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scarletriddles · 2 days ago

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Lost in the fire ˚༄ | S.R

↳ in which the team’s newest case puts your life in jeopardy, at your own accord.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader

genre: angst

warnings: general cm gore/case discussion, fire/arson, injuries related to fire, swearing, references to religion + greek mythology, friends to…? (they��re in la-la-la-love, your honour), some possible inaccuracies (sorry!), small jemily mention because lesbian rights, hopeful ending, use of she/her pronouns, no use of y/n, second person narrative.

word count: 4.3k

a/n: my first ever fic i’m very nervy🫣i’m not expecting this to gain any sort of traction, but lmk how you find it, i suppose!

“Haley Bradstone, aged twenty-five, and Laura Kilmey, aged twenty-seven, are the most recent victims in a series of murders in Detroit, Michigan. Both victims were discovered four days apart, and only five miles away from each other, their bodies disposed of in black FIBC bulk bags that were left in trash-sites.” JJ pauses, her gaze flickering between the team, almost hesitant as her thumb circles the silver remote. But, with a clearing of her throat, she continues. “Cause of death for both victims has been ruled asphyxiation…by smoke inhalation.”

You abruptly halt toying with the frayed edges of the case file, your eyebrows shooting up and head lifting to look at her, and then also at the rest of the team - who look just as bewildered.

“Sorry, did you just say smoke inhalation?” You ask, genuine confusion weighing down your tone.

JJ nods, her expression dismayed as she eyes the two beaming faces displayed on the board. “Yes, as laid out in the case files, high levels of carbon monoxide, hydrogen cyanide and hydrogen sulphide were found in both victim’s lungs. The coroner also noted soot around the victim’s faces, and TBSA burns, all of which are synonymous with death via smoke inhalation.”

“Carbon monoxide poisoning is actually the leading cause of death in smoke inhalation - causing approximately 2,100 deaths in the U.S each year.” Spencer adds, followed by his familiar flat smile, which he usually does when he doesn’t know what to do with his face - which happens to be always.

You blink, with a slight quirk to your lips, despite the circumstances. Trust your good doctor to know just about everything.

“Were there reports of any fires around the general area?” Hotch pipes up, his face set in his usual stony expression, though his eyes betray his pensiveness.

JJ shakes her head, adjusting her stance. “No, which is what makes this stranger. The DPD reported no calls about any sort of fire on the days our victims were killed.”

“What? So our unsub just…lit a bunch of fires in plain sight?” Derek questions, with a flick of his brow, his gaze alternating between the board and the manilla folder in his grasp.

You huff, turning to face him with a slight smile, musing. “Must be one hell of a magician.”

Derek smirks in general bemusement, his dark eyes swirled with mirth, his tone light as a feather as he shifts in his scratchy office chair. “Looks like it, lil mama.”

Ever the smooth talker.

“Or, he could be using a secondary location.” Emily chimes in, her narrow-eyed gaze set firm on the file in front of her, her slender fingers fiddling with a bullet-point pen, and her lips contorted into a reflective pout.

“That’s plausible, but you’d think at least someone would notice.” Rossi adds, with a slight huff of incredulity, his calculating gaze sweeping across the entire room before him.

The two smiling faces are quickly joined by two more, both just as radiant, both just as nausea-inducing. Those poor girls.

“We don’t know for sure. But, the most recent victims join twenty-eight year old Sarah Holloway, and twenty-two year old Jessica Bailey. Who, similarly, were found four days apart, four miles away from each other and dumped in black FIBC bags, also ruled dead via asphyxiation. However, Sarah and Jessica’s dumpsites were around 14 miles away from Haley and Laura’s.” JJ purses her lips faintly, eyes still fixated on the crime scene photographs of four similar looking women who didn’t even live properly yet, robbed of the chance to, just like Poseidon robbed Medusa of her autonomy, on the marble steps of her deity’s temple. The thought alone just worsens the crease between her brows.

“four victims…why are they only just asking for our help, now?” Spencer ponders, features frozen in contemplativeness. His fingers sweep up to push his black-rimmed frames back to their previous position on the bridge of his nose.

God, you love his glasses.

JJ’s face morphs into a faint grimace, as she replies in a reluctant tone. “Unfortunately, the media managed to connect the dots on this one, they’re dubbing our unsub ‘the smoke-killer.’ But, the DPD really needs our help with this.”

You sigh, eyes trained on the gruesome imagery displayed on the silver screen. No matter how long you’ve been with the BAU, the violence never quite gets bearable for you, though you can’t bring yourself to look away - like witnessing a car-crash. You understand the psychology behind it, shock rooting the human body in place as the brain tries to comprehend that what it’s processing is real.

But, guilt still flows around in your system like the Noachian flood. Maybe, if you thought about it hard enough, you’d feel the ark bashing against your innards as it tries to navigate the brutal waves.

You suppose the violence doesn’t get easier for the team, either. Perhaps that’s what keeps you all tethered to each other, bonded. After all, the Greeks did beat the Trojans in unity - and disguised as a large, ligneous horse, but you digress.

Hotch nods, solemnly. “Alright, we can discuss further on the jet. Wheels up in 20.” And with that, he abruptly stands up, striding out of the room with a sureness in his step that only he could possess, effectively putting an end to the briefing.

The screen then goes dark, the car-crash finally being attended to. The sounds of chairs scraping across the frizzled navy carpeted floor and paper rustling bounces around the small space, as everyone heads out and into the bullpen, all but the exception of spencer, who remains seated, brooding over his manilla file as though he’s a modern day Thomas Aquinas. always thinking. You muse to yourself, though your eyebrow still raises in question nonetheless.

“Reid, you coming?” You probe gently, standing in the doorway with a faint grin. Your eyes flickering like fairy-lights all around his hunched-over frame.

Spencer startles slightly, craning his head up from the file and over to you - a rosy hue creeping up the nape of his neck from the sight of you alone. He swallows, standing up suddenly, and pushing his chair out with his hip, as he breathes out. “Uh, yea-yeah i’m…i’m coming.” He collects his things quickly, scrunching up his case file as he slings his satchel over his shoulder. Though, it doesn’t really matter, he’s already memorised it from start to finish. Eidetic memory and all.

He flashes you his signature flat smile once again, as his muddy hues rake over your appearance. You look pretty today, well he thinks you always look pretty, but today especially. Your hair swishes around your face in wisps like cotton-candy, your frame adorned in your usual grey fitted slacks, paired with a pink striped puff sleeved button down and black leather boots.

He believes you’re the personification of an angel, and with the way the abnormally-harsh office lighting is dancing around your hair in a nimbus-like manner, he’s probably right.

“C’mon then doctor genius, we have an hour long flight to catch.” Your voice rolling out with a teasing lilt, a subtle smile curled around the edges of your glossed lips.

Spencer usually loathes being referred to as a genius, namely because it’s said with such obvious sneer and condescension, like he’s an abnormal form, like he’s still that twelve-year-old high schooler. But, you never say it with thinly-veiled disgust, no, you say it with such reverence- like it’s something to be admired.

Yeah, angel.

He mirrors your smile, eyes soft and starry eyed as he follows you out of the room. “one-hour, 19 minutes and 45 seconds.” He corrects softly, always keen for specifics, his satchel smashing against his hip periodically as he walks beside you.

You huff in amusement, rolling your eyes in jest. “Right. My bad, one-hour, 19 minutes and 45 second long flight.” Your head tilts up slightly to look up at him, your irises dipped in unsubtle gaiety,

Spencer lets out a huffy laugh of his own, shaking his head in amusement. He loved when you teased him, though he’d never admit that. At least, not to you anyway.

“Oh, forgive me for being specific.” He sounds out, airily, like a dish-soap bubble crafted by small exploring hands, as he places his own ridiculously large palm on his chest in mock-offence.

“more like particular.” You reply, just as you reach your desk, in faux-annoyance, the curl of your lips betraying that fact.

Spencer puffs out another slight laugh in response, as he leans against the edge of your desk, watching you comb through it. His gaze doesn’t settle, darting around the array of trinkets and just general stuff aligning the glossy oak, including the multiple pots of bright pens - some looking vaguely like the ones he’s seen scattered around Penelope’s ‘bat-cave’ - and even a stick-figure drawing of him scribbled onto a canary yellow sticky-note, featuring overly large glasses and converse, which are more akin to clown shoes, alongside an equally as dramatised stick-figure version of Morgan, complete with a badly scrawled out six pack and huge biceps.

He feels a warmth blossom in his chest as looks over the cluttered space. It’s just so irrevocably you.

“particular or not, i still believe everything-“ He begins.

“-everything should be accurate, wherever possible” You mock affectionately, with a barely hidden smirk, still rooting through your things like a squirrel digging for an acorn.

A slight pout forms on his face, bordering on more petulant than anything. “How’d you even know I was going to say that?”

A faint effervescent giggle slips past your lips, your head still firmly pulled down, as your hands continue their wandering through your desk drawers. “ ‘Cause you’ve said that line at least a dozen times now, doc.” You drawl out, still grinning to yourself.

He wants that sound to be his morning alarm.

He rolls his eyes, only half-seriously, a smile lighting the corners of his mouth up like a vegas ‘welcome’ sign. “I have not said that a dozen times!” He huffs out, with a shake of his head at the injustice of it all, his dark curls springing with the movement.

You just smile, continuing to rifle through your desk before you locate what you were looking for, quickly straightening up and collecting the rest of your things before turning to him.

“Well, I’m all set doctor, lead the way.”

“Is that just so you don’t get lost again?” he replies, with an overt teasing twinkle.

You groan, blowing out like a whistle “that was one time! i was still new, and the hallways are confusing!”

He just bellows out a laugh, pushing up off the edge of your desk and beginning to walk - more like stride - his way to the elevators. You in tow, but just barely. His legs are way too long.

“I can put a sign on my back that says, ‘follow me’, if needs be.” He throws behind his shoulder.

“Oh, shut up!” You bark out, not really with any bite. Never with him.

It had been about three days since you landed in Detroit, Michigan. Most of that time being spent cramped up in the tiny makeshift office curated for the team, downing copious amounts of coffee, reading files until the backs of your eyes burned and dodging the borderline leering looks from the mid 40-year-old, beer gut endowed cops.

In other words, it was hell.

The team had made some progress, though. Narrowing down the profile to a white male in his early to mid thirties, who works a menial job, of average height and build, and who clearly dislikes women. Obviously, that didn’t narrow down the ‘Where’s Waldo’ search by much. But still, you really just couldn’t shake the obvious question…

Why go through all the trouble of burning these women, but not completely, just to dump their bodies?

And it seemed that question floated around the backs of everyone else’s mind, too. It was bizarre, to say the least.

Currently, the team is all stuffed in said aforementioned makeshift office space, like sardines in a can, no less. Emily and JJ sat at the table together, as usual, Derek propped up against the wall, Hotch and Rossi stood brooding in the corner of the room, quietly discussing something between themselves, leaving you and Spencer situated in front of the board, where the geographical profile is mapped out.

“He’s operating within a 20 mile radius, dumping the bodies within an area he’s comfortable in. He’s either going to strike here.” Spencer points to a spot on the map with his finger, tapping against it slightly before dragging it across and towards another spot, “or here.” His features were swamped in pondering thought, his honeyed gaze encompassing the sight in front of him.

“Yeah, but i still don’t understand why he’d go through all the trouble of burning them till they die from smoke inhalation, and then discarding the bodies. jus’ seems a lil’ pointless t’ me” Morgan drawls out, his stance wide and his arms folded, one of his hands resting on his chin.

“well ain’t that the million dollar question.” You reply, with a sigh lathered in perplexity, your arms folded in a similar manner, but with one of your hands rubbing up the side of your arm, in a absentminded fashion.

“Morgan’s right, it doesn’t make any sense.” Hotch pauses slightly, contemplating - like everybody else in the room. His dark eyebrows stitched together, and his lips set in a taut frown.

“None of it makes sense, i mean, even the dumping method, why bulk bags and not just plain ol’ trash bags?” Emily questions, sitting back in her seat with an exhale, her legs crossed with her boot-clad foot tapping against one of the legs of the rickety table.

You blink, a thought coming to you at her question. “Theres a Hardware store in the middle of town, right?” You throw out, hands stuffed into the pockets of your black slacks.

Hotch’s brows furrow, as he regards you. “Yes, why?” He says simply, almost curiously.

You shrug, “so then he’d probably be getting the bulk bags from there, since it’s easily accessible.”

Everyone goes silent at your question, seemingly mulling it over, before Morgan responds.

“If so, why wouldn’t he just buy trash bags?” He says, with a cock of his brow.

“Because he wants the victims to be found.” Spencer states, plainly, piling onto your train of thought and rocking back and forth on his heels, as his tongue darts out, swiping his slightly dry bottom lip.

“Think about it, a bulk bag is much more conspicuous than a simple trash bag, he wants his handiwork to be seen - maybe not right away, but he knows at least one person would find the presence of a large plastic bag near a dumpster to be…alarming, whereas no one would bat an eye at seeing a trash bag. Same goes for his M.O, he most likely has some sort of access to an incinerator, perhaps due to his job, which allows him to discreetly ‘burn’ his victims, before dumping them in a way which derives notice.”

His hands flail around wildly as he talks, an endearing habit that makes it seem like he’s so excited to talk about what he’s discussing that, at the minimum, one part of his body has to move with the speed of his mouth.

You smile - more of a secret thing, really, just for yourself - you love listening to that man talk. It’s the eighth wonder of the world, to you.

Everyone nods, the notion seemingly settling into their psyche without much problem, as logically, it did make sense.

“If thats the case, then we have a problem.” Rossi scratches the side of his jaw lightly, his head tilted and his bronze hues directed at the table.

Emily raises her brow, in clear need of clarification. “What problem?” She murmurs out, her head cocked to the side, questioningly.

“We have an unsub who wants attention, and will stop at nothing to get it.” Hotch adds on, sharing a brief glance with Rossi, his expression more grave than usual, before he fishes out his phone, dialling a number and setting the onyx Nokia down onto the table. “Garcia, you’re on speaker.”

“Hello, my favourite crime-fighters! To what do i owe the pleasure?” The shrill cheery voice of Penelope Garcia rings out, immediately bringing a small smile to your face. She really was like bathing in sunshine.

“We were wondering if you could take a look at a hardware store’s sales within the last month, more specifically of FIBEC bulk bags.” Hotch drags out, his arms still folded and his face betraying nothing but his usual stoicism.

“Oh, that i can do upside down with my hands tied, sir! just…one…second.” Penelope’s voice hauls out, followed by the rapid clinking of keyboard keys. “What’s the name of the store?” She asks, her tone focused.

“Sally’s Shack” Hotch replies, his tone equally levelled.

After a few moments, and a lot more keyboard clicking, Penelope finally pipes up again. “Ah-hah! so, it appears that our shack in question has sold six FIBEC bulk bags within the last month, all to the same buyer - well, at least the same credit card was used, ending in 4678.”

Hotch looks visibly taken aback slightly, before he asks “Can you get a name, Garcia?”

“Already on it, sir.” Penelope replies, with her usual peachy tone.

A tense silence follows, only sporadically broken by the clickity-clack of Penelope’s rainbow pastel keyboard. Then, she pipes up again.

“Okay…looks like the card belongs to a 33-year-old, Mr. Eugene Humphrey, who currently works at…” Her voice trails off, obvious hesitance behind them “…burns funeral home and crematory, and owns a residence just in the middle of town.”

