chambers, and laughter filled the air, as a pillow fort sat in the centre of the room.

For once the building had an air of positivity, as the quintet who lives there sat on the floor.

Nightmare, Killer, Horror, Dust and Cross were in the midst of their impromptu sleepover.

Cross and Killer had made the fort, and despite their constant bickering, it stood proud, and Dust had brought a playlist of classical songs for them to drift off to.

They had spent the past hours playing board games, all the boxes stacked up and placed to one side as the gang huddled up under their makeshift cover, as they prepared to sleep soundly through the night.

Well, they tried anyway, but the sound of Horror's snoring pierced through the gentle hum of the classical music in the background, like a car jet engine. Nightmare, Killer and Cross tossed and turned, unable to find respite from the thunderous noise, and their attempts to muffle the sound with pillows proved futile. Frustration hung in the air as their eyelids grew heavy, and sleep continued to elude them.

The snoring was invincible.

Yet, Dust, ever the insomniac, lay still amidst the chaos. His eyes remained closed, a tranquil expression gracing his face as he seemed completely unaffected by the noise akin to trumpeting elephants on roller skates reverberating through the room, his mind accustomed to the symphony of snores.

Nightmare, Killer and Cross stared at Dust in awe and disbelief. They couldn't comprehend how he could sleep through the relentless snorts that plagued their ears. Cross, nudged Killer as he whispered, "How the fuck is he doing that? Does he have a star's damned superpower? What the hell."

Killer just shrugged, his eyes fixed on Dust's serene form. "Maybe he's just used to it. I mean, he did mention something about his Paps being quieter when he sleeps next to Horror. Pisses him off or something."

Nightmare, with an inquisitive look in his eye, leaned in closer. "Hold on, did you say he sleeps next to Horror?"

“Dude, hold on, since when was that a thing?”

Killer just shrugs, a mischievous grin stretching his face.

As the first rays of morning light seeped through the windows, Horror stirred from his slumber. Eyes blinking morning grog away sleepily, arms instinctively tightening around Dust. A blush crept onto his cheeks as he noticed the other three members staring at them. "Oh, um… morning," Horror mumbled, his voice filled with embarrassment, his eye softening as he looked down at the small form that had made its way onto his lap sometime in the night.

Still half asleep, Dust makes a sleepy noise, and cuddles further into the warmth by his side, and Horror coos.

"Sooo…How long have you secretly been dating?" Killer's voice spoke from the side, from where he sat on the other sofa.

Horror's eye widens in shock, as his flush grows, the molten colour of dried blood almost down to his neck at this point, "We're not…We're just friends!"

Dust, still half-asleep and oblivious to the attention they were receiving, mumbled something incoherent and nuzzled closer to Horror, his peaceful expression undisturbed. Horror's blush deepened, but a smile played at his lips. "…Mh, love you." The sleepy lump spoke again.

Horror's eye widened even further, and his heart skipped a beat at Dust's words. He couldn't believe what he had just heard. His mind raced with a whirlwind of emotions, and he found himself at a loss for words.

The room fell into a hushed silence as Horror gently rubbed his hand over the hood of Dust's jacket.

Nightmare spoke up with a small supportive smile, “ You know, it is quite alright if you have..ugh, feelings for each other.”

Cross chimed in, voice filled with sincerity. "And we're here for you both, no matter what. I consider you my family, and family are always there for each other.”

“Aw, man, does that mean I've been third wheeling you guys every time we hang out?” Killer whined.

“Be nice,” Nightmare nudged his annoying subordinate.

“Yeah, Yeah, it's fine, whatever, besties for life and all that jazz yada yada.” He summoned his eyelight just to roll it before hiding it again, a small smile gracing his lips.

Horror looked at his friends, hope rising in his chest. With newfound courage, he whispered to Dust, who was still half-asleep in his arms, "I love you too,"

Dust stirred, and a sleepy smile tugged at his lips. He lifted his head from Horror's lap, looking up at him with eyes filled with affection. "You do?"

“Mhh.”

Dust smiled, before huddling back up, laying down on his partners' lap.

As the morning sun bathed the pillow fort in a soft glow, the friends settled back, feeling content and secure. The snoring that had once been a nuisance had become a familiar lullaby, the soundtrack to their bond as friends and now as a couple.

For in their little corner of the world, surrounded by tattered tapestries and rugged walls, they had created a sanctuary of love and acceptance—a place where the ordinary became extraordinary and where the sound of snores could lull them into a peaceful slumber, knowing that they were never alone.

[dichotomy-of-your-girlfriend]

I can't tell what here is snarky/sarcastic and what is an actual point so sorry if I accidentally misinterpret.