Everybody seems to pause, then. He matches the profile - Mid thirties, works a menial job which would give him access to a ‘discreet’ burning method and just so happened to purchase the same material used by the unsub, whilst also owning his own property not too far away from the hardware store in which the material was purchased…yeah that can’t be a simple coincidence.

“Pen, does he have a criminal record of any kind?” Your voice floats out, drifting through the confined space like Thumbelina on her shamrock lily-pad.

“I will have a looksie for you now, my sweet sugar muffin, just hang on one second-“ Penelope cuts herself off as her fingers begin their ministrations again, the keyboard rumbling with every tap, a smile edging on your face at the absurd term of endearment.

“Alright…looks like our guy spent six months in juvenile detention when he was sixteen for lighting his girlfriend’s car on fire, claimed he caught her cheating on him with his best friend, youch!”

You can practically see the cogs turning in your teammates heads, looks like you got your guy.

“Okay, thats good garcia, could you-“

“-send his information over? already done, sir.” promptly interrupting the low voice of your unit chief, in a way that is so Penelope, that he can’t really object.

“Thank you Garcia, We appreciate it” Hotch replies in his typical authoritative tone.

“You’re welcome, my gorgeous gods and goddesses, now go and save lives.” Penelope chirps out, swinging on her swanky desk chair, her hands now preoccupied with a bright pink fluffy pen.

“You’re the best, babygirl.” Morgan calls out, his tone suave and a smirk illuminating his features.

Penelope lets out a giggle, replying in her token-teasing articulation. “Only for you, my chocolate thunder, now ta-ta!” Her sing-songy voice sounds out with finality, before the line drops, indicating that she ended the call.

“Alright, everyone, looks like we’re scoping a funeral home. I’ll go inform the captain, and i need all of you to gear up, as a cautionary, is that clear?” Hotch demands, his gaze expectant.

resounding murmurs of “yes” fill out the area, to which the dark-haired agent replies to with a curt nod, before swiftly exiting the room.

You let out a breath, turning to the rest of the team with a faintly reluctant expression. “Let’s get this show on the road then, guys.”

Morgan flashes an easy smile, coming up behind Spencer and clapping him on the shoulder, his smooth voice infused with teasing. “You heard her, pretty boy, let’s get moving.”

Spencer has to resist an eye-roll, whereas you just let out a small laugh, turning on your heel and prancing out of the room, leaving the two of them to squabble like 10-year-old brothers.

Though, on your way out, you swear you saw Emily squeeze JJ’s hand underneath the table…

Something went wrong. Terribly wrong.

You don’t know how - hell, nobody on the team knows how, but Humphrey somehow found out you were coming. He might’ve gotten some frustratingly accurate in-tell, or maybe he just… knew. After all, bad news attracts bad news, right? And being arrested for the murders of four women sure seems like pretty bad news. Or maybe he was a paranoid fuck. Either thought seems plausible, but currently pointless.

Ironically, Burn’s Funeral Home and Crematory, was well…burning. The two-story high foundation, which you’re guessing was once a depressing waxen colour, is now engulfed in orange. Bright, blazing orange, and for a moment, you almost believe the sun crash-landed onto earth.

The ignited shades dance across your features , making you look like you’re almost glowing. You hear Morgan let out a few curses, and Emily mutter something eerily close to “Oh my God” under her breath. But, the rest of you remain silent, devoid of speech, heads lifted up and staring at the fiery wreckage. Drawn in, entranced.

You can’t pull your eyes away, Not even when Hotch snaps out of his own silent gazing and begins to talk around you, shooting out instructions like darts to your co-workers. Well, until you hear a fire-man trudge past you, in full PPE and carrying a winding anaconda-like hose, writhing along the gravelled floor with each step he takes, similar orders being barked out of his mouth to his team-mates. But, that isn’t what grabs your attention, it’s the information coming from his radio.

A mother and her child are stuck in there, apparently looking for a casket for her husband before the building went up in flames, and they aren’t even going to attempt to save them - something about the fire being “too large, too risky.”

A mother and her child. Her 8-year-old little girl who just lost her father, and now is going to lose her own life, trapped in a scorching maze.

Not on your watch.

You will not, cannot, let this sick bastard take another girl’s life.

Your legs move before your brain even has time to catch-up, darting straight past multiple fire personnel who all try to stop you, but you dodge each one. Not even the sounds of the team shouting your name halts you, your figure retreating straight into the raging inferno.

What’s that saying? Moth to a flame?

Well, consider the molten-structure your flame. Because you won’t stop, will not stop, not until the mother and her daughter are out. Safe.

Either way, God appeared before Moses in the form of a fiery bramble. And maybe, he was doing it again, instead for their freedom, not yours or a 120-year-old man’s. You were getting them out of this desert, even if there were no miles of grainy-sand and the occasional tumbleweed, but instead hot, piercing, smouldering heat.

Spencer’s astute brain doesn’t take long to register what the hell you are doing. And, he doesn’t think he’s ever felt so panicked. He practically screeches your name, moving to go after you, but with no such luck as Morgan and Hotch hold him back. But he fights, and he fights harder than he’s ever had in his life, because this is you. Wreckless, crazy, beautiful, you.

“Let me go! she’s in there! you can’t just let her go in there!” He shrieks, every word sharpened with utter desperation.

Neither Morgan’s nor Hotch’s replies to his incessant wailing actually penetrates his mind. He feels like he’s underwater, succumbing to the depths of the Mariana Trench, fading black and blue.

The water freezes over the longer you’re in there. Trapped in that dismal, enflamed formation. He feels sick, but he knows spilling his stomach content won’t provide any relief, it’s a sickness that’s lodged itself into his bones, into his very being. He wonders if this is what the Woolly Mammoths felt like during the first coming of the glacial-period, just observing as they, one-by-one, all perished to the frost.

He can’t have lost you. Not before he-

…Not before he could tell you that you’re his first thought when he wakes up, and his last before he surrenders himself to the dark abyss of unconsciousness.

No, this can’t be it. He refuses, he downright rejects the thought.

He just stares, and stares at the lit up property, his whole entity screaming for you to just make it. His mind and mouth spinning prayers to god’s he doesn’t even believe in because if there was any chance of that turning the cards in your favour, then he’s taking it and holding on tight.

The seconds feel like minutes, the minutes like hours. Time is a fickle thing, always stretching and compressing back together again depending on someone’s emotions. But, that philosophy does nothing to distract him from the ache. Because a life without you in it, he grasps, isn’t a life at all. Not one that he wants to live, anyway.

The sight of two soot-covered frames emerge from the fiery entrance, immediately being swept away by fire-personnel for medical treatment. And his heart stops, until he realises you aren’t either of those coughing figures. Where are you? Why aren’t you coming out?

Time seems to stretch again, expanding like a black-hole over his fitful, beating heart. Ready to consume, ravage. But, maybe, that would be an act of mercy, anything would be an act of mercy compared to the waiting. Agonising, hoping and waiting.

Then…a third figure finally bursts out of the flames. He’s seen that mop of hair before, he knows that hair. Even at a fair distance, hunched over and simultaneously gasping for air and hacking your lungs up, tousled, with skin embedded in ash.

You’re alive.

He pushes his body forward and he runs, he sprints and goes to you. And this time, Hotch and Morgan let him.

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remiivu · 1 day ago

Text

Ghostly Companion- Chapter 1

Link on Ao3! Currently rated Teen but may go up to Mature/Explicit

Masterlist Next Chapter -->

A Mr. Crawling x Reader fic (that may expand into a series!)

This is the first time that I've written anything like this in the past 5 years, so give me some slack if it's bad or cringey lol (also the first fic on Tumblr!)

Set in the ending (and series of events) where you take him home! I've done a few playthroughs so some parts may not be fully accurate, but I'll do my best!

No warnings-- just some minor cursing here and there. 1.8k words!

Enjoy!

Note: Words in italics are in the ghost language. The blocks represent words reader doesn't understand.

You…

Honestly, you weren’t quite sure what happened these past 24 hours. Half of your now fully-conscious brain had settled on this being some sort of twisted hallucination you experienced after inhaling the noxious spores from some weird mushroom during your bravery challenge. But, the other, half-insane half-sane side of your mind simply cannot deny the manifestation of your nightmares sitting right across from you, a sharp smile stretching from ear to ear and a mop of strangely neat black hair swallowing its figure.

It? He? That, too, was something you didn’t know. Hell, the thing never stood up, and the noises that creaked from its throat were far from human.

But… It was nice. It helped you. It followed you, shielded you, and the pure, radiant happiness it exuded when you proposed, in broken ghostly-language, for it to join you hardly came across as malicious or non-sentient. It had feelings, and while some parts were… wrong, surely, it was owed some sort of humanity, you reasoned.

And so, it became a he, and then a Mr. Crawling-- the highlight of your creativity, truly. You doubted he understood the significance of the slightly different noises coming out of your mouth as you called to him, but still, it was the least you could do.

“... not… go?” He asked, head tilted as he sat patiently on the ground, lanky grayed limbs bent awkwardly into some mix between a w-shape and a regular sitting position. You think he said something else as well, but honestly, you were exhausted, and you hadn’t really had much time to truly learn his language.

“...” You sighed again, looking at him, then your surroundings. You had popped out right where you had started– or somewhere near it, at least, as you recognized the spooky decorations nailed and wrapped around trees. You were back in the forest you had entered before being sucked into… something. At least the light rain had stopped, leaving damp soil and the smell of petrichor to fill your senses instead of the… yeah.

Well, besides, you had nothing on you. Right– it was all in your bag that, for some reason, wasn’t brought alongside the rest of you.

“Need…” you paused, hesitating. How did you say bag? Scrounging through all the corners of your mind left you with a blank, and you searched for the next best thing.

Which would be bucket. Fuck.

Mr. Crawling tilted his head the other way, mouth flattening slightly in what you presume to be confusion. “You… ∎∎∎” he uttered something that didn’t spark a single click of recognition in your brain. “∎∎∎… ∎∎∎. ∎∎∎∎∎∎. Help?”

You gave one nod. “Yeah, help. Uhm… bucket… “ You made the attempt of drawing out what it looked like in the dirt while ignoring the small amount of embarrassment that rose in your chest at your horrific attempt to communicate.

You jabbed at the middle of the drawing of your rather simple bag. “Uh- blood.” You muttered, figuring it was the closest thing to whatever the actual word for red was.

Mr. Crawling frowned a bit, then chirped a “Me help you ∎∎∎ bucket! ∎∎∎ ∎∎∎∎?” With a much more pleasant smile.

You nodded, “Yeah, thanks. Ok, so… I guess we’ll split up?”

Mr. Crawling stared blankly with that dopey smile and you sighed, standing up. You felt a little bad for making a… disabled ghost? Yeah, a disabled ghost do some of the work. Shoeless and possibly pant-less

Damn. You’ve stooped down low these past few hours.

_____________________________

Honestly, you were surprised at just how efficient a disabled ghost was when left in the dark, blind, and in an environment he’s never been in before. Just as you were about to give up and start heading back into civilization, you heard a gleeful, familiar bone-chilling giggle followed by “Me ∎∎∎ bucket blood!”

Your head shoots up, “You did?!” As you rushed off to the bushes where he had wandered off.

You let out a sigh of relief as you spotted the familiar bag, grabbing it from Mr. Crawling’s hands. “Thank you,” you smiled, weary but grateful, as Mr. Crawling giggled once again.

“Happy! Happy!” He said, reaching out to pat your head again.

You found yourself letting out a small laugh as well at the unusually tender action, giving your bag a quick once-over to confirm everything was there. When you spotted your phone, you quickly tapped on the screen, letting out a quick breath of relief as it lights up only for it to immediately be followed by a small wince.

Over 50 missed calls and 100 messages… yikes. And with a glance at the time and date, you understood why. Turns out, your sense of time was rather accurate– it had been just over a day since your disappeared.

“Hurt? You hurt?” Mr. Crawling asked, leaning in close to do his ghost-equivalent of looking. Honestly, you can’t be bothered to question why, how, or even what he’s seeing when all you’ve noticed on his face was a deep red wound in place of his eyes.

“No,” You shake your head. “Uhm. It’s, uhm, humans. Humans worry… no– me worry humans.” You explained the best you could, standing up again. Mr. Crawling looks up, confused.

“You safe.” He says, crawling towards you rather slowly. “Humans ∎∎∎?”

You shake your head. “Go together with me.” You say with a bit of force. The desire to get home and in bed overshadows much of anything else that could run through your mind.

Mr. Crawling, however, doesn’t seem to mind your curtness, breaking out into another small fit of uncanny giggles as he follows after you, letting out a small mantra of “Together together together together!”

With half fondness and half exasperation, you trudge on with a smile, feeling like this experience was more akin to a person walking their dog rather than a human leading a ghost to their home. Which… you choose to think about another day. You really, really don’t want to contemplate any more images of your death.

You were so tired.

But, after nearly half an hour of much slower-than typical walking, your patience was wearing thin.

As it turns out, disabled ghosts walk– crawl much slower on slippery, uneven terrain than their familiar concrete floors. You’ve had to slow significantly so that Mr. Crawling wouldn’t get too tangled up in roots and rocks, and a part of you worried for the safety of his bare legs, but every passing glance resulted in a tiny glimpse of smooth, unharmed skin. You assume he was taking extra care to ensure he doesn’t get hurt.

But, still, every passing hour drains your phone’s limited battery and therefore your limited ability to navigate through whatever area of the city you wind up in upon exiting the mountains. You really couldn’t afford to keep slowing down or to risk losing your understanding of where to walk by circling around roots and trees. They had passed most of the decorations by now, leaving only trees and the very faint noise of any rare passing cars.

Eventually, you kneel back down, waving at him to get his attention. “Mr. Crawling.” You hum, watching as he perked up.

“∎∎∎!” He chirped, getting to your position in a few seconds.

“Me…” You hesitate. “... Me you… up.” You said, staring at him to see whether or not he understood. You were sure that, without… a lot of things necessary for life, he would be light enough for you to carry. Sure, you weren’t the fittest of the bunch, but you were healthy and exercised. In fact, you’re sure that your physical health was the only reason you lasted that long in that death trap.

His head tilted, then he grinned. “... Me you ∎∎∎?”

You sighed, contemplating. That was a vaguely familiar word, and you could almost hear something else in your memories having said it.

But before you could actually responded, Mr. Crawling lunged up at you, bringing you down to the ground in one swift motion. You let out a scream, your throat raw and strained by now, but settled in once you realized where you were.

“Mr. Crawling, what are you–?” You let out a half-scream of shock as he began to scoot across the floor with his legs, holding you firmly in his lap, cold yet sturdy arms caging you in.

He giggled, “Me ∎∎∎! Me ∎∎∎ you!”

Your jaw dropped, and then the word clicks– carry! Well, carry or lift or hold– something along those lines. You remembered that decapitated head speaking it. The head that you had left behind in the hands of that… goat thing.

“Me carry you!” Mr. Crawling giggled, and honestly, if it weren’t for the fact that this was twice as slow as their previous pace (an actual snail’s pace) you might’ve just stayed here and squeezed a nap in.

“Wait, no– no!” You wiggled, trying to loosen his arms. You couldn’t– not through sheer force, as his arms felt like stone bricks, but he loosened his hold on his own, leaning in far too close and spewing out a cycle of: “Hurt? Hurt? Damaged? You sad?”