1. The person I was taking shots at for kinning him was a whole ass 25 y/o. I think we should be able to understand why that's wrong and off putting. A kid might not understand the weight and importance of not separating rape from his character, and say it because he's grumpy, and deadpan, and struggles with responsibility, poor self esteem, tends to pedestal, feels like they have to do everything (crazy he did 5 things over several months tho hmm.)

2. Jimmy is not a reminder of my own capability for evil. He's a reminder of the time I got SAd awesome!! People aren't scared he's a reflection of themselves. Actually, people just tend to hate rapists. Just because there isn't nuance doesn't mean there's not depth to his character. I have picked him apart and listened to other people pick him apart and there are things I also relate too In there! He is amazingly written, and the gameplay makes you uncover all of this over time and you start to shift your opinion and idea of what's happening and it's great and super cool and really well done which is why I hate him. Bc he sucks. And the did an awesome job writing a guy who sucks.

Complexity ≠ redeemability

3. "And this fear gives birth to the vehement denial of anything human in jimmy. Because If you gave him some thought, you may discover something deeply unpleasant about yourself."

Whar that we're all secret rapists?? Or something?? People don't hate him bc they look at him in a 2 dimensional way. The point is you can look at him as deep as you fucking want and he's still awful. He is human and complex and also he sucks really bad and I hate him. Again I could give you the list of things I relate to, and honestly he might be the character that resonated most with me. But my bar for likability is rape but you do you. I am so past the point in my life where I'm anything other than angry and unmoving about this as a victim. You can pull the fictional character card which has weight for sure. I think it's the REASON we get to pick him apart and talk about him as an individual because there's no real Anya. She'd take priority in that case and we wouldn't do anythjng but try to send jimmy to prison. But we don't have too because real people aren't in danger of fictional grease man jimmy. but real people feel this story really close to their heart and it's dangerous to get comfortable In the rhetoric that it's simple minded and unfair to hate him without fully examining him. Especially in fandom spaces that could influence how young people form their perception of sexual assault and criminals and if they're victims that could really fuck em up honestly. And it's not fair to police victims out of the fandom either because thjs is ultimately a story that we resonate with. And it's comforting. And it's an outlet to use jimmy as a punching bag too it's nice to see unapologetic bullying of this not real guy as somebody who never got justice.

I unapologetically hate him. And I do am off put when people like him. But not ljme we should never talk abt him or male funny videos with him or fanart where hes in it hate him like. Im not that dumb.

But it's weird to me that you had to make this entire thing about how you don't hate jimmy because you can read into all the details and fully understand his character and we're all just too simple and dumb do have done that bc WE fEAr oUr HUmaNjTy and the morally grey nature of life blah blah.

Maybe the rest of us also enjoy character analysis and looking into every nook and cranny of his being... and maybe for the rest of us the bar is rape. You're not intrinsically evil for liking him no. But I will probably go ew what and feel really nasty about it.

Appreciating his character ≠ liking him. I was talking aboht people who made jimmy their little blorbo or whatever. If tbst wasn't clear sorry bc that was the intent so I just basically read your thing as in defense of jimmy simps. Pls don't blorbo the rapist lol.

I've seen some "I low key like Jimmy like I hate what he did but I like his character" posts already and.

If that's you, this game is a commentary on people like you, and you don't even realise it. It's about how he and his actions can't be separated. If you really think he's well written or whatever the hell, appreciate the amazing job the devs did by hating him.

[so-long-soldier28]

shit.

@chocolatepalacecloudhoagie @vaugarkel

i'm starting to like theo.

and by like, i mean urge liam to let him out of the jail cell. and gripe at everyone *cough* malia *cough* who gives him shit. and, when those stupid deputies kept waking him up in 6x12 (i think), i was bitching at them through my laptop screen.

[greenerteacups]

oooh please someday tell us what you think of GOT

oh, no, it's my fatal weakness! it's [checks notes] literally just the bare modicum of temptation! okay you got me.

SO. in order to tell what's wrong with game of thrones you kind of have to have read the books, because the books are the reason the show goes off the rails. i actually blame the showrunners relatively little in proportion to GRRM for how bad the show was (which I'm not gonna rehash here because if you're interested in GOT in any capacity you've already seen that horse flogged to death). people debate when GOT "got bad" in terms of writing, but regardless of when you think it dropped off, everyone agrees the quality declined sharply in season 8, and to a certain extent, season 7. these are the seasons that are more or less entirely spun from whole cloth, because season 7 marks the beginning of what will, if we ever see it, be the Winds of Winter storyline. it's the first part that isn't based on a book by George R.R. Martin. it's said that he gave the showrunners plot outlines, but we don't know how detailed they were, or how much the writers diverged from the blueprint — and honestly, considering the cumulative changes made to the story by that point, some stark divergence would have been required. (there's a reason for this. i'll get there in a sec.)