You sighed, shaking your head. Well, at least now you know the word. “No, me carry you. Me carry you.” You said, trying to convey through hand motions that it would be faster.

Then… Mr. Crawling giggled. Laughed. Directly at your face. “You carry me? Me ∎∎∎, you ∎∎∎!”

In your heart, you knew you were being laughed at, and you felt heat rushing to your ears as you sputtered in indignation. “What– listen, I can carry you! You’re not even alive, so you probably don’t have water or blood or any other thing in you that makes you as heavy as–”

“Cute!” Mr. Crawling cooed with another giggle, playing with your ears, his fingers gentle despite how coarse they felt. The coolness of them actually felt… nice against your burning ears.

You balked, “You–!”

Your breath was interrupted as cement arms wrapped around you again and his butt-scooting continued.

“Hey, I– !”

“You ∎∎∎ rest!” He said happily, strong legs picking up the pace and pushing small mounds of dirt across the forest floor.

Well… that was actually amendable. Maybe you’d get to the city before sunrise at this pace.

“Rest rest!” He said, one arm reaching up to pat your head. “You ∎∎∎! You rest! You safe.”

You let out another sigh, though you hardly put any heart into it, leaning against him more as you felt the rhythmic stop and push of him quite literally dragging the both of us to safety.

A disabled ghost… helping a fully-capable human move.

You snort, letting your eyes fall shut.

What has your life become?

And that's all! Thank you so much for stopping by! If you're interested, I just wanted to add some notes for anybody paying a bit more attention to minor details in this fic.

Yes, the reader is exhausted and far too tired to ask why a ghost who "can't use his legs" is currently using them as a motor to propel them across the forest floor. Give them some slack! They nearly died about 3 times lmao. (And I have mentally planned out a timeframe where they realize this exact piece of info)

I am aiming for the reader to be completely G/N (for our rare male players) but I may slip up and call them she/her or accidentally follow the canon a bit too closely.

Honestly, while it is based in Japan, most of my understanding outside of some rare visits comes from anime. So, in my head, the local high school was hosting a bravery challenge up in the forest on the mountains and the reader was dragged along with their friends (reader is a working young adult, ~25 years old). In my world, the city they live in is maybe 40 minutes away from that specific area in the mountains. I'm contemplating making the reader American-Japanese (who resides in the US and visited Japan for a vacation to meet up with old friends, or something like that).

Yes, I know that "bucket" in the ghost language isn't correct (the correct word is "container" or something more vague like that) but I can't recall if the reader gets to go to the SOS room on this route where Mr. Crawler refers to the pencil case/make-up bag with that same word, so their only experience would be learning the word through buckets with Mr. Hood.

I may accidentally call Mr. Crawling "Mr. Crawler." I'm pretty sure I haven't done that in this fic, but this is simply a warning for the future lmao.

That's all! Thanks again!^^

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vettelsvee · 3 days ago

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YOU'RE NOT HANNA, AND NEVER WILL BE HER | Sebastian Vettel

history series main masterlist | requests here!

red bull sebastian vettel x reader, nico rosberg x reader

word count: 6588

summary: 2010 german gp post race party has many things in store for seb and y/n, who finally do what they both been willing to do for a long time even they're dating hanna prater and nico rosberg

warnings: everything related to gender-based violence (main trigger warning to physical and mental abuse) from nico to y/n (reminder that everything you read on my blog is fiction), curse words, "cheating", mentions of suicide and cancer

a/n: i'm quite scared and happy at the same time to be posting this fic because it's one of my favourite parts ever on history series, but still has me so worried you might not like it because of all the topics (and because history series was originally posted on wattpad and not many people liked it but don't let anyone know that pls). anyways, let me know your thoughts on this one and request anything you might like if you want pls! i'll probably be posting tomorrow another part since my town is currently on high risk alert of floods and we've been told not to leave home. let me remind you that comments and reblogs are truly appreciated! thank you so much <3

2010 Hockenheim German Grand Prix

You paused for a moment in front of the bathroom mirror as Valentina finished your makeup. You leaned forward to get a better look, but the your woman followed your movements with perfect synchronization and, surprisingly, without messing it all up.

Your own reflection was completely unrecognizable to you. In front of you stood a beautiful, self-assured Y/N, looking like someone who possibly had a life that, while not perfect, seemed enviable.

You feared that a simple layer of makeup could make you feel completely different from reality. It was as if all your problems had suddenly vanished, and instead had in front of you a superwoman admired by everyone, not a twenty-something whose life was falling apart.

Valentina Martínez, the girl standing beside you with whom you’d had the opportunity to become closer, was one of the Mercedes catering managers and, also, exactly the complete opposite of you. Valentina had a beauty that everyone could admire and a confidence that many, including yourself, would love to have. She could lift others' spirits with just a smile and a few words that, while not wise, were good enough to make sense.

The Argentine radiated the kind of magic you felt you lacked.

So, when Valentina’s gaze fell on yours as you continued to admire how beautiful you felt.

“Come on, Y/N!” Valentina shouted, stepping away from you and starting to bounce on her feet. “I know this isn’t your thing, but I swear you look incredibly hot.”

“Valentina…”

“None of that,” she interrupted, “you need a bit more confidence. I don’t know how you don’t have it with Nico already. He’s totally worth it!”

As Valentina’s smile grew wider, you sighed and lowered your head. You thanked her as calmly as you could for trying to transfer some of her positivity, though you knew it was somewhat of a show Valentina put on for everyone and wasn’t doing anything particularly special for you.

That was what you liked least about her: Valentina was so well-liked and appreciated by everyone that, somehow, she always played the same role, regardless of who she was with.

“I don’t know why I’m going to a party I definitely don’t want to go to,” you confessed with honesty.

Today’s race had been quite tough, and although the strategies were solid, they didn’t seem to deliver the expected results when Seb only managed to get bronze in his home race. That’s why all you wanted to do at that moment was order a good room-service dinner and eat it under the bed sheets while watching some low-budget TV show before trying to get some sleep.

"You know that stepping out of our comfort zone is the best thing," Valentina said, moving closer to you and gently taking your hands. "Besides, you're doing this for Nico," she insisted. "Remember: he's your boyfriend, and it's your duty to make him happy."

You smiled shyly even though, deep down, you shivered a bit at the tone Valentina seemed to be using with you. It was as if she wanted those last words, it's your duty to make him happy, to penetrate your mind and stay there. You tried to ignore it, as it was probably your own insecurities taking over. And, in some way, you knew Valentina wasn’t wrong. She was aware that you needed to stop being so perfectionistic and rigid, and maybe start letting yourself go a little bit more.

"You're right, yeah," you finally said. "Thanks for everything."

Without saying anything else, you left Valentina’s room to head back to your own, just a couple of doors away, not without first gathering the clothes you had been wearing earlier while your friend continued getting ready.

As you took out your room card from the small purse hanging from your shoulder and swiped it to enter, you started feeling a mix of nerves and excitement. However, the moment Nico Rosberg, your boyfriend, came out to greet you and looked you up and down, hands on his hips, all of it disappeared.

"Are you seriously going out dressed like that?" he asked, completely incredulous, pointing at your dress. "You look like a slut."

You were speechless, though part of you wanted to say everything she was feeling. Once again, fear caused you to shrink back, cautious about your actions and the possible consequences. The tone he had used on you was filled with anger and, above all, disappointment. You knew that nothing good would come from answering, so instead you held back everything you wanted to say to him.

“Nico, it's just a dress…” you tried to explain as calmly as possible, not really knowing how to make him see reason without losing your composure.

He stepped closer, and his eyes filled you with nothing but fear. You could swear that, in his fury, the bluish hue of his eyes had turned an orange-red, like fire; his pupils, fully dilated, were what sent you into internal panic.

“I don’t give a damn fuck if it’s just a dress,” he mocked you. “I don’t want you going out like that. You know there’ll be consequences.”

Be careful how you act with me, he had told you one day when you said you weren't in the mood to go out to have dinner. Since then, though you had realized many things he did to you, you’d also started to act with caution and rationality, knowing that blows could come at any moment.

You’d even considered that there was a remote possibility that you might be the one to end things, especially every time you recalled every single insult he used to hurl at you whenever you misbehaved, which had only increased in frequency in recent weeks, following your father’s death and your trip with Seb to your hometown for the funeral.

But, most especially, when the Red Bull Racing driver stayed a few days with you because he was absolutely worried about your mental health getting worse.

A lump formed in you throat as a few tears began to fall freely down your face, ruining the makeup your friend had taken so much time to apply and had turned out so well.

“If you don’t change your clothes right now and put on something that makes you look like a decent person…” He threatened, moving closer with his hand raised. “Think carefully, Y/N: I don’t want to go crazy, but I think you're forcing me to.”

You couldn’t let fear paralyze you at least, not now, as you felt his hand inching closer to your body. Another physical mark that would eventually fade, but another one that would leave a psychological one permanently.

"Please, Nico, don’t do this…” you begged, completely desperate by this point, but trying not to show it. “You said you loved me just the way I am and…”

“I just can’t believe you’re so stubborn! Don’t you get that I don’t want you going out dressed like some desperate girl who clearly wants to fuck with everyone?!” he yelled, filled with rage.

You backed up as much as you could until your back hit one of the surrounding walls. You had encountered this version of Nico before: no matter how hard you tried to reason with him, he would manipulate you until you ended up thinking it was entirely your own fault.

“Please, Nico, don’t shout. I don’t want anyone to hear us…”

“They’ll hear us if that’s what you deserve for wanting to embarrass me,” he shouted again, even more furious.

You knew the tension had reached its peak and that, from there, things would only worsen.

Nico kept yelling at you. With your eyes squeezed shut and your hands pressed over your ears, waited for the familiar sensation of one of his limbs landing on any part of your body he fancied at that moment.

“Oh, so now you have the nerve to ignore me?”

When you heard him clearly again and saw his hand raise, you somehow found the courage to turn away and quickly slip into the bathroom, forgetting to lock the door in your haste.

“Open up right now!” he screamed.

While he pounded on the door, his yelling relentless, you leaned against the farthest wall, as if he might burst in at any moment.

It wouldn’t be the first time it had happened.

You gasped for air in a place where there seemed to be none, your hand instinctively clutching your chest as if to shield your heart, which felt like it might burst out at any moment. You had learned to live with anxiety and panic, and both emotions had reached a point where they didn’t control each other but had fused, learning to coexist together with you.

“Nico… I’ll change my clothes,” you said, still crying, your voice choking. “I’m sorry, really,” you lied, trying to sound as convincingly as you could. “But please… don’t hurt me.”

Not again.

Your whispers seemed to have reached him because his pounding and labored breathing quieted. You hoped that the situation had calmed, and it seemed like it had.

He didn’t answer immediately, instead giving you enough time to remove the ruined makeup from your face and apply just a little mascara. A few minutes passed, enough time for you to relax and consider the possible outcomes of what might happen next, before he coldly demanded that you open the door.

You emerged and collided with his chest. Forcing yourself to look up at him, all you could see was contempt.

“Once again, you’ve disappointed me,” he stated without a hint of hesitation. “No wonder why lots of shit happens to you and people treat you so poorly. I was wrong to judge Vettel: he was right to treat you that way, and he should’ve done even more to you.”

All you could do was lower your gaze and head toward your suitcase on the floor, trying to pick something that would be ok with Rosberg’s dress code while reminding yourself that Seb did things quite bad, but he seemed to be truly sorry and apologized many times to you. The beautiful red dress, strapless and embellished across the chest, falling just above your knees, had to be replaced by another dress of the same color, but one that reached your ankles, with a much higher neckline and looser fit, so as not to highlight your nearly nonexistent curves.

“Happy now?” you asked, with as much disdain as you dared, even knowing he might match your face to her outfit.

“If you behaved like a responsible adult, yes,” he muttered as he opened the door and took your hand forcefully. “Sometimes I forget you’re only twenty-two and you have a lot to learn about life.”

Did he really know more about life than you did after all you had to go through?

That thought lingered in your mind throughout the journey, from their floor’s hallway to where the party was held, including the elevator ride where they encountered Mark Webber and a journalist from Sky Sports Germany, Eloise Schimdt. During the conversation between the four of them, though you remained silent, you had to pretend that everything was fine, even as your insides felt like they were shattering further.

As they entered the venue, the music, louder than she liked, started to throb in your ears. Your eyes opened wide to adjust to the dim lights from the spotlights, and, as you always did when in a public place with Nico, you began scanning the scene in detail.

There were more people than the space could comfortably hold. The dance floor was packed with people moving energetically, glasses in hand with the sole mission of keeping the alcohol from spilling. The bar was just as crowded, and in the center, across from shelves stocked with every type of liquor imaginable, she spotted Kimi, Fernando and Jenson with their respective partners, chatting animatedly.

But your eyes didn’t seem to waste any time and ended up settling on the guy standing a bit farther away from the others.

Sebastian was leaning back against the bar, tapping his left hand on it to match the rhythm of the song playing. In his other hand he held a glass of what she assumed was, possibly, a Jägerbomb, his favorite drink and, to him, a must-have for parties like this. He was wearing a white t-shirt and jeans with those Geox trainers he always wore, and his hair was completely tousled.

In that moment, you felt utterly captivated by him, and you were sure you would have dared to talk to him if his eyes hadn’t been fixed on Hanna. The blonde girl was a few steps in front of him, dancing seductively without caring where she was or who might be watching her.

You couldn’t help but wish, at that moment, to be her.

You shook off those conflicting thoughts as soon as Nico grabbed you by the wrist and pulled you, snapping you out of your trance, to head toward the bar.

"Give me a Martini," he said abruptly to the bartender, "and some water for her. She’s a bit dizzy," he lied to stop you from drinking, as he often did every time you went out.

"A Jägerbomb if you can, please," you ended up telling the guy behind the bar with your best smile.

You completely ignored the words and looks Nico was giving you. Instead, you just flashed your best smile at the bartender, who kept looking at you with concern, along with the rest of the people who weren’t too intoxicated yet and had overheard your boyfriend’s words.

"I can’t believe you’re drinking again… Can’t you control yourself or what?" he snapped.

He pulled you aggressively close, and you tried you best to ignore his words, spoken in a threatening tone directly into your ear, while you took your drink from the bar, along with his, and offered it to him.

Surrounded by people, you felt a bit safer than usual. He wouldn’t be able to hurt you, at least not physically, in front of everyone here… His reputation would be ruined, and Nico Rosberg was too proud to allow that.

So you didn’t stay silent.

"Nico, leave me alone for a few hours, please," you replied, ignoring his comments. "I’m here to enjoy the party you were so insistent on coming to, not to get scolded for wanting to have fun with you."

"Damn it, Y/N!" he expressed in frustration. "Do you always have to ruin everything or what?"

You just lifted your glass to avoid spilling your drink and walked towards the dance floor, leaving Rosberg behind, hurling insults you decided to ignore.

As soon as you found yourself among the crowd, greeting familiar faces with a friendly smile, you let yourself get carried away by the rhythm of the music. Tonight your shyness seemed nonexistent, and you could only thank the alcohol for giving you the confidence you had lost. You started to lose track of time as you danced, and though you didn’t know how, each move helped free you from the intrusive thoughts of loneliness and worthlessness, of feeling like nothing more than a mere object, which had crowded your mind at a dizzying speed.

You knew that mixing liquor with the energy drink that funded your lifestyle was only a temporary fix and that, once the effects wore off, your life would return to the completely chaotic state you had come to deserve.

Suddenly, the music stopped, as did the bodies moving on the dance floor. A spotlight focused on the stage, where Seb stood, microphone in hand and swaying. There was no doubt that he was drunk.

His swaying body made it clear that he had no idea what he was doing and that, at some point, he would end up regretting something.

"Sorry, sorry!" he said into the microphone. "But I feel like making a little pause in this party we’ve got going tonight because I want to sing a song to someone I care about a lot."

You began to feel terrible as Vettel gestured to the DJ for the music he wanted. A few seconds later, the first chords of Just the Way You Are by Bruno Mars was the only sound echoing in the room.

"Babe, this song is for you, and I want you to know how much you mean to me!"

You could see Hanna smiling broadly and shrugging. You wanted to leave to cry again at the beautiful scene unfolding in front of you, of which you definitely weren’t the main character.

Was it too soon to say that the boy you were in love with dedicating a song to his girlfriend hurt worse than any blow your current boyfriend had ever given you?

Yes, it was clear. Possibly, the alcohol had already taken too strong a hold, and you could no longer control what you said or thought.

You know I'd never ask you to change

If perfect's what you're searching for

Then just stay the same

So don't even bother asking if you look okay

You felt confused and didn’t know what to do, but Sebastian’s voice, trembling and making his English accent sound more German than usual, had you completely captivated.

So did Prater's reaction when the German shifted his gaze from her to you.

“This is for you,” he said, sweeping his gaze across the crowd. “I know you know who you are, and I want you to know it’s all for you, and that you deserve the absolute best.”

When I see your face

There is not a thing that I would change

'Cause you're amazing

Just the way you are

And when you smile

The whole world stops and stares for a while

'Cause, girl, you're amazing

Just the way you are

You noticed Hanna moving to your side, visibly confused and clearly uncomfortable with what was happening.

“Y/N…”

She couldn’t say anything else, nor could you to her. As much as you wished to be Hanna, you couldn’t help feeling sorry for her at the strong possibility that her boyfriend was confessing his feelings to another girl right in front of her.

Or, at least, that’s what the alcohol led you to believe.

“I want you to know that, from the first moment I saw you, you’ve been in my heart,” Seb admitted, his words drawn out, uncaring about the reactions of those around them, especially his girlfriend’s or yours. “Right now, I can’t have what I want most, but I want you to know that being with you is the only wish I’ve made, and the one I’ll keep making on my birthday, until we can finally be together.”

That was the last straw. As quickly as she could, trying in vain to hold back tears and avoid drawing attention, Hanna left, thoroughly embarrassed, muttering something you couldn’t catch. Seb's voice still echoed in your ears, but you tried to ignore it because you couldn’t believe what had just happened.

Lost in thoughts, you moved as far away as you could, trying not to stumble. Then, you made your way to the bar to order another drink, as if that might somehow make you forget what had just happened.

Just before you could exchange words with the bartender who had already served you so many drinks that night, you felt someone take your wrist, though this time much more gently. You knew it wouldn’t be Nico; when you turned around and saw Seb, however, you were even more surprised.

Your eyes met, and butterflies began to flutter in your stomach. Once again, you felt at home and safe, though deep down, you were only afraid.

Without saying a word, he took your face in his hands and pressed his lips to yours.

In that moment, you felt everything fade away. You let yourself go, unafraid of who might be watching or what might happen next. Your arms wrapped around his neck, and his hands moved to your waist, pulling you closer to deepen the kiss… your first kiss.

Slowly, calmly, and, as you felt, full of affection, you stayed that way until you both needed air.

You felt that you had both been waiting for this moment for so long and, in a way, you deserved it, turning a simple gesture of affection into something unique and special, caring little about your partners or your sobriety.

Seb pulled back, his hands still resting on you, and your gazes shared in complicity about what had just happened. You knew he was happy but confused, just as you were. You didn’t know what to say, and knowing he didn’t either, you simply gave him a shy smile to let him know everything was okay, that he could do that a thousand times more from now on.

“Y/N…”

“What is it, Seb?”

You wanted him to tell you he loved you, that he’d left Hanna, and that he wanted you to be his new girlfriend, the love of his life.

But, instead, Seb looked at you and left you, once again, speechless:

“You’re not Hanna… and never will be her...”

After he said that, you felt nothing but your breath slipping away and the sensation of fainting.

You wanted to tell him everything you felt at that moment, but his words had hit you so hard that they only increased your confusion and pain.

All you could do was stare at him, likely making a fool of yourself with the amount of tears clouding your vision. Silence took over, and when you finally found the strength to speak, trying to hide the pain you knew your voice would show, he turned away without even saying goodbye.

"How the hell could you do that, Y/N?! You have no shame! You humiliated me in front of everyone. Kissing Sebastian like you don't care about your boyfriend... now I see what you're really up to."

You didn't have time to say anything or leave because Rosberg came running towards you, grabbing your arm with a force you'd never seen in him. It hurt, and your scream, which was more of a complaint from the pain than a surprise, was a way of expressing how much you were hurting, not just from the tight grip, but also from the shake he'd just given you.

"Nico, please, calm down..." you tried to calm him, not wanting to embarrass yourself. Some people were already looking at you, and you wished Earth would swallow you up. "It was just..."

"Don't play innocent!" he shouted too loudly. "You thought I wouldn't find out?! I saw you kissing that piece of shit who only wants to fuck you until he's bored of you," he said, referring to Seb. "Now everyone here knows what you really are: a whore! And I'm glad, Y/N… You have no idea how glad I am."

The music suddenly stopped blasting, but your boyfriend's anger didn’t.

"Nico... I love you, really," you tried to speak. "It was just a moment of weakness..."

The moment of weakness was exactly what you were feeling now, making him believe you were truly in love with him when, in fact, you were only staying in the relationship because you were afraid your reputation wouldn’t make it out alive.

"You say you love me? Don't make me laugh! If you really loved me, you wouldn’t act like this."

You wanted to tell him that you thought the same about him, but you held back, paralyzed again by the fear that your mind was processing all the bad things that could happen.

"Nico, come on. You don’t have to act like this. We can talk about this civilly."

As you saw Edward, Vettel’s personal trainer, appear, and pull Nico a bit away from you, a little peace returned to your body. You gave him a grateful look, to which he just answered by nodding.

"You don’t have to get involved, Eddie!" your boyfriend shouted. "Stay out of our fucking business!"

"You know you don’t have to treat her like this," he said seriously.

"She’s a whore, can't you see it?" Nico spat, pointing at you. "Disgusting little girl..."

"Nico, I understand you're angry," Patterson spoke again, after the German’s words, "but neither of you is in a state to talk about this, and this is not the right place," he said, referring to the curious looks around them.

You could only constantly whisper for them not to fight anymore, while deep down you prayed to take you away from all of this and bring you back to the hotel.

"I don’t care what you say," Eddie started. "I'm taking Y/N. I don’t think being here is the best thing for her."

After saying that, he stood behind you and guided you, putting his hand on your back, toward his car. At that moment, your desperation was so great that you didn’t even think about whether he was in any condition to drive.

The way back to the hotel, less than ten minutes away, felt eternal.You hadn’t drunk much because you didn’t like it, but not being used to it was enough for a couple of curves and a badly taken roundabout to make you gag and feel like vomiting.

Slowly, the shock began to set in, and you started to act on autopilot mode, following the directions of the man accompanying you, except when he told you it would be best for you to sleep in his room that night.

You didn’t know why, but that set off alarms in your confused brain. The last thing you wanted was to add fuel to the fire by sleeping with another man who wasn’t your boyfriend just to protect you.

"Thanks for everything, Eddie, really, but I think it would be best if I went back to my room to sort things out with Nico."

The Brit didn’t seem to agree with you.

"Y/N, I know it’s hard, but I don’t think it’s best for you to share space with him tonight," he was honest.

"I just want to talk to him and try to put an end to this," you insisted, still knowing you weren't right.

"And I understand you, really, but right now everything is too fresh, and the best thing is for you to rest and let the drunkenness wear off," he said, placing one of your arms over his shoulders. "Come on, I’ll take you to my room."

You decided not to argue anymore because it would be in vain, so you let yourself be guided while he lectured you about how you shouldn’t be intimidated by Nico and how you deserved someone better than him after what had happened at the club that night.

"Edward, Y/N. Good night, guys."

You lifted your gaze and saw another Brit. Jenson was standing in front of you, coming out of the elevator you were about to take. You were greatly surprised that he wasn’t with his girlfriend, but didn’t want to get involved; your alcohol-soaked self, however, wanted to gossip.

"Where are you two going?" he asked, crossing his arms and blocking the elevator doors so they couldn’t pass.

"I’m... taking Y/N to my room," Eddie revealed, stammering a bit for no clear reason. "She’s had a rough time, and it’s best that she doesn’t see Nico’s face tonight."

"And you think the best thing is that you take her to your room?"

Button’s features went from relaxed to a kind of aggression you had never seen in him. It’s not like you had spent much time or had many conversations together, but you knew the situation you were now involved in wasn’t what you had thought it was.

Edward Patterson stayed completely silent.

"Do you want me to call someone to be with you?" Jenson asked you directly, giving you no other option. "Y/N," he insisted again, "who do you want me to call to stay with you tonight?"

"Britta… please," you said as best as you could despite your discomfort.

To your surprise, while Jenson dialed the phone number of the woman you now considered your friend, Eddie let go of you and reluctantly pushed the driver, still leaning against the elevator frame, to leave. He didn’t even take the time to say goodbye to you, something that seemed to upset Button quite a bit.

"Hello, is this Britta?" Jenson began, speaking into the phone. "Great, yes. It’s Jenson. I’m with Y/N, and she asked if you could help her," he started explaining. "I don’t know much about what happened, except that she’s not feeling well and needs help from someone she really trusts," he clarified.

After exchanging a few more words, Jenson led you back to the lobby, where Britta appeared just a few minutes later in a bathrobe, espadrilles, and her hair tied up in a completely unusual way. You had never seen Roeske like that, and all you could do was laugh.

"Come on, let’s go already," Britta said, linking her arm with yours as if you were two old ladies heading to bingo. "This is how I want to see you: laughing, not crying."

When Britta opened the door to her room, you immediately ran and threw yourself onto the bed. Your whole body hurt, and you weren’t sure if it was from the emotions of the night or because the alcohol was hitting its peak.

Whatever it was, you knew perfectly well that lying completely still, face up, and counting the total number of tiles on the ceiling, pointing at them one by one with one eye closed and your tongue sticking out was what was making your hostess laugh.

"Come on, Y/N, get up," Britta asked gently. "Do you mind if I help you get changed? It’s time to put on your pajamas."

You nodded as you sat up and moved to the foot of the bed.

Next, Britta unzipped the dress, and you noticed how she averted her gaze to give you some privacy while offering a nightgown.

"Right now, I’d love for Seb to be the one undressing me to fuck me. God... how I’d love Seb to make me scream now..."

Had you said that out loud?

"What did you just say?"

Britta’s muffled shout and the tone in which she asked, while turning her back without caring whether you had already put the garment on, making you realize that yes, you had said that out loud.

Your first time being drunk was going to be, definitely, a night to remember. Now, you just felt like saying those kinds of things, and you didn’t care at all about having a boyfriend… if he could even be called that.

"Oh…" you said, stretching the last syllable. "Didn’t you know it?"

"Know what?"

By the tone of voice, it seemed Britta thought it was related to the sudden thing you had said.

"Seb and I kissed," you told her, starting to laugh like a lovesick teen.

"This is the alcohol on you, I’m sure of it," Britta said, running to get a wet towel and starting to wipe it across your face. "You mean you and Nico kissed," she tried to correct you. "Seb is dating Hanna, and you’re dating Nico, remember?"

You started shaking your head constantly, about to collapse to the floor. A laugh started escaping you as you couldn’t control it.

"No, no, no, no," you denied while also wagging your finger. "Seb and I kissed. Nico’s an asshole."

"Y/N, you really should go to sleep, you’re not..."

"Of course I’m fine!" you said enthusiastically, getting up from the bed and standing in front of Britta.

The truth was that you only felt fine because of the effect alcohol was having on you. If it wasn’t for that, you would be crawling on the floor crying because you knew you had reached a point where you couldn’t pretend your life was perfect anymore.

"Do you really not believe me when I say that not only did Seb kiss me, but it was the best kiss of my life?"

You knew you were putting Britta in a tough spot, especially considering that the woman was probably closer friends with Hanna than with you.

"And Hanna?" Britta demanded to know. "Was she there, or had she left?"

"Oh, she was there?" you tried to pretend the best you could, using expressions that clearly showed otherwise. "I didn’t know..."

Before you could continue speaking, Britta ran to grab her phone and started making calls. You sat back down, crossing your legs and swaying while watching the blonde desperately cursing in German, since none of the contacts she called were answering.

It was possible that Seb and Hanna were busy, probably having sex. Your drunk self only wished she was in Hanna’s place.

"The only ones who tell the truth are kids and drunks, you know?"

Britta stared at you after those words. It seemed like you needed to say that phrase to make her believe you.

"Are you serious...?" Britta asked.

"What, Britta?" you insisted, urging her to speak.

"Did you really kiss Sebastian?"

You nodded.

"Yes," you confirmed. "Well, I mean, he was the one who took my face and kissed me," you corrected yourself. "Do I owe anyone something, like he owes Hanna?"

You were getting a bit defensive, and you knew it was making Britta nervous.

"Yes! You owe Nico, your boyfriend," Britta replied, giving you a harsh dose of reality.

"I don’t want Nico," you confessed. "At least, not in the way I think I should. He... I don’t know, Britta. I think he’s what I deserve. I try to understand why, but I know that his insults and those things he says to me make me a better person somehow."

You could see Britta go pale. Also, you were starting to feel worse; after all, it was the first time you had opened up about your feelings to someone since the journal Seb gifted you for your birthday last didn’t count as a personal therapist.

Britta usually had words for everything, but that day, you seemed to have left her speechless.

"Y/N..." Britta began, carefully choosing her words. "You’re a good person. You’re just scared."

"Maybe," you replied, trying not to make it a big deal. "And you, are you scared?"

"Of course. Everyone’s afraid of something."

"I’m afraid of being alone," you admitted, lowering your head because you were starting to cry again for the umpteenth time that day. "And I’m afraid of losing Nico. I know no one will ever love me, not better or worse, than he does."

Britta didn’t know what to say, and you felt bad for having to be in her room, drunk, sad, while your “friend” was putting up with you, possibly mediating between her client and her client’s partner.

That’s why you made a move to leave. Fortunately, Britta wouldn’t let you.

"Sit down, Y/N, and let it all out," Britta demanded.

And that’s exactly what you did. You told Britta everything, not just about what had happened since you started dating your current boyfriend, but about your entire life. Living with a mentally sick mother after her accident, her subsequent suicide, their move to Barcelona. Her father’s cancer and how it had worsened in less than two years. All the things Rosberg had said and done to you, even forcing you to do certain stuff you were clearly uncomfortable with.

You cried like you never had before when you told Britta about your first time, reluctantly, on a luxury yacht in Monaco’s seas, and how it gave you nightmares almost every night to the point where she was scared to fall asleep.

You could tell that Britta was truly worried when you started biting your lower lip, and a little tic appeared in your right eye.

"Have you talked to anyone about this?"

"Do you know I’m not Hanna, and I’ll never be her?"