so far, i'm not saying anything all that original. a lot of people recognized how bad the show got as soon as they ran out of Book to adapt. (I think it's kind of weird that they agreed to make a show about an unfinished series in the first place — did GRRM figure that this was his one shot at a really good HBO adaptation, and forego misgivings about his ability to write two full books in however many years it took to adapt? did he think they would wait for him? did he not care that the series would eventually spoil his magnum opus, which he's spent the last three decades of his life writing? perplexing.) but the more interesting question is why the show got bad once it ran out of Book, because in my mind, that's not a given. a lot of great shows depart from the books they were based on. fanfiction does exactly that, all the time! if you have good writers who understand the characters they're working with, departure means a different story, not a worse one. now, the natural reply would be to say that the writers of GOT just aren't good, or at least aren't good at the things that make for great television, and that's why they needed the books as a structure, but I don't think that's true or fair, either. books and television are very different things. the pacing of a book is totally different from the pacing of a television show, and even an episodic book like ASOIAF is going to need a lot of work before it's remotely watchable as a series. bad writers cannot make great series of television, regardless of how good their source material is. sure, they didn't invent the characters of tyrion lannister and daenerys targaryen, but they sure as hell understood story structure well enough to write a damn compelling season of TV about them!

so but then: what gives? i actually do think it's a problem with the books! the show starts out as very faithful to the early books (namely, A Game of Thrones and A Clash of Kings) to the point that most plotlines are copied beat-for-beat. the story is constructed a little differently, and it's definitely condensed, but the meat is still there. and not surprisingly, the early books in ASOIAF are very tightly written. for how long they are, you wouldn't expect it, but on every page of those books, the plot is racing. you can practically watch george trying to beat the fucking clock. and he does! useful context here is that he originally thought GOT was going to be a trilogy, and so the scope of most threads in the first book or two would have been much smaller. it also helps that the first three books are in some respects self-contained stories. the first book is a mystery, the second and third are espionage and war dramas — and they're kept tight in order to serve those respective plots.

the trouble begins with A Feast for Crows, and arguably A Storm of Swords, because GRRM starts multiplying plotlines and treating the series as a story, rather than each individual book. he also massively underestimated the number of pages it would take him to get through certain plot beats — an assumption whose foundation is unclear, because from a reader's standpoint, there is a fucke tonne of shit in Feast and Dance that's spurious. I'm not talking about Brienne's Riverlands storyline (which I adore thematically but speaking honestly should have been its own novella, not a part of Feast proper). I'm talking about whole chapters where Tyrion is sitting on his ass in the river, just talking to people. (will I eat crow about this if these pay off in hugely satisfying ways in Winds or Dream? oh, totally. my brothers, i will gorge myself on sweet sweet corvid. i will wear a dunce cap in the square, and gleefully, if these turn out to not have been wastes of time. the fact that i am writing this means i am willing to stake a non-negligible amount of pride on the prediction that that will not happen). I'm talking about scenes where the characters stare at each other and talk idly about things that have already happened while the author describes things we already have seen in excruciating detail. i'm talking about threads that, while forgivable in a different novel, are unforgivable in this one, because you are neglecting your main characters and their story. and don't tell me you think that a day-by-day account tyrion's river cruise is necessary to telling his story, because in the count of monte cristo, the main guy disappears for nine years and comes hurtling back into the story as a vengeful aristocrat! and while time jumps like that don't work for everything, they certainly do work if what you're talking about isn't a major story thread!

now put aside whether or not all these meandering, unconcluded threads are enjoyable to read (as, in fairness, they often are!). think about them as if you're a tv showrunner. these bad boys are your worst nightmare. because while you know the author put them in for a reason, you haven't read the conclusion to the arc, so you don't know what that reason is. and even if the author tells you in broad strokes how things are going to end for any particular character (and this is a big "if," because GRRM's whole style is that he lets plots "develop as he goes," so I'm not actually convinced that he does have endings written out for most major characters), that still doesn't help you get them from point A (meandering storyline) to point B (actual conclusion). oh, and by the way, you have under a year to write this full season of television, while GRRM has been thinking about how to end the books for at least 10. all of this means you have to basically call an audible on whether or not certain arcs are going to pay off, and, if they are, whether they make for good television, and hence are worth writing. and you have to do that for every. single. unfinished. story. in the books.