You were fully aware that you had just avoided answering a crucial question, but you didn’t care at all. You were tired of talking about your burdens and your current life; from now on, you would focus entirely on your future and try to solve and finish once and for all all the problems that made your life a mess.

"But what are you saying, Y/N?" Britta asked, desperate.

"That’s exactly what I would have liked to ask Seb, but he left and Nico messed things up," you revealed, stretching your arms out and pointing to the marks, now red, that were the same shape and size as Mercedes’ driver’s fingers. "Great, yeah," you said ironically.

"But..."

"Do you think if I’m not Hanna, and I’ll never be her, I might have a chance to date Seb?"

Your question left Britta speechless again, unable to find the words. As Britta struggled to speak, you started playing with your fingers. Giving up, you laid on the bed, your back to Britta, clutching a pillow with the clear intention of falling asleep.

"Why are you telling me this?" Britta asked in a whisper, almost with... pity.

"Because I want Seb," you revealed, letting out a sob because, at last, you had been able to confront and reveal your confusing feelings for a guy who didn’t love you, and never would. "I’m in love with Seb, and it hurts knowing he’ll never love me back, and I know I’ll have to move on sooner or later."

Britta was about to speak, but you took the words from her before she could.

"Before you say anything else, take advantage of me and ask me anything you want: I’m a bit drunk because I’m not used to drinking."

You could tell Britta sighed, likely having lost all patience with you.

"You know... you know that Seb...?"

But then Britta stopped talking. You stood there for a while, staring at the red curtains that covered the window, waiting for the woman to continue. When she didn’t, you turned around:

"You know exactly what about Seb, Britta?" you asked, adjusting yourself on the bed, still hugging the pillow.

"Seb and you need to talk," Britta told you, leaving you speechless. "And when you do that, I’m convinced that you’re going to live the life you both deserve."

"But..."

Britta started to lie you down on the bed again, tucking you in under the linen sheets. Your yawns became more frequent, and after she kissed your forehead just like her mother used to do before your life was destroyed, your eyelids grew heavy.

"I know you won’t remember this tomorrow," Britta’s voice flooded your ears as you curled up into yourself. "But, to Seb, it’s more than obvious that you’re not Hanna and you’ll never be… And that’s exactly why that stupid, but incredible guy, has fallen truly, madly, deeply, in love with you."

You couldn’t tell if Britta’s words were already a dream, or if Morpheus was pulling you into his arms.

"The day you stop doubting your worth, the world will be at your feet, Y/N. Sebastian has been telling me that and his closest people since you two spent the night together the day before his maiden win in Monza."

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smolbeanie1221 · 2 days ago

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Also take a look at the original Greek myths. There’s so many different stories that are re-tellings of others. The Ancient Greek myths were never ABC happened and this is the only way. There was constant variation over time.

In a way, every time someone today writes Greek/Roman myth inspired stories, we’re re-telling and re-creating the myths, kinda creating our own modern day mythology.

I say this as someone who follows the gods, a pagan who follows Hermes and Hecate mainly. I know some people who also follow the gods dislike Percy Jackson books and similar series, but I think they’re beautiful. They’re keeping the stories of the gods alive today, in a way that reaches people today.

Seeing hate on the Percy Jackson series to me is SOOO funny.

‘There’s too much plot armour’ ‘the characters are so two dimensional’ my friends THEYRE BOOKS FOR 12 YEAR OLDS 😭😭😭 ‘they don’t follow Greek mythology at all’ they’re literally FICTION books why would they need to be accurate 😭😭 are we seriously expecting books about demigods and Olympus in manhattan to be 100% accurate to Greek mythology

They are silly fiction books for children of course they’re not complex. I think people forget that 😭😭

#smol bean rambles #smol bean thoughts #smol bean rambles riordan #smol bean pagan things

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dogtoling · 3 days ago

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General life- and blog update , since I assume at least a few people might have been wondering where I've been and what i've been up to recently. I obviously haven't been posting or drawing much this year in general. This will probably be an important post if you care about stuff on this blog, and I already rambled on Sheezy, but that site isn't very populated yet and it's also very good at hiding journals so let's just ramble again...

The summary of this post if you hate reading: I'm heavily considering just stepping away from Splatoon. That decision obviously would affect this blog (mostly, my OCs, which is kinda most of the blog at this point). I don't think the blog itself will go anywhere, and I'll probably use it for something in the future... alternatively i'll cherry pick stuff from here into an archive for people who like the worldbuilding.

Longer post under cut:

So what have I been up to this year? The answer is quite simple: NOTHING. Like, actually absolutely nothing. Aside from Art Fight, this has probably been one of my worst art output years of all time, which is really frustrating. That's between my horrendous mental health and depression chasms this year and a complete lack of both focus and inspiration (which can also get chalked down to the depression to a degree, yeah). So the very real reason to why there hasn't been much activity on this blog this year is because I just haven't Done Anything in general.

Now because I know there will be a few people who think "that's fine! you shouldn't judge yourself based on productivity!" you're right! I also agree. However the issue for me specifically is that most (if not all) the time I spend NOT drawing or creating, I spend sitting around wishing I could start drawing or creating, because that is like the 1 thing that keeps me sane on this freaking earth. Unfortunately coming up with OC scenarios in my head doesn't really result in output I can feel fulfilled by in any form as much as I wish it did, lol.

Now; The Issue. It doesn't take a genius to see that if you spend 9 months trying to finish like a dozen OC pages that you COULD do in a week or 2 if you wanted to, then there's probably more than just the problem of executive dysfunction (even though that's at least 60% of it for sure). Obviously my other major problem is that I live by imaginary rules and structures that make sense, but aren't actually useful at ALL in reality and are more than a hindrance if anything (the mental to do-list in my head that says i can't do X until I've done Y doesn't do very much if task Y takes 10 months and I also don't want to do it, and it also has no structured ending).

How does this tie into stepping away from Splatoon, you may ask. Well, the issue is that I have foreseeably fallen out of love with the series. Which isn't exactly news lol. Currently, I'm not even sure i will get the next game, if and when the time comes. Yes, the loss of interest is also expected, given that Splatoon 3 has ended and every fandom has this kind of downtime and lukewarm in-between-titles period. But the truth is that modern Splatoon (almost 10 years old!!!!) is tangibly different from the way the series was back when I fell in love with it. That was Splatoon 1, and while the series has improved in a lot of aspects and is thriving, it's grown in a direction that I just don't really like. Splatoon 3 had the most freaking horrendous, immersion breaking story mode they could've done, then they followed it up with a DLC story that was pretty cool but also compounded a lot of my fears about the series' future and played into every single thing i do not want Splatoon stories to be - fully character focused, random fucking villain, mundane event that's unrealistically world-threatening just because a kids video game needs a scary climax even though it's immersion breaking AGAIN, the whole thing taking place in cyberspace and thus offering basically no worldbuilding even though there is SO MUCH WORLD. I COULD GO ON.

The gist of it is that nowadays, rather than playing Splatoon and being inspired and excited at what comes next, I mostly find myself dreading what dumbass plot they will do next to throw a wrench in the otherwise good stuff. And when that's like THE main approach I have to what's supposed to be my favorite series, it is HARROWING. I can't even really blame the game for this; the story is NOT its selling point, the developers probably do their best to get the bits to us that they really want to tell, and at the end of the day the game is unfortunately a product. Worldbuilding for Splatoon is fun to a point. It's less fun when in order to actually write or create something coherent, instead of filling in the blanks, the blanks are 90% of the freaking thing. At that point you're just better off making something of your own instead of being anchored onto an IP that gives more problems than answers and occasionally shoots you with like a machine gun. Working in the realm of Splatoon is frustrating because more often than not, the questions I have ARE NOT MINE TO ANSWER, and the likelihood that the specific-ass questions I need answers to will ever be actually addressed is really low.

Tying this back to my OCs. Obviously I love my OCs more than I love myself which admittedly isn't that high of a bar but you get the point. The problem is that I spend a lot of time mulling over worldbuilding that, again, frankly isn't mine to do. Because if I want it to be Splatoon, then it should be mostly accurate to how Splatoon is! But the problem with that is that there's really not THAT MUCH worldbuilding in the series that you can work with, and most of the core game mechanics are just abstract enough that it's actually horrendous to try and come up with workarounds and ways for things to make sense that don't require just constructing a full knockoff version mirror dimension of the game and saying fuck everything that's in place here because Inkopolis Plaza literally has no roads in or out of there and I have no fucking idea how that's allowed when your only option is to jump the fence (or, nowadays, take the train which also isnt connected to a street as far as I remember). Between the face value issue and the lack of REALLY IMPORTANT worldbuilding, like - I will always come back to this - THE INK TANK'S FUNCTION 10 YEARS DOWN THE LINE - there's a goddamn ocean of plot holes and things that end up being obstacles to creativity rather than inspiration. I feel like I'm pretty solidly at the point (and have been for a while) where hanging onto Splatoon is really only contributing to creativity block and frustration with lack of freedom and the ability to actually do things.

So I guess those are my reasonings that I've put together just sitting here for the time being. The TL;DR is that I wish I could just do stuff without Splatoon's canon getting in the way, which is a really stupid problem to have if you're making Splatoon OCs. I feel this frustration extremely strongly every time I have to work with actual bigger aspects of the world; we still don't have an Inkopolis map, we don't know what the world around Inkopolis looks like, we don't know what the wilderness is like aside from Just Normal Forest and Desert and very few snippets as to what modern wildlife MIGHT be, I still don't know how the fuck the Inklings teleport to the goddamn arctic ocean to play a turf war at Shipshape Cargo co. These are all actually really important things if you're trying to establish a setting in any kind of storytelling that's outside of immediate city bounds (and even there, you need to know the layout of the city and its important areas). Also a fucking mutant bear and a baby salmon and a squid not wearing suitable gear went to space and fought on a rocket in space. These are some things that would give me peace of mind to not have to deal with in my own writing, probably.

So where do we go from here? Unsure. I haven't really made a decision on this front yet, though right now I'm leaning more towards actually going ahead with trying to do my own thing. That will result in obvious design and setting changes for my OCs whenever I get around to it. This blog probably won't go anywhere (again, unless I impulse delete it during a mood swing like i've almost done on like three separate occasions this year), but it will probably get less use, and I will probably end up making a new blog to post about whatever I end up doing once I get to a point where it feels like it makes sense. There's a chance that I will delete this blog and put all the interesting stuff on an archive blog for the people who are here just for the worldbuilding. My actual true passion for a long time now hasn't even been Splatoon anymore, it's just been cephalopods. I'm kind of done having Splatoon get in the way of the cephalopods, as thankful as I am that it introduced me to them...

If you read this to the end heres a treat for you = 🍪

#rambles

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yumeka-sxf · 2 days ago

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2-year anniversary post

My blog is now 2-years old~!

After my last anniversary post, I had quite a list of projects planned; in addition to making posts for all the upcoming SxF content, like the movie, season 2, and the video game, I had other personal projects in mind as well. I wanted to start on my Japanese Linguistic Observations in Spy x Family series, which I was able to write five posts for as of now! (I've currently exhausted all the topics I wanted to discuss for that, but I may come up with more ideas later on). There was also the Spy x Family Character Tracker, which took me a while to get motivated to do, but once I did, I'm proud of how it turned out 😃 I also made a lot of scan posts this year too, like the workbooks and my series of miscellaneous collab scans.

But compared to my last anniversary, which was at a time when there was a lot of new SxF content on the horizon, we've been in a bit of a dry spell the past several months. Hype for the aforementioned movie, game, and anime season have died down, and merch and collabs have slowed as well, since there hasn't been new anime content to promote. But I consider it the calm before the storm, lol.

This is also why my posts have gotten a little less frequent lately - there hasn't been as much new SxF content in general besides the manga chapters, and as mentioned previously, I was able to check off the projects I had wanted to do. So as of now, I don't have much new content planned in the coming year besides continuing my Chronological Analysis on Twilight and Yor series when season 3 airs (still no release date yet, but I'm betting on spring of 2025). I'll also make posts for each anime episode like I did with season 2. And of course, I'll continue my manga chapter reviews, and make merch and scan posts when I can.

I've always tried to maintain a "quality over quantity," "only write when I have something to say," mentality for the blog. I don't want to force myself to write when I'm not motivated (this is also why I don't take part in community writing projects and the like). I also have other hobbies besides SxF, so I like to focus my limited free time on those when there isn't much going on in the SxF fandom. Occasionally I think to myself, "Hm, I haven't posted on Tumblr in a while," but if there isn't anything I feel like writing about at the time, it's better if I hold off rather than force myself to churn out something uninspiring.

But as I said, I feel like we're in a calm before the storm. Season 3 will already be exciting enough, but there's a good chance more content will follow. The next Jump Festa is scheduled for late December, and as usual, SxF will have a dedicated panel with the four Forger voice actors in attendance!

The movie and season 2 were announced at this event in 2022, so there's a good chance we'll get more juicy announcements this year! Even if not another movie, I'd be happy with more artbooks, collabs, and other things down the line! There's also a good chance an idea for another SxF project will inspire me and I'll start working on that. Who knows. But I do know SxF is still a popular series with many more years of content to produce! And I look forward to seeing, and blogging about, it all 😁

#spy x family #sxf #spy family #spyxfamily #sxf manga #sxf anime

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howtofightwrite · 9 hours ago

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I'm planning on writing a Pokemon fanfic where the trainer is hard of hearing. They can speak and give commands but it is also normal for trainers to hear the opposing trainers commands and respond to that not just what they see. Which would put them at a big disadvantage, wouldn't it if they could only process visual information? I know you said stuff before about combat being too fast and people don't 'call out attacks' but that doesn't fit here. But also on the other hand, Pokemon don't alwa

But also on the other hand, Pokemon don't always obey their their trainers (usually a trust issue) but perhaps this actually could be a good thing and help turn that disadvantage around since if they trust each other enough for the Pokemon to respond appropriately by themselves if they feel the trainer is making a bad call or not quick enough to respond to an attack called out by the opposing trainer. What do you think? Any other ideas?

Something to remember: Pokemon is a game. I don't mean in the meta-sense that the anime and ancillary materials are based off of the video game and card game, the way you could, for example, describe the Fallout TV series as based on a game. I mean, literally, that the structure of Pokemon itself is a competitive game.

When you start stripping it apart, and really dig into the structure, combat in pokemon is a game where the trainers are the players, and their pokemon are the pieces they're using on the board. This is an important concept to grasp when you're dissecting the material, because it informs why it functions.

There is a concept in games called an action stack. When you're playing a strategically intensive game, you'll often come across some version of this concept. Basically, you announce your action to your opponent, they then get an opportunity to take a legal response (if one exists), and then the action resolves. In situations like this, calling out your actions is a necessary step in keeping your opponent apprised of changes in the game state. It's also (often) necessary as a step to give them the opportunity to respond (whether that's part of the same action stack, or as a following action.)

Now, much like in Pokemon, in casual games, these kinds of declarations, and even the structure of the action stack itself, can become very ad hoc. You wouldn't do this in a tournament environment, but in casual circumstances you'll see players doing things like say, “I'm playing this,” or just drop the card on the table as part of their appropriate action window. (Though, again, this behavior is extremely rude in a tournament environment.)

As you mentioned, the instructions given by the trainer is, technically, for the Pokemon's benefit, rather than the opponent. Also, pieces on the board not following the player's commands is a concept that does exist in some tabletop games. For example: if you botch a Leadership test in Warhammer, you're not going to get the results you were hoping for.

So in this specific case, being privy to your opponent's actions ahead of time is really more an example of intelligence gathering (even though it's at a very limited level.) And, this is, absolutely, a consideration in competitive games. If you can accurately predict your opponent's next action it can let you take preemptive steps to mitigate their move, or even outright prevent them from doing what they want.

Not being able to collect intelligence conventionally is a little bit of a problem, but it's not necessarily a deal breaker. A lot of the time, intelligence gathering in games (for an experienced player) is testing limited information against extensive system knowledge to make educated guesses about what your opponent will do. If you have awareness of the board, you don't always need to actually have specific knowledge about what your opponent is planning. Meaning, if they're extremely knowledgeable about what's out there, they might not need to hear their opponents' every command. With enough familiarity, each pokemon is recognizable on sight, and they have limited move options determined by their appearance (with the occasional outlier or exception.)

Also, lipreading is a thing. It's a lot harder when you're just sampling general use of the language, but when you're looking at a limited number of individual words (and you know which words could be issued because of the aforementioned system knowledge) it can become quite possible for someone to pick out what a trainer is telling their pokemon, even if they wouldn't be able to hear the words normally (or lipread a stray conversation between strangers.)

Incidentally, if you're thinking that it's unreasonable for someone to have the stat sheets for over 1k pokemon committed to memory, that's in line with what you need to have committed to memory for a number of competitive games, if you're operating at a high level. Chances are, if you're a highly ranked M:TG player, you'll probably have at least 2-3k cards committed to memory even if you can't use them in Modern anymore.

-Starke

#writing reference #writing advice #writing tips #how to fight write #starke answers

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happypeachsludgeflower · 2 days ago

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Hey op, I mean no offense but I think this is.. off for veggietales specifically. They’d work for vegetables and would make a cute au, but not for the show.

Turnips were only in the last few episodes of the original series. I couldn’t even remember them as characters and had to look it up just now. They were henchmen from what the wiki says.

The peas for polities is— okay so you’re right that he’s sweet. And normally I’d agree that he’s a sweet pea. But veggytale peas were always the dick characters. They would be sooo rude all the time. At one point they were the Roman soldiers. They usually were background minion characters for evil.

As for Athena. I can’t even find evidence with a Google search for any wheat characters. Which means if it was in veggie tales it was so minor, no wiki mentions it.

As for carrots. The main carrot I remember is a friend of Junior Asparagus named Laura Carrot. Wiki is failing me here on any other carrot characters to get a broader idea of carrot characterization, but I’m not following where it came in for Poseidon.

Edit: I was astral projected back to being 6 I guess and watching those tapes on repeat my bad 🥸🥸

Alternate suggestions!!

Ody = larry cucumber because he was usually the protag in the skits they did at least on the beginning of the season

Polities = junior asparagus because the character was super sweet all the time

Athena = we’re gonna gender swap achibald asparagus the smartest character in the show (she could also be the veggie that played ester but I do not know what veggie that is and the wiki doesn’t say either)

Poseidon = the evil pickle guy

Not entirely sure if you're familiar with VeggieTales or not; but if you are: what vegetables do you think Ody, Polities, and Athena (plus/or any others that spari joy) would be?

Never watched it but knows enough 😌

Ody = Turnip (Sturdy and short)

Polities = Snow pea (cuz he is a sweet pea!)

Athena = Wheat (not really a vegetable, but it looks very cool)

Poseidon = Carrot.

#I watched so much veggietales as a kid.. sooo much #this post caused me to put veggie tale top 25 veggie songs on in the car for the last leg of the 10+hr drive #sorry this isn’t danmei guys 🥸 I had veggietales opinions #sorry op too I did not mean offense I was just caught up in the veggietales childhood lore 🥸🥸🥸

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parisiterileymoon · 2 days ago

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I have a request for you, and if the reader secretly, while Alastor slept, put beautiful bows on Alastor's ears and tail... ((the reader only had one mission, an almost impossible mission, a life mission... Make Alastor Cute))

Bonus Will the other hotel guests see Alastor and tell him about the cute bows?

Alastor x reader

Making Al coquette 🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀

You have one mission: beautiful alastor. You might worry about waking him up but through a series of bells and a piglet hopped up on jelly doughnuts, you’ve deduced that he is a heavy sleeper. You approach the door with a towel and three ribbons on hand. You slide the towel on the little indent in the doorway so the door dosnt latch when you close it behind you. you tiptoe closer to his bed and asses his sleeping position. Luckily for you, he’s a side sleeper. You slowly approach his head and dangle the ribbon near him to test the waters. He does not react, obviously. You lightly brush his ear and it twitches. You slowly wrap the ribbon around his ear and tie it into a bow. You proceed to reach over his face and push down the pillow to wrap the ribbon around his ear. He stirs. Shit. You step back, the ribbon laid on the pillow. He turns over, now facing you. You tie the ribbon around his ear. Now comes the difficult part: his tail. You peel back the covers comically slow and walk to the other side of the bed. You then kneel on his bed, silently praying the sudden dip doesn’t wake him up. You brush his tail with the back of your hand to test the waters. His tail swishes. It’s quite soft, actually. Very soft. Maybe you could just…NOPE! Go in, tie the bows, and get out. You tie the bow and he twitches a little. You immediately bolt.

The next morning.

You can’t help but bite your knuckles to stifle your laugh as he walks put. “nice ribbons, Bambi!” Angel days, giggling as he walks to the bar to mildly sexually harass husker. Charlie’s face turns pink as she also tries not to laugh. Husker and angel snicker amongst themselves. Nugs follows him around, staring up at the ribbons. Vaggie openly and unapologetically laughs at him.

Had to hunt down the right words for this. I hope you liked it! Constructive criticism is encouraged:)

#autism #actually autistic #autistic things #hazbin hotel #alastor the radio demon #hazbin alastor #hazbin hotel alastor #alastor x reader #alastor

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demonslayerunhinged · 2 days ago

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Unhinged theory

The Passion of Sanemi Shinazugawa

Sanemi has no chill.

We all been knew this. His chill is one of the things that the fandom has accepted canonically doesn't exist, like Inosuke's uniform shirt or Zenitsu's dating standards, but the reason for his lack of chill and generally aggressive behavior is still a much debated topic to this day.

I have made two posts here and here breaking down his backstory, his trauma and socio-economical circumstances that made him the man he is today but, I still wasn't satisfied. Something nagged me about this character and his personality that I couldn't put my finger on. So I pondered, for days going through each episode, rereading the manga taking note of his actions and interactions with other characters.

Then, it finally hit me.

Ladies and gentlemen, I believe I've found the answer.

Sanemi, our sweet boy, is SEXUALLY FRUSTRATED.

Let me explain.

butt first...

What is sexual frustration?

According to Medical News Today,

Sexual frustration describes a state of irritation, agitation, or stress resulting from sexual inactivity or dissatisfaction. Sexual frustration is a common, natural feeling, and it can affect anyone.

Some symptoms include:

Feeling irritable, restless, and edgy (so Sanemi's entire personality?)

Engaging in unhealthy coping skills (like wanting to brawl with another man for no reason and after having a sexually-charged training session 🤨)

Performing riskier behaviors to fulfill sexual desires (like exposing your entire chest and leaving it vulnerable just so you can show off your tits like a slut 🤨🤨).

Compulsive or hypersexual behaviors (like wanting to grab another man by the hair just so he won't go away 🤨🤨🤨)

Depression or anxiety for men (see this post)

“Seeking revenge” against targets that are the believed source of the frustration (basically Sanemi vs Giyuu)

Displaced frustration on targets with no connection to the frustration (Sanemi vs Tanjiro vs Junior Slayers)

How did this cum to be?

Okay so, I have this headcanon that the Shinazugawa men have a high sex drive. I mean, there's the seven kids from Kyogo which means he had to be laying pipe...a lot(F's in the chat for Shizu 😔) and Genya's horniness when he breathes the same air as a girl, so it's safe to say that Sanemi also has a high sex drive.

After the tragedy that struck his family (Shizu killing the kids, not Kyogo's death because fuck that guy), Sanemi lost any hope or chance of a normal life. In the light novel Sign post of the Wind, Sanemi tells Masachika that life isn't for fun, and he has expressed his distaste for 'frivolous' things.

He denies himself these things because he believes he doesn't deserve them, why should he enjoy life when he killed his mom, when he couldn't protect his siblings, when his brother rightfully hates him, when demons still exist, when families are still being ripped apart, when his colleagues and juniors are being killed and when Genya is in constant danger. The only thing he allows himself is ohagi which is a reminder of happier times.

He has no time for friends, for love and definitely not for sex, which by extension includes masturbation. He won't be able to jerk off without seeing the faces of his mom and his siblings -and yes, that sentence was just as awkward for me writing it as you reading it- so he resigned himself to a life of solitude and sexual frustration, which caused him to develop his aggressive and no-chill personality but at least he was able to manage for a while, that was until he met Giyuu.

Cum hither Giyuu

Sanemi's no-nut journey became even more unbearable when he met Giyuu. There was just something about that sappy, derpy, stupid face that stole his heart and even though Giyuu's personality should've made it easy to stay away, the power of love and horny didn't allow that to happen.

Like I mentioned before in a previous post, what followed was a series of sexually-tense situations and interactions between the two Hashiras, so every time Giyuu happened to enter Sanemi's field of vision, I guess you could say more or less he was:

Reaching out for help

In the light of their impending doom with Muzan's arrival, Sanemi has a realization; he's obviously going to die soon, that doesn't scare Sanemi, he's accepted the fact that he's going to die anyway but to die as a virgin? Now that's not good. With the failure of trying to reach out to Giyuu in the Hashira meeting and the disaster that was the attempted eye-poking incident and being shamed by a 16-year-old Sanemi decides 'fuck it' and tries to reach out to Giyuu again.

But he can't go crawling to Giyuu and be like 'please fuck me', no no no that would not do instead he has the brilliant idea to challenge Giyuu to combat under the guise of 'training' in some misguided hope that the spar would get both their temperatures up which would in turn get Giyuu horny enough to rip off his clothes and fuck him. Yay! The plan is foolproof!

I already mentioned in this post how Sanemi's suggestion for a brawl made no sense as he could have just taken the Muichiro route and suggested they use their actual katanas, but no he wanted a full body contact brawl. Like look at how excited he was at the concept of brawling with Giyuu, like no wonder Tanjiro was scared for Giyuu!

JUST LOOK AT THIS FACE!!! LOOK AT THE DESPERATION!!! OUR BOY IS SO PENT UP HE'S ON THE VERGE OF INSANITY!!!

THIS IS THE FACE OF A MAN WHO HASN'T NUTTED IN 21 YEARS! He was literally begging BEGGING Giyuu to touch him! 😭

Tanjiro(bestest boy ❤️) was rightfully afraid for his big bro, so he intercepts (read cock blocks) Sanemi! Imagine how he felt at that moment; he was THIS close to some body contact and then comes in the same child who kills his rep at every turn! Not only that, but Tanjiro clocks in Sanemi's intentions and decided to put a stop to it by hitting him where he hurts; ohagi.

Imagine your biggest social opp coming along with his innocent, stupidly sweet face when you've finally decided to open yourself up to fucking your forever crush and killing whatever and all sexual tension with his annoying innocence!

Then, as if on a mission to destroy your spirit, reveals your secret love of ohagi! A sweet typically enjoyed by children! Right in front of his future baby daddy!

Tanjiro then drives the knife even further by asking him his ohagi preferences, talking about how his grandma used to make ohagi and shit!

LIKE BOYYYYYYYY

That explains why he was so salty even hours later. If I were him, I'd be pissed too! The fuck! I love how he stopped walking on the steps just to cuss Tanjiro out, like you can tell it came from the very depths of his soul.

I mean, you can literally hear the pain and frustration in his voice. That is the cry of a man who spent three hours douching, only to have his Grindr date cancel on him.

Celebrating the big O

After the events of the final showdown we see a more relaxed, almost peaceful Sanemi which tells us one thing - our boy finally got laid!

But when? and with whom?

Well Giyuu, duh. I theorize that it happened sometime during the three months of recuperation before Tanjiro woke up, and they had their last Hashira meeting. I mean, look at how they're smiling at each other, you can't tell me these guys didn't fuck at least once.

Sanemi came(lol) out(lol again!) of the encounter a changed man. He's moisturized, demure, in his lane, thriving.

Look at him here; tits covered 'cuz Giyuu has made an honest man out of him, and that peaceful look? Damn, dick was so good blud had to look up to the heavens like

In Conclusion, Sanemi's character development is really inspirational because it's a story of one man's triumph over thirst and yea I don't know how to end this post, so I'll just leave you with some words of wisdom:

#demon slayer #kimetsu no yaiba #kny #sanemi shinazugawa #giyuu tomioka #sanemi x giyuu #giyuusane #kny sanemi #giyuu x sanemi #sanegiyuu #kny giyuu #unhinged theory #tanjirou kamado #might make edits later #shinazugawa sanemi #just unhinged #kny meta #kny anime #demon slayer anime

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romana-after-dark · 2 days ago

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Our Gentle Sins: Part 9

Thank you so so so much to @plasticbabies for making this beautiful header!!!! we finally have a good one!

Dark!Logan Howlett x fem!reader

Series Masterlist : Main Masterlist : Logan Masterlist

Spotify Playlist

Follow @romana-updates and click follow, join my tumblr community or ask to join the tag list to keep up!

Buy Me A Coffee : Kofi : Go Fund Me

Chapter summary: Past. You aren't good enough for Logan. Present. Logan makes you feel good.

Warnings: This fic features non con, pregnancy, and themes of religous trauma. I will not be saying everything that happens to warm you, by clicking read more you are prepared for extremely dark themes and that you at 18+. You are responsible for your own media consumption.

Before

“Please stop worrying about me.”

“You’re hurt.”

Logan reached up and took your wrist gently. “Everything is literally already healed, Dolly.”

You look down at him, eyes wet with worry and anxiety as you dabbed at his forehead with a wet washcloth. Since getting back inside, you hadn’t stopped fretting over him. “I know… but you got hurt because of me, please let me just do… something?”

Logan acquiesced, letting go of you so you could clean him. “You didn’t get hurt because of me, doll face.”

“But you did.” Logan took a few tumbles fighting Scott, leaning him fine, but bloody. You’re thankful Logan did hurt Scott for touching you, Scott doesn’t have healing, and you know Logan would feel horrible hurting or even killing Scott over a misunderstanding.

There was silence as he let you care for him even though he was healed. It was for your own sanity, to know you weren��t completely useless. You clean off his handsome face, taking the blood off his skin, even cleaning his hairline and beard with tender touches despite his rough skin. He closed his eyes, leaning into the touch, and you even heard him humming.

You couldn’t meld the two Logan’s in your head, couldn’t make sense of what you saw this evening with the kitty purring in your arms right now. He had been vicious, ready to kill Scott for sliding your dress a mere inch to the side. Yes, it was embarrassing and you didn’t like it but it wasn’t worth disemboweling him for. Logan, the Logan you knew was a gentle giant, soft enough to cradle the duckling on the side of the road you saw while driving home from church with him and taking it to the pond with its family. Your Logan offered to take you to a nondenominational church in the first place so you could pray. Your Logan only hurt you in the throes of a nightmare.

“It wasn’t your fault, Logan. You didn’t mean to hurt me.”

But he shook his head as you sat by his side. ”Not meaning to doesn’t erase the fact you have scars on your back now.”