here's an example: in the books, Quentin Martell goes on a quest to marry Daenerys and gain a dragon. many chapters are spent detailing this quest. spoiler alert: he fails, and he gets charbroiled by dragons. GRRM includes this plot to set up the actions of House Martell in Winds, but the problem is that we don't know what House Martell does in Winds, because (see above) the book DNE. So, although we can reliably bet that the showrunners understand (1) Daenerys is coming to Westeros with her 3 fantasy nukes, and (2) at some point they're gonna have to deal with the invasion of frozombies from Canada, that DOESN'T mean they necessarily know exactly what's going to happen to Dorne, or House Martell. i mean, fuck! we don't even know if Martin knows what's going to happen to Dorne or House Martell, because he's said he's the kind of writer who doesn't set shit out beforehand! so for every "Cersei defaults on millions of dragons in loans from the notorious Bank of Nobody Fucks With Us, assumes this will have no repercussions for her reign or Westerosi politics in general" plotline — which might as well have a big glaring THIS WILL BE IMPORTANT stamp on top of the chapter heading — you have Arianne Martell trying to do a coup/parent trap switcheroo with Myrcella, or Euron the Goffick Antichrist, or Faegon Targaryen and JonCon preparing a Blackfyre restoration, or anything else that might pan out — but might not! And while that uncertainty about what's important to the "overall story" might be a realistic way of depicting human beings in a world ruled by chance and not Destiny, it makes for much better reading than viewing, because Game of Thrones as a fantasy television series was based on the first three books, which are much more traditional "there is a plot and main characters and you can generally tell who they are" kind of book. I see Feast and Dance as a kind of soft reboot for the series in this respect, because they recenter the story around a much larger cast and cast a much broader net in terms of which characters "deserve" narrative attention.

but if you're making a season of television, you can't do that, because you've already set up the basic premise and pacing of your story, and you can't suddenly pivot into a long-form tone poem about the horrors of war. so you have to cut something. but what are you gonna cut? bear in mind that you can't just Forget About Dorne, or the Iron Islands, or the Vale, or the North, or pretty much any region of the story, because it's all interconnected, but to fit in everything from the books would require pacing of the sort that no reasonable audience would ever tolerate. and bear in mind that the later books sprout a lot more of these baby-plots that could go somewhere, but also might end up being secondary or tertiary to the "main story," which, at the end of the day, is about dragons and ice zombies and the rot at the heart of the feudal power system glorified in classical fantasy. that's the story that you as the showrunner absolutely must give them an end to, and that's the story that should be your priority 1.

so you do a hack and slash job, and you mortar over whatever you cut out with storylines that you cook up yourself, but you can't go too far afield, because you still need all the characters more or less in place for the final showdown. so you pinch here and push credulity there, and you do your best to put the characters in more or less the same place they would have been if you kept the original, but on a shorter timeframe. and is it as good as the first seasons? of course not! because the material that you have is not suited to TV like the first seasons are. and not only that, but you are now working with source material that is actively fighting your attempt to constrain a linear and well-paced narrative on it. the text that you're working with changed structure when you weren't looking, and now you have to find some way to shanghai this new sprawling behemoth of a Thing into a television show. oh, and by the way, don't think that the (living) author of the source material will be any help with this, because even though he's got years of experience working in television writing, he doesn't actually know how all of these threads will tie together, which is possibly the reason that the next book has taken over 8 years (now 13 and counting) to write. oh and also, your showrunners are sick of this (in fairness, very difficult) job and they want to go write for star wars instead, so they've refused the extra time the studio offered them for pre-production and pushed through a bunch of first-draft scripts, creating a crunch culture of the type that spawns entirely avoidable mistakes, like, say, some poor set designer leaving a starbucks cup in frame.

anyway, that's what I think went wrong with game of thrones.

[puhpandas]

You Stress Me Out

(4,135 words)

Gregory shows up at Evan's house during a storm with a wood carving knife stuck in his stomach. It may not be that bad of a wound, but that doesn't mean having a knife sticking out of you is any less scary. Or that Evan will freak out any less.

warnings: blood, mentions of a fistfight, an unsafe home environment, stitches, and of course, a blade being stuck inside flesh

Evans incredibly on edge right now. Which, nothing new here. But this time, it's less of his normal state and more of a genuine, rational kind of edge.

First off; a storm is on it's way. Not only does a storm mean that outside is a no-go, meaning that Evan is trapped inside his house with no way to leave, but hes absolutely terrified of thunder.

Which is why as soon as he'd heard about the bad weather, when his fathers back was turned and Michael had been focusing on something other than messing with him, he'd snuck to the kitchen, grabbed all the snacks and water he could need, and took them to his hidden stash in his bedroom.

This way, he didnt have to leave his room. And he could do his old trick of blocking the door leading from the shortest route to his room with his dresser, which could give him enough time to shut Michael out if he decides to persist on the other side.

Unlockable doors. The bane of Evan's existence.

The other reason hes on edge isnt because of himself, even though his body is locked up and sense, waiting for the thunder to start booming outside and send him flying off of his bed from how hard he flinches. Its because of Gregory.

Evan's brows furrow from his place on his bed, curtains drawn, but just open enough to see the rain start so he can brace himself. He takes one look at the gray clouds and white sky and frowns deeply.

Evan knows all about his friends... situation. Honestly, after being friends for almost a year, you'd think he would have known sooner, but nope. Evan had just been giving Gregory the benefit of the doubt too much. when Gregory'd refuse to let Evan go to his house, he'd assume he had parents like his, who he didnt want Gregory to have to see either, which was why he had been asking. When Gregory would have new bruises and cuts and rips in his clothing the next time Evan would see him, he would deliberately choose not to pry, or wonder, because he would think maybe it was worse than he thought.

But Evan had figured it out eventually, and he'd understood why Gregory kept it from him so long. Evan wouldnt want Gregory to see him differently for being a certain way.

But like Gregory, Evan had made it clear he didnt. He understands, really. Like he understands that with the knowledge comes the worry.

Evan knows Gregory doesnt always have stable shelter. The city and it's people arent so kind to homeless people like Gregory, even when hes outside and theres about to be a hurricane. Which is why Evan is hoping, wishing, praying that Gregory will come to Evan, this time.

It's why he's reading a book, sitting on his bed next to his window instead of on his phone like usual. Evan's on edge because he cant stop thinking about what would happen to Gregory if he didn't come, and if he does, will Evan hear him to let him in.

Evans room is on the ground floor, which makes it very easy for Gregory to come and go as he pleases (also for Evan to make an escape when he needs to. It's not rare for Evan to ditch his room to flee to the city with Cassidy, sometimes).

Evan's eyes trail over the words on the pages, but he isnt taking them in. He huffs, letting the book drop to his lap, and tries to ignore how cold-but-on-fire his stomach feels. He can't focus. Not when Gregory's supposed to trust Evan enough to come to him when he needs help and he hasnt yet.

Evan only waits a while longer, foot tapping on the side of his comforter and fingers drumming. When the first few thick drops of water land on his window, he goes for his phone.

Gregory said to never call him unless it's important. But right now, with how much Evan's stomach swims with nausea over uncertainty about Gregory's safety, Evan thinks this is important enough.

Evan only has enough time to enter his fifteen digit pin and tap the phone app before the sound hes been waiting for rings out by his window.

Evan can feel his shoulders drop when the familiar jingle of a Fazbear song is knocked on his window. He smiles, hurrying over to his window and almost ripping the curtains off the wall with how fast he opens them.

When Evan reaches to open the window, Gregory's there, if not a bit weary, if his half lidded eyes and the cut on his cheekbone are any indication, but Evan doesnt worry too much. Just unclicking the locks on his window and helping Gregory step inside when its apparent he needs help.

He has a hand clutching at his stomach, which is worrying, but Gregory looks like hes okay. Not about to die, which is what Evan's thoughts always end up going to, so he thinks that's a good thing.

Evan shuts the window and locks it just as the rain starts to drop harder, and he shuts the curtains, sending a glance at his door (the one not covered up with a dresser) out of paranoia. When his father doesnt burst in and send Gregory away like Evan's imagining, he turns his attention back to Gregory.

Hes huffing, like he cant catch his breath, which makes Evan furrow his brows. Gregory's bent over, like when you have a stomach cramp and try to curl in on yourself as much as possible. If Evan looks hard enough, he can see the inklings of bruises on Gregory's knuckles.

Evan frowns. Okay, probably a fight, but it wouldnt be the first time he would have to pull out the first aid kit.

"Gregory." Evan catches his attention. Gregory's eyes dart up to him, and he offers a shaky smile. "Hey. You had me worried sick."

"Me too." Gregory says, but it sounds strained. He still has that hand pressed firmly over a spot on his stomach, and when he looks pained, Evan guides him over to his bed, letting him sit down. "I know you don't like thunder and stuff. A-And you'd be stuck with Michael.

Evan crosses his arms, trying to look stern but coming off as incredibly worried instead. "Gregory. You're acting weird." He points out. "Listen, I know you're hurt. You know I've seen you get into fights before. Can you just tell me what's wrong?"

Gregory, suspiciously, looks away, focused on one of Evan's toys hes had since he was younger that he never bothered to put away. "Um. I-I dont think this is like those times, though."

Well. If Gregory can be this difficult, he cant be feeling too bad. Doesnt do anything for the anxiety digging a hole in Evan's stomach, though. "No matter what it is, you need help, okay? I wont judge. Just let me patch you up."

Gregory doesnt respond for a moment, then, "Promise not to freak out."

"What?"

"Promise not to wig out." Gregory meets his eyes, looking pained. "This is gonna make you freak. I know it. Just... try to stay calm. It's not that bad, I swear."

"Just show me already!" Evan presses, getting jittery from nerves. "You saying that is already making me freak out!"

"Okay! Jeez." Gregory huffs, and takes a deep breath. "Just dont look at it too hard."