He was right, it didn’t, but you didn’t really care. “Lo… that doesn’t matter to me. Honestly, it doesn’t. You were having a nightmare, sometimes-”

“I almost killed Rogue. During a nightmare. She came to check on me, just like you did, got stabbed right through the chest.”

Your heart clenched at yes, the thought of sweet Rogue in such pain, but also how much guilt Logan carried around.

“She touched me and was able to absorb my powers, make heal herself… but if that had been anyone else, if that had been you?” He shook his head. “I’d skin myself alive before I hurt you, you know that, don’t you?”

And you nod, because you do. Logan wasn’t like Mark. “I know… that’s why you fought Scott, to protect me.”

Logan chuckles lowly. “I wasn’t just foughting him, Dolly. I was gonna kill him for laying a hand on you.”

This makes you frown. “It wasn’t that serious.”

But he catches your wrist, eyes snapping up to you with a burning intensity you rarely see in the calm brown eyes of his. “You are that serious to me. Scott should know to keep his weasley hands off you.”

You make no attempt to pull away. “But it was a misunderstanding!” You protest. “He thought you hurt me, he wanted to-”

“Scott doesn’t want anything other than to prove he was right about me all along. If it was about the claw marks I wouldn’t even care, because baby doll if I had seen that someone hurt you, they’d be dead.” He stands, imposing height and broad frame should be fearful, but you didn’t fear Logan. Instead, you simply stare up at him. “You hear me, Dolly? Fucking dead. But that’s not why Scott cares. He doesn’t care about you, not like I do. He just hates me.”

You try to make sense of this information. You knew Scott wasn’t fond of Logan; they never interacted outside of necessity, didn’t get sent on missions alone together. Remy was sent on one once because the skillset fit Logan and Scott best, but Remy was there just to function as a peacekeeper, a buffer he said. Still, you didn’t think it was that bad. Scott was kind, friendly, and caring. Logan was the sweetest heart you knew.

Taking his other hand, you prompt him to continue. “Why, Logan? When you’re so…”

“So what?” Logan chuckles. “Insane?”

“Good.”

The words hang in the air, soaking into his skin as if he hoped you could speak it into existence. He didn’t believe it, but you truly, truly did. You’d spend forever making him see what you saw in him.

He simply shakes his head, looking down but not at you. “He’s got a right to hate me, baby dolly. ‘Fraid I’m not the good guy in this story.”

“Logan.” You emphasize his name, pleading with him for clarity. “What happened between you?”

“It ain’t gonna make me look very good in your sweet little eyes. ”A deep breath and a long talk later he told you what happened, how he came to Xavier institute with Rogue, how he fell in love with Jean Grey. That part shocked and carved a pit in your stomach, because she was always someone you compare yourself to, with her beautiful red hair and soft eyes, her thin but strong body curving in a beautiful wave. And she was a mutant. You always fretted about not being a mutant, if that was a turn off for Logan that you were weak, useless, needed to be protected.

Logan laid it out for you, how he knowingly and willingly began an affair with Jean, that she cheated on Scott. This also surprised you. Scott was someone you liked a lot, seemed like a loving husband. He clearly adored Jean. Why would she cheat? Still, you were disappointed in Logan. He knew what he was did.

“Well… you’re right. You are the bad guy here…”

“I know.”

“But Lo… she made her own choice. I mean, it wasn’t good of you, especially to Scott-”

“What do you mean, ‘Especially Scott?” Logan’s voice held scrutiny, and you couldn’t help smirk a little at him.

“I mean he’s kind, Logan. I know you can’t really see it, you don’t like him, but he is.”

He relaxes. "Sorry... old habits die hard, I guess..." Logan's hand reaches up to cup your face, thumbing gently over your cheek. His eyes held worry as he searched yours for answers. "Does that ruin things, dolly?"

Heat creeps up your body, warming your neck. You and him... you never addressed what this was between you, and you wanted to keep it that way. You loved him, of course you loved Logan, you loved him in a way you'd never felt for your husband. What you felt for Mark was teenage infatuation of a child who didn't know she was being taken advantage of. This was real. Logan was sweet, he was kind, and most importantly to you he was gentle.

Your parent's followed the teaching of the Pearls, their book, "To Train Up a Child" was second only to the bible in your household, and you remember watching in horror as they smacked your younger siblings to prevent them from leaving a laid put blanket. When you protested, your mother asked "so, you want Grace to go to hell?" You didn't know what to think of that, so you couldn't protest anymore, because of course, of course you don't want your sister to go to hell! So it was hell or aggression? Was gentleness a sin? You were conditioned to accept abuse as love, that domestic discipline was your husband teaching you because he loved you, he wanted better for you.

His hand leaves your face when he notices you shrink back.

"Lo, I'm... I'm not right for you."

His hands drop to his sides, bewilderment clouding his face. "Is this about not being able to have kids? Dolly, I want that with you, of course i do but... a baby that doesn't even exist yet isn't more important to me than you are... dolly I lo-"

But you backed away. Shaking your head in your now-dirty dress, hair falling out of it's pins, you looked so sad, like you were falling apart. It broke his heart.

"I don't just mean that."

He blinks. "It is the pants thing?" You mentioned it early, that he deserved someone who doesn't cry when they try on pants. "baby, I don't care if you can't wear pants or drive or, or whatever it is you think is wrong with you. I love you as you are! I want to help you, me and Remy, we can help you get better but if i have to drive you around for the rest of our lives..." He chuckles wryly, hands stretched out in pleading, begging for you to fall into him the way you wanted to. "Well, you won't hear me complaining. Whatever it takes to have you in my life."

But he didn't know you. He thought the only worries you had were the leftover weird little habits you had from your upbringing and nothing could be further from the truth. "I'm not who you think i am, Logan. there's- there's something wrong with me. Something very, very wrong and I'm a bad person who-"

"Dolly..."

"I DESERVE EVERYTHING BAD THAT HAPPENED TO ME!"

You're cry echoes off the walls of the school hall, and you can't even bare to face him. He will just try to tell you that you didn't deserve it, that you are good.

But that is only because he doesn't know you.

If Logan knew the truth, he could never look at you again.

You turn around and ran away.

After

The sound of prom flowed in through the window, your students laughing and having fun to the music. You were glad, even if you couldn't see. Everything those kids have worked through, the trauma they experienced gets to go away for a night. They don't have to be mutants. They don't have to be the freaks they were called by the ones who were supposed to love them. They were just teenagers.

Logan held you in his arms, his body radiating heat and strength and protection you couldn't help be drawn to. Maybe it was the pregnancy, a biological urge to have someone who is going to protect you. Maybe it was your body being drawn to it's father. Maybe you were just weak.

"Let me take care of you, Dolly..." He whispered against the corner of your mouth, lips ghosting over yours like they were asking for permission. "Won't let no one hurt you again, you and our baby... we could be so happy."

Flashes of his abuse flicked, the way you held your arms over your eyes because you couldn't make sense of Logan being the one doing this to you. because it was easier to pretend it was someone else. How you sobbed. How he slapped you... How he held you so sweetly after, 'I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry...' but as soon as they were came, they left when your hand on his shoulder grazes his collarbone.

So warm.

You couldn't do this alone. You were terrified, terrified of having a baby, of having a baby out of wedlock, of the shame and embarrassment and the questions. There would be so many questions. Scott knows, so who else does? Has Remy figured it out? Remy wouldn't hate you for having a baby with a man you weren't with, would he? Of course not, but your old beliefs creep in.

"I'll marry you, Dolly." Logan whispers. "My little wife... my perfect girl... You'll never have to worry again..."

It sounded nice. it sounded safe. It sounded like your Logan, the Logan you trusted...

"We're both a little fucked up, aren't we?"

You remember. you remember the things you'd done. The story you trusted to Logan before he did what he did to you...

"you can't ever do that again, Logan..." You say, hesitantly, and you can feel him smile against your lips.

"Never. I'd never hurt my baby doll."

He wouldn't hurt his baby doll. His girl. his wife. The mother of his child... Logan had given you what you wanted, your baby... you could have it all again. A happy family. A husband. A good life here at the school... all you had to do was forgive and forget.

It was what the bible taught, wasn't it? He confessed his sins. He was forgiven by god, so who were you to hold out?

"Okay." You whisper and nod. "I forgive you. Just..." Your eyes meet his, and there's a hope in there you haven't seen for months. "Just don't fail me this time."

"Never." The lips that had been so clos you could feel the lines finally collided with yours again, and it was like the damn had broke. Hands pawed at skin and you kissed Logan like you were trying to swallow him whole, a communion of two bodies pulled together. Logan picked you up, pressing your back against the wall as he ground his hips against your pubic bone, your legs and arms wrapped tightly around him like you'd wanted to do for nearly a year.

Don't fail me, Logan Howlett

"Taste so pretty" Logan murmurs, shuttering as his erection pressed against you. He wasn't exactly making sense, so lost in your that words came out messy and jumbled and god, did it make your head spin. He was drunk of you.

He carried you to your bed, laying you down so gently he cradled your head until it hit the pillow, soft as his lips on your neck. Your dress rucked up around your thighs, falling down when he spread them to loop at your core. You wore tights, of course, but Logan was not hindered. One claw came out just enough for him to cut through the black material, revealing the wet spot of your cotton panties. You should feel embarrassed, honestly, that you weren't wearing the sexiest of clothes, but the way Logan looked at you all of that dissapeared.

Guilt crawled under your skin, a creeping feeling in the back of your head that this was wrong, that this was something god frowned on, that you were bad for doing this...

You wish you knew him before it felt like like a sin.

Logan's mouth was warm over your still-clothed cunt; he mouthed over it, his licking adding to the wetness pooling until sharp teeth tore at the material, masking you gasp once and then again when he dove into you.

Mark never touched you like this.

He never loved you like this.

Logan's tongue on your pussy was unlike anything you'd experienced before, his fingers so much thicker than your own and god, nothing had ever felt so good before.

"Want you to cum, baby doll." he whispers to your cunt. "give it to me, cum on my face." His arm wrapped around your leg, holding you down as you squirm and pleasure and all the overwhelming sensations. "You can do it baby. Let me taste you."

Your hands card though his hair, gripping him; when you cum, you pull so hard on the dark waves for a moment you think you've hurt him... but when he finishes lapping up your juices, his head pops out from under your skirt... he's grinning.

That ear to ear, shit eating, boyish grin you loved so much about him before, before it all got so complicated.

When Logan slid inside you, it didn't hurt. you felt a stretch, sure, but not pain... still, there was an aching inside you, a pain that screamed out SOMETHING IS WRONG! ITS WRONG! ITS WRONG! but you shoved it away. It was just the guilt, that's all. It was guilt from a religion that tore you to shreds, that stripped down every essence of your being until you were a shell, a community of people dependent on thought crimes and martyrdom that somehow never applied to men the way it did to you, and made you feel dirty for wanting to feel pretty. That's what it was.

This with Logan, it wa right. That's why God gave you a baby, right? You were being rewarded. Mark wasn't the one, Logan was. it was fine. it was good.

And he made you feel so, so good.

Logan fucked your body with a passion you didn't know what possible, his hands wandering and groping and feeling, just needing to know every single inch of you, learning what made you gasp and moan and what made you tense and uncomfortable. He drove his cock so deep inside you that you saw stars, an intense sensation of being full, so fucking full. All the while, he was gentle with your stomach, always touching it in some way, needing to be close you know, knowing he was the reason you had stretch marks and he was the reason you swelled with a child.

"Mine." Logan growled, claiming your mouth with fervor and passion as he hips slammed inside you. "You're mine, dolly, and no one is ever going to take you away f-from me, FUCK!"

You didn't care who heard you, if anyone left the party early and came to the rooms. Remy's was the closest, and he certainly wouldn't care.

You let your pleasure me known, moaning his name as your fingernails clawed up his back faster than he could heal. Logan like the pain, smiling when you drew blood. It made you feel good to make it smile. It made you feel good to make him hurt.

You thought he'd cum inside; you were already pregnant so there was no other risk. Logan remained unpredictable.

After he makes you cum so hard you bite through his skin, Logan pulls out with a 'pop!' and flips up your dress. You watch in aw as he jerks himself off, strong body, soft muscles, and the absolute look of lust on his face as he stared directly down on your cunt, painting it with rope after rope of white cum. He was filing it away for his memory, the way his seed covered you, sticking to the public hair and contrasting against your skin.

Once he was sure he'd never forget, and every last drop was pulled from his softening cock, Logan's tongue cleaned you.

THEY FUCKED!!!!!!

we're not at the end though, tee hee! still more!

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chimcess · 2 days ago

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→ Chapter Eleven: Following Rivers Pairing: Jimin x Reader Other tags: Werewolf!Jimin, Witch!Reader, Shifter!Reader, Shifter!Jimin, A/B/O Dynamics, Alpha!Jimin Genre: Supernatural!AU, Werewolf!AU, Angst, Mutual Pining, Fluff, Smut, Word Count: 14.5k+ Synopsis: Within the four realms of Lustra lay the Bangtan forest home to the Foxglove pack of the south and known as the “land of magic.” It is also home to the Bridd, a powerful witch from a cursed bloodline who is one of the sacred guardians of the forest. Y/N is the newest Bridd, a young girl who was given her position too early. Now a woman, Y/N is revered amongst the wolves as the most powerful witch they have ever known, but hiding under the surface is a woman who has to battle between her duty and her heart. Warnings: ANGST, strong language, PTSD, flashbacks, self-hate, self-depreciation, talks of death, everyone is going through it, getting to know some more characters, love-triangle, Jin is being kind of a dick, I promise we'll start seeing more Jimin as this goes on but he's just really depressed right now, Sam is a HUGE flirt, Kook is a vibe and I love him, Secrets to be reveled later, disabilities are going to be a huge part of Yoongi's life now and his arc so bear with a lot of that being in his povs, he's my favorite person in this series (so far, later you'll meet by baby for life), possibly wrong medical terminology, sexism and misogyny will be hinted at, everyone is going through it, lots of grief and heartache, Babyboy just wants his best friend back, mourning her life she's dead, let me know if I missed anything... A/N: Thanks for reading <3

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Yoongi pov

The night hummed with an eerie energy, alive with murmurs that made the air feel thick and electric. The new witches had gathered, their voices weaving together, filling the darkness with spells that seemed to breathe and shift around us. I sat on the porch, my fingers tracing the worn lines in the wood, trying to remember when I could still look up and see the stars. Before everything became shadows and shapes I couldn’t quite make out.

The clash with the elves had left me like this—caught in a strange, half-blind world. It didn’t take all my sight, but what was left was blurred and foggy, like a permanent mist hovering in front of me. I’d catch a flash of movement or a glimmer of light, but it would vanish before I could be sure it was real. It was maddening—a reminder of everything I’d lost, every single day.

Blindness wasn’t the darkness I’d imagined. It wasn’t nothingness; it was worse. It was this hazy dream I could never wake from, where sounds felt bigger and sharper, and the world I knew slipped further away each day. Even the crickets, which used to be comforting, now grated on my nerves, their chirps too loud, almost painful. Leaves rustling in the wind scratched at my ears, reminding me of how much had changed.

The porch used to be my refuge. I could almost see Bridd and me sitting here years ago, trading stories as the sky darkened and fireflies began to blink. Those days felt like they belonged to someone else now, someone who hadn’t been left behind. Now, I was just trying to keep up, stumbling to find my place in a world that had become a stranger. I felt like I was slipping more often than not, the weight of everything pressing down, suffocating and relentless.