"Gregory!" Evan yells.

"Okay, okay!" Gregory says placatingly. He doesnt say anything else, just takes his hand off of his stomach like ripping off a bandaid.

Evan's eyes blow wide, and his legs turn cold. "Oh my god."

"There it is." Gregory sighs.

"Gregory." Evan says, just above a whisper, because he cant manage anything louder at that moment. He stares at Gregory's stomach, feeling a pit in his own stomach when he cant tear his eyes away. "Gregory!"

"I told you you'd freak out." Gregory mutters, like he doesnt have a literal knife sticking out of his flesh.

"Why would I not freak out?!" Evan whisper yells, because wow he does not need his father or Michael to walk in right now. He gestures wildly, trying to put all of his emotions I into the single movement. "You have a knife in you!"

Despite what Gregory said not to do, Evan looks hard at it anyway. It isnt super deep; it's one of those really tiny pocket knives, like what you would use to carve wood with. He can still see some of the blade sticking out, which means the inch and a half long blade isnt plundged very deep.

"I know." Gregory says. "Can you help me get it out?"

Evan gapes. "Help you--" He giggles maniacally. "Gregory, if I pull it out, I'll have no clue how to make it so you wont bleed out."

"Well," Gregory glances away. "I cant really go to the hospital, and I cant just leave it in." He says. "You're my best bet. Besides, I promise it isnt that bad. It could have been way worse. I dont need a hospital."

Wow. No pressure, or anything. Evan implodes, shaking his hands out and doing laps around the room. "I'm gonna have to pull a knife out of you."

"Okay. Stay calm, remember?" Gregory repeats, and when Evan's facing Gregory's direction again after another lap, he can see him wincing. "Look, I know you're wigging out, but I really dont want this knife to me stuck inside me anymore."

"I would assume so!" Evan hisses, coming to a stop in the middle of his room and wringing his hands through his sweater sleeves. "Gregory--"

"Okay, listen." Gregory sounds strained, and Evan takes a moment to pause, worry taking ahold of his stomach like a giant hand and squeezing. "You have a phone, don't you? I need you to Google what to do, and pull this stupid knife out of my stomach."

Evan gets queasy just thinking about it. "Gregory."

"I know." He says. "But, look. I'm not gonna be awake much longer, since I pretty much ran from the city to here while I was bleeding, and the guy who attacked me had already beat me up a bit before stabbing me."

Evan's heart seizes at that. He returns to Gregory's side, sitting down with him. "But, isnt it not good if you're unconscious--"

"I dont know." He interrupts, eyes squeezed shut. "Look, I'm feeling kinda woozy, so I dont know how much longer I have left, but I'll try to stay awake."

Evan frowns. "You're acting like you're gonna die or something." He jokes, but his hand shake at the thought. "...Okay. Come here."

Gregory perks up, sitting up with great effort and putting an arm around Evan's neck when he gestures to. "We're doing this?"

"Yeah." Evan says shakily. He supports Gregory as he leads him lay down, pressed up against the wall, where if the door opened, hed be hidden behind it. Evan grabs a few of the towels he hides in his room to always have a clean one, -since he can never rely on laundry being done in his house-, and lays them under Gregory to soak up any blood. His father would kill Evan if he got the carpet stained with blood.

Evan grabs the first aid kit he always has hidden under his bed, and clicks it open, settling on his knees in front of Gregory's slack form on the floor with hovering hands as he glances at each of the kits contends uncertainly.

He grabs his phone, fingers trembling and pressing all the wrong buttons. Gregorys harsh breathing doesnt help.

"How did this even happen?" Evan asks as he desperately types in 'how to pull a wood carving knife out of your stomach at home' into the search bar. "Like-- I know you get into fights sometimes, but this?"

"Okay okay." Gregory coughs a bit. "Ill tell you. So, you know how it's about to storm?"

Evan glances at the crack through the curtains just enough to see the dark gray clouds swirling. "Yeah."

"So, I wasnt at my usual spot, but it was really close to starting to pour. And getting sick is like, the worst case scenario." Gregory says while Evan reads the random article he found at the speed of light. "So, I had to find some other place closer to where I was to wait out the storm, because I couldnt travel that far in the rain."

Evan pauses in reading, frowning and looking at Gregory's face. "You know you can always come here, right?"

Gregory frowns, looking away. "Yeah, but..." He trails off. "Its not fair to dump my problems on you like that."

Evan scoffs, breathing out a light chuckle. "Like you didnt dump your problems on me right now. And even then, I dont mind. I would much rather you come to me then be in pain somewhere else. Okay?"

Evan doesnt look at Gregory's face, too busy looking down at the article he has pulled up on his phone in his trembling hand, but he can tell hes smiling.

"Also, don't act like you don't make my problems your own, too. Im allowed to do the same as well, you know."

"Okay, okay." Gregory huffs. "I get it. I'll come to you right away next time. Happy?"

"Yes." Evan says, and he really is. Knowing that Gregory is sure to come to Evan when the weather gets bad, or something happens that makes the city unsafe, Evan will be able to sleep soundly knowing Gregory will either be safe with him, or he will be if need be. "You never finished telling me how you ended up with a pocket knife stuck in you, though."

"Right." Gregory chuckles. "So, I find this kind of hidden away spot, right? And I'm thinking I got really lucky, and set my stuff down. But then this other older kid shows up, and its obvious hes like me. But he gets really mad that I'm in his spot and starts yelling at me to get out."

"Jerk." Evan says, pulling the things he needs out of the first aid kit. "You should help eachother out, not fight. I'm sure he could have lended you some space."

"I'm sure you would have." Gregory chuckles. "But anyway, I'm packing up my stuff to leave, because this guy hurting me is a bigger concern than the weather at this point, and I dont want to mess with him."

Evan nods along, and goes to begin, but pauses when the first step is to take out the knife. Nausea curls in his gut, and he winces, glancing at Gregory.

"Hey." He cuts Gregory off in his story, and tries to look as apologetic as possible. "I, um. Have to take the knife out."

Gregory's eyes blow wide, and he frowns. "Oh."

Evan fidgets, having no idea how to make this better for Gregory. "Do you want me to count to three, or...?"

"Just do it." Gregory puts that steely exterior on. "I can handle it. Just do what you need to do."

Evan feels awful; this must suck for Gregory. Even if the knife is small and not very deep, having something sharp ripped out of your flesh cant be fun. "If you're sure."

He props himself on his knees, getting as close to Gregory as possible, and wraps a hand firmly around the small handle of the wood carving knife.

He can see it in Gregory's eyes. Neither of them want to do this.

"Keep telling your story." Evan says softly. Maybe itll distract Gregory from it, even a little bit. And Evan, as well. He can already feel bile working it's way up his throat at the thought.

Gregory nods minutely, jaw locked and tense. He breathes out a bit. "...Kay. So, I'm trying to tell him that I'll leave if he let's me get my stuff, but hes really impatient, and when I dont leave right away, he tries to scare me away faster by beating me."

Evan winces, pointedly twisting his neck away from the knife, as he tightens his grip, anticipation sending lightning through his veins. "That explains the bruises." He says shakily.

Gregory pauses, waiting for something that doesn't come. "...Yeah. He uh, he got me pretty good... but he didnt leave unscathed either. But, I think I got it worse."

"Definitely." Evan agrees ghastily, his stomach rolling when he feels the cold handle of the knife pressing idents in his skin. "Keep going."

Gregory gives him a look, but continues. "...So when I start fighting back, even though I'm smaller, he took that as a bad thing, apparently, and wanted me gone so he didnt get hurt. So what does he do?"

Evan doesn't respond, just squeezing his eyes shut, biting his tongue, and ripping off the bandaid.

Evan rips the knife out with a quick flick of his shoulder, and gags when it makes a fleeting metal-on-flesh sound as its removed. Gregory lurches lightly next to him, making a garbled, suprised sound, and when it's over, just lays flat on the floor.

"G-God." Gregory coughs, stuttering. "Okay, that wasnt that bad. I guess."

"I'm sorry." Evan frets, flinching and dropping the knife on the towel when some of Gregory's blood drips down his fingers. "I'm sorry, Gregory."

"You didnt do it." Gregory chuckles, his face white as a sheet. He brings up an arm to clutch at a spot just above the wound on his chest. "Jesus."

"I'll fix you up." Evan says softly, setting a hand on Gregory's own and taking it away just as quickly when he rushes to go wash his hands. "Okay? It might hurt, but you'll be okay. I'll make sure of it."

"...Kay." Is all Gregory says, and Evan rushes faster when he just let's his head fall against the floor.

When Evan comes back, he all but dives onto the floor, grabbing the things he layed out on the carpet and beginning. "Gregory, hey!"

"What?" Gregory asks, and Evan sinks in relief when hes still awake. He rolls up Gregory's shirt, inspecting the wound, and he finds it looks more like just a deep cut than anything. "I know you're trying to stay awake, but I'm probably gonna have to find a way to close this cut, so you might want to go ahead and go to sleep."

Gregory pales. "Like, stitches?"

"Probably." Evan shudders. A wave of sickness washes over his body when he realizes hes probably gonna have to find a needle and thread, and stitch Gregory's flesh closed, even if the cut is only an inch or so long. "Better safe than sorry. And I really dont think having a wood carving knife stabbed into you, even if it wasnt that deep, is okay to just put a bandaid over."

"...Alright." Gregory sighs, and his head rolls against the floor, his body relaxing. "I don't want to be awake for that."

"Me neither." Evan huffs, and Gregory breathes the air of a laugh through his nose. "But I think you'll be okay. Just sleep, and you'll be patched up when you wake up."

Gregory sighs a deep sigh, and Evan thinks it sounds like deep relief just settled. "Okay. Thank you, Evan."

"Of course." Evan replies, and when Gregory shuts his eyes and no doubt falls asleep pretty quick, Evan glances around his room, and realizes hes gonna have to go on a scavenger hunt for a needle and thread.

He sighs, hoping and wishing that he wont run into his father or Michael when he has to venture out of the safety of his room, but he relaxes at the moment, taking in a deep breath and reaching for some supplies.

First, he has to clean the wound.

🐻

When Gregory creaks his eyes open, it's not to Evan's carpeted floor like he had expected. Well, he is on the floor, he finds when he finally takes in his surroundings. But he isnt laying down completely. Some pillows and blankets have been posed and laid around him, like a nest, and Evan is sitting next to him in the middle, scrolling and watching something on his phone.

Gregory twists his neck and puts pressure in his arm, trying to prop himself up. He yawns, and Evan startles, taking out the crappy Walmart earbuds he'd bought. "Gregory!"

"Hi." Gregory groans, feeling the effects of his fistfight and intense sprint take hold, his body groaning and aching with soreness at his movement. He feels warm; which is something he wasnt expecting when he'd initially thought he'd spend the span of the storm outside in it. "Ugh."

Evan shuts his phone off lays it and his earbuds on the blanket, twisting his torso and shimmying in his spot laying against a pillow against the wall and legs covered with a throw blanket to face him. "You probably dont feel too good."

"Like crap." Gregory agrees. When he shifts again, back and head cushioned against two pillows without cases on them, he can feel the sore sort of throbbing pain of whatever stitches Evan had sewn in him. He wrinkles his nose at the thought, feeling guilty on Evan's behalf. "But... the stitches feel secure. I'm sorry you had to do that, it must have sucked really hard."

"It did." Evan shudders, but chuckles at the same time. "You know, I had to go in my Moms room to get the needle and thread and steal the pills from my Dad."

Gregory quirks a brow. "What pills?" He asks at the same time Evan hands him a small bottle of Advil. "Oh."

Evan hands him some snacks, too. A water bottle and some crackers. He smiles softly and takes them, taking two Advil with a swig of the water bottle. "You did all that for me?" Gregory asks, voice small. "...I know you hate your Dad, and your parents would get mad at you if they saw you snooping."

"I know." Evan says, fidgeting with one of the blankets and laying his head on the pillow propped against the wall. "But I wanted you to feel better more than I was scared of my parents."

Theres a short stretch of silence after that, only the harsh rain and wind against the house being heard. Gregory stays silent, turning over Evan's words in his head.

His eyes burn slightly, but he pushes it down with precise practice. "Thank you" Is all he can find in him to say. Theres too many feelings, too many emotions he has to put them into words.

But Evan knows him, and Gregory knows he understands when he nods, and smiles that small, kind smile that just screams 'and I'd do it again'. "Of course." Evan insists, and looks away for a moment. "I want you to trust me, okay? I want to show you that if you come to me because you need help, I'll be here, and I wont discount you, or-- or shrug you off."

Gregory doesn't smile, but he feels warmth spread through his chest at that. Gregory knows Evan, so he knows exactly why he would want Gregory to feel that way. He knows exactly why Evan holds himself to that, even though Gregorys confident a lot of it has to do with just the kindness in Evan's own heart.

"I-I know." Gregory whispers. "I came here because I do trust you. I came here because I know that."

It's really hard for Gregory to say that, and he knows Evan understands, because he doesnt comment, just nods, relief sagging his shoulders.

Theres a short burst of silence for a moment, the two of them just soaking up the atmosphere of being warm and comfortable, despite the circumstances.

"You're staying here, by the way." Evan's voice rips him out of his thoughts suddenly, and Gregory snaps to attention to see Evan looking at him sternly, but worriedly. "I know you're gonna try to say something stupid about how you're fine to go back into the rain. You arent going anywhere near the city, alright? I don't care if the storm lasts a week. I'll find a way to hide you so Michael or my father dont find you, okay?"

Gregory snorts at Evan's intense voice, but his heart bursts all the same. "Okay, Evan. I promise."

"Good." Evan sounds appeased. He twists his body, reaching for something, and grabs his phone, putting one earbud in and giving Gregory the other. He opens YouTube, handing the phone to Gregory. "You can pick. Honor of the patient."

Gregory grins, giggling. "Thanks, Doctor Evan."

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[atopvisenyashill]

do love how this is an asoiaf blog but i did not put either show in my top 10 this is the world we live in