Laughter from next door cut through the quiet like broken glass. Sharp and startling, it reminded me that the world outside my darkness was still alive, still spinning. I’d always felt a little disconnected, but now it was like I’d been completely cast out, left to linger on the edges while everyone else went on with their lives.

I took a deep breath, the air heavy and thick. Memories clung to me like smoke, lingering in the silence. The witches’ voices grew softer, their spells fading into the night, and I felt everything more intensely now—the rough wood under my fingers, the sounds, the memories.

Then, footsteps. I heard her voice, soft and familiar. My mother. “Yoongi,” she said, her warmth reaching me before her touch did. “How are you holding up?”

I took a shaky breath. “Trying,” I said, and the word felt heavier than I could explain. “Just…trying to find my way.” It felt like climbing a hill I couldn’t see, carrying all the weight of what I’d lost.

She sat down next to me, her hand gentle on my shoulder. “You don’t have to do it all alone,” she murmured. “It’s okay to rest. To take things slowly.” Her words wrapped around me like a soft spell. “It’s alright,” she repeated.

I nodded, feeling my head dip forward. “I miss her,” I whispered. “Bridd… she made it all easier.”

She sighed, her hand steady. “She was special. But remember, there are still people here who care about you, Yoongi. Seokjin’s still here. Maybe you could reach out to him.”

Her words stirred something—maybe hope, maybe fear. Seokjin had once been an anchor for me, but now it felt like we were drifting, each of us lost in our own way. “I don’t want to be a burden,” I mumbled.

“You’re not,” she said firmly. “Friendship isn’t a burden—it’s something we share. You were there for them; now let them be there for you.”

Her words stayed with me, even as the witches’ laughter rose again, filling the night with a reminder of everything I couldn’t see. Wendy’s laugh rang out, soft and familiar, laced with something unspoken that lingered between us. I knew her feelings, even if we’d never said it out loud. But my heart… it was somewhere else, always just out of reach.

And then Wendy was closer. I felt my mother’s hand on my shoulder, grounding me, as Wendy’s voice cut through the night. “Yoongi!” she called, her tone bright but with a hint of something fragile beneath it. There was something in her voice that drew me in, even though I knew how dangerous it could be to let her in too far.

Jin and I were already on thin ice, and if he saw us like this, he’d definitely get the wrong idea.

“Hey,” I said, my voice coming out tight. Wendy stepped closer, her warmth hitting me before her hand did—just like my mother’s touch. She always had this way of seeing right through me, straight to the parts I tried to keep hidden.

“You okay?” she asked softly, her tone so gentle, like I was made of glass. I hated that she even had to ask.

I shrugged, the movement small and stiff. “Just thinking,” I muttered, barely meaning it. It was a filler, a shield. “Got a lot on my mind.”

She paused, letting the silence sit heavy between us. I could almost feel her studying me, like she was trying to piece me together. “You don’t have to do this alone,” she finally said. “We’re here for you, Yoongi. Jin and I…we care about you.”

Hearing Jin’s name hit me with a pang of something—hope, maybe, mixed with doubt. Did they really get it? Or were they just saying what they thought I needed to hear? I wanted to believe them, but that nagging doubt wouldn’t quit.

“I’m used to it,” I said, looking down at my hands. “I’m fine.” It was easier to be alone in my head, to keep everything locked away where no one could reach it.

Wendy shook her head, stepping in closer. “You’re not fine,” she whispered. “And that’s okay. You don’t have to be.” Her fingers brushed against mine—a small touch, but there was a tremor in it. She was scared too. We all were.

In that tremble, I felt something real, something solid. Maybe…maybe enough to take one more step forward, to move toward a world that didn’t feel like my own anymore. I nodded, just a small tilt of my head, and she stayed. No more words, just her warmth beside me as the witches’ laughter faded in the distance. It wasn’t everything. It wasn’t what my life used to be. But it was enough for now—to keep breathing, to keep moving.

“I don’t want to be a burden,” I whispered, almost too quiet to hear. Being vulnerable felt foreign, like it was borrowed from someone else.

“You’re not a burden, Yoongi,” Wendy said, her voice soft but steady. “You’re my friend. We care about you.” Her words hung in the air—delicate but so powerful.

The chatter and laughter around us felt louder then, a reminder of all that was bright and alive in their world. The world I wanted to reach again but didn’t know how. I sat there, the distance between us like a wall separating their colorful lives from my shadows.

The horizon stretched before me like an endless fog, a blur that mocked me, a constant reminder of what I’d lost. Days had passed like this, silent and heavy, filled with burdens I kept to myself, not wanting to weigh others down. Wendy’s voice was a quiet anchor, though, pulling me back from the edge.

“Yoongi,” she said, her words gentle, a lifeline. “I know it’s hard, but if you ever want to talk, I’m here. You don’t have to go through this alone.”

For a second, I almost told her I was fine. Pretending was easier, a mask I’d perfected over time. And the words did come, almost automatically.

“I’ll manage,” I said, but even I could hear how empty they sounded.

Wendy didn’t flinch, didn’t pull away. She just waited, her patience a steady presence beside me. Silence settled around us, thick with everything unspoken, all the fears I’d locked away. Finally, I looked down, the truth hovering on the edge of my mind, but I held it back.

“I’m not used to asking for help,” I finally admitted, the words coming out rough, almost resentful.

As I said it, regret flickered through me—showing weakness like this felt wrong. The days since my injury had blurred together, each one marked by this fog that clouded my sight. Sometimes I thought I saw things—faces, trees, the distant horizon—but they always slipped away. It was as if my eyes were covered in jelly. The harder I tried to see, the worse it got. So, I’d learned to rely on other senses—the sound of a voice, a hand’s touch, the scent of the forest around me. But it wasn’t the same. It would never be the same.

Wendy moved closer, her warmth cutting through the chill creeping in with the night. The shadows around us felt less intimidating with her beside me. I could feel her gaze, steady and searching, like she could see past all the walls I’d built to the doubts and fears I tried to keep hidden. But I kept those walls up.

“Yoongi,” she said softly, her voice firm but gentle, like she was tossing me a lifeline. “This doesn’t have to be everything, not right now. Just take it one step at a time. I’ll be here with you.”

Her words were comforting, but I didn’t let myself hold onto them. I couldn’t. Vulnerability felt too dangerous now, after everything I’d lost. So I just gave her a nod, a silent acknowledgment. Nothing more.

“Okay,” I murmured, more to keep her from worrying than anything else. “I’ll…try.”

But trying felt impossible some days. Every moment was a battle. Losing my sight had taken so much more than just my ability to see—it had pulled the world out from under me. Faces, landscapes, even the simplest things now felt foreign and unreachable. I found myself pulling away, retreating from the world and clinging to the past, tracing familiar shapes with my fingers, trying to remember what they used to look like. I wasn’t just blind—I was a stranger to myself.

Wendy’s hand rested on mine, her touch a steady reminder that I wasn’t entirely alone, even if it sometimes felt that way. Something flickered inside me, something I refused to name as hope. Hope was too fragile. I’d learned to live without it. I just focused on her hand in mine, and that was enough—or at least, it had to be.

But even with her there, memories clawed their way back—the chaos of that last battle, the roar of voices, the clash of weapons. The elves had come at us with everything they had, leaving no mercy. I could still feel the weight of that moment, the way darkness had swallowed me whole and left me here, grappling with nothing. My fists clenched without meaning to, the memories hitting hard.

“Wendy,” I started, my voice thick, my walls barely holding. “What if this is it? What if I can never really be a part of things again? What if I’m just…a burden?”

Her hand tightened on mine, a solid anchor. “Don’t say that,” she replied firmly, her voice a steady beat in the storm. “You’re not a burden, Yoongi. You’re still you. That matters more than anything. Even if you can’t see, you’re still one of us.” She softened, her words warmer, sinking into me. “Being open is a step toward healing. Don’t let fear take that away from you.”

I nodded, but I still couldn’t fully believe her. It felt safer to keep a distance, to hold onto the pain like armor. I didn’t want to drag her down with my despair, didn’t want to risk the letdown that came with hope. So I swallowed back the emotions, burying them where they wouldn’t touch anyone else.

The witches’ laughter drifted over, light and distant, reminding me that life still existed out there, in a world I couldn’t reach—not yet, maybe not ever.

“Thank you,” I whispered, meaning it even though the words felt fragile. I hadn’t realized how much I needed her assurance, her steady reminder that I wasn’t weighing everyone else down. But even as I said it, I knew I couldn’t lean on her too much. I had to stand on my own, even if that meant facing it all in silence.

The night deepened, and Wendy stayed, her presence grounding me, pulling me back from the edge. She was like a lighthouse in this fog I was stuck in, a reminder that maybe things could be different one day. I let myself imagine it, just for a second—that maybe, somehow, I could belong again. But I quickly pushed the thought away. I didn’t have room for dreams.

Wendy’s fingers tightened slightly, her gaze lifting to the stars scattered across the sky. “Yoongi,” she murmured, her voice carrying that unbreakable hope she always seemed to have, “We’ve all lost something. None of us feel whole, not completely. But we can help each other move forward, one step at a time.”

I caught the slight tremor in her voice, that hidden hurt that I knew all too well. Her mother’s death in the last battle had left a wound we all felt, a gap that reminded us of what the war had taken. That final clash had left us all scarred in ways that didn’t show.

I looked at her, our grief mingling in the quiet, binding us in this shared loss. “With Bridd gone… it’s hard to hold on to hope,” I admitted, the words raw and real. Bridd had been a constant, someone we all relied on. Without her, everything felt fractured.

Wendy’s eyes met mine, fierce and unwavering. “Bridd is strong. She’ll find her way back to us. And until then, we hold on to each other. That’s how we get through this.”

Wendy moved closer, her warmth a welcome contrast to the evening chill settling in around us. The shadows seemed less overwhelming with her beside me. I felt her steady gaze, like she could see past the walls I’d built and right into the mess of fears I tried to keep buried. But I kept those walls up.

“Yoongi,” she said softly, her voice like a lifeline, steady but gentle. “We don’t have to know everything right now. Let’s just make a promise—to hold on to each other. No matter how dark it gets, we keep going. For Bridd, for each other. That’s how we honor what we’ve lost.”

Her words sank in, like rain on parched ground. For a second, I felt a flicker of hope, a small reminder that maybe I didn’t have to carry all this alone. But I knew myself; I wouldn’t let myself rely on anyone too much. I couldn’t.

The witches’ laughter echoed in the distance, reminding me of life’s strange mix of light and dark, joy and pain. It was almost comforting, that reminder of life moving forward.

“Wendy,” I started, the words feeling awkward and unsure, “What if… I’m not who I used to be?”

She gave my hand a gentle squeeze. “Then we’ll help you find who you are now. You’re not alone, Yoongi. As long as I’m here, you’re not.”

Her conviction cut through my despair, but I kept my guard up. The night stretched out before us, full of unknowns, but as I sat next to Wendy, her presence like a steady anchor, I didn’t feel quite as lost. Maybe I’d try to take it as she said—one step at a time. But those steps were still mine to take, alone if I had to.

And as the darkness pressed in, I took a deep breath, letting the warmth of her presence fill the empty spaces inside me. She didn’t press for more, just stayed there beside me, as constant as the stars overhead.

Her quiet understanding eased something raw within me, like a wound finally starting to heal. “It’s… everything feels different now,” I admitted, my voice breaking a little, surprising even me. “I can’t see any of it, and it terrifies me.”

Wendy’s hand found my shoulder, her touch gentle and steady. “You’re still here, Yoongi. Losing your sight doesn’t mean you’ve lost everything. We’ll find a way through this, together. You still have us.” Her words hung in the air, easing the fear that had taken root inside me, creeping through everything like vines.

I let out a shaky breath, clinging to the faint hope her words had sparked. Maybe this wasn’t the end. Maybe, if I let myself reach out, there was still a way forward, a way to heal. “Thank you,” I whispered, the gratitude catching in my throat, barely able to express everything I felt.

Hope had become something strange and distant to me. Since the injury, my days had blurred into an endless stretch of darkness—more than just the absence of light. I could barely see. Everything was trapped in this cloudy haze, as if something thick coated my eyes. Shadows passed by, shapes that could be anything or anyone, but I never got a clear view. Trying to make sense of it all only left me with splitting headaches, so I stopped trying. The sight I had left was useless, a cruel reminder of what I’d lost.

I’d started relying on sound, on touch, to make sense of the world, but it wasn’t the same. I couldn’t see the faces of my friends or the beauty of the trees, the sky, the stars. All the things that used to ground me felt unreachable. My world was small and unfamiliar, and every step felt vulnerable, a reminder of everything that had changed. It was like drowning in the dark with no way out.

The night thickened around us, heavy with memories and things left unspoken, but Wendy’s steady presence kept me grounded. My thoughts drifted to Bridd—how her laughter had always lifted me, how her presence had once made even the hardest days bearable. The ache of her absence cut deep, but Wendy’s warmth stirred something faint and new in me, a promise that maybe I could find my way through this darkness, one slow, uncertain step at a time.

After a while, Wendy slipped into the shadows, her warmth slowly fading, leaving me alone again with the night. Minutes later, another set of footsteps approached, each step sharp and confident. I didn’t need to look to know who it was. Sam. The wind elemental who’d fought by our side, her presence like a storm, fierce and unrelenting.

“Mind if I sit?” she asked, her voice direct, cutting through my thoughts.

“Go ahead,” I replied, trying to keep my voice steady, bracing for the bluntness Sam always brought with her. She wasn’t like Wendy—she wasn’t soft. But her honesty was something I couldn’t ignore.

And I couldn’t deny how much I enjoyed her company. Sam always found me, always made sure I knew she was there, even when everyone else seemed to forget. It was comforting in its own way, and though I’d heard whispers about her and Kim Namjoon, I never let that stop her visits. Her people weren’t known for sticking to one person, and I wasn’t looking for anything anyway.

She lowered herself beside me with a kind of ease, though there was always a tension in her, a restless energy that seemed to vibrate between us. “You look like you’ve been trampled by a dragon,” she remarked with a smirk. “What’s got you in knots, Yoongi?”

I let out a dry laugh, trying to shrug it off. “The usual,” I said, waving a hand like all of it—war, waiting, the constant unknown—was nothing more than a passing annoyance. “The war, the waiting, the not knowing… you know.”

She didn’t laugh. When she replied, her voice was serious. “Yeah, and it’s not getting better anytime soon. Bridd’s out there, trying to bring in allies, and here we are, waiting for the next storm.”

“Thanks for the pep talk,” I said, irritation slipping out. I could feel her smirk, though, a bit of satisfaction in her voice.

“What, you thought I’d sugarcoat it?” she shot back, arching a brow. “You’re not the only one carrying heavy stuff, Min. We’re all in this.”

“Are we?” I muttered, bitterness creeping into my voice. “Or are we all just pretending we’re fine?”

“Pretending doesn’t change anything,” she said, her tone softening. “Sometimes you’ve got to stop fighting so hard and just… breathe. Give yourself a moment to let it be.”

I clenched my fists, the rough wood of the porch pressing into my palms. “It’s not that simple, Sam,” I murmured, feeling the weight of everything I’d lost. “You don’t get what it’s like… to lose everything familiar.”

She didn’t say anything for a while, and I thought maybe she’d let it go. But then, she spoke, her tone more serious than usual. “No, I may not know what it’s like to lose sight. But I know what it’s like to lose things—things that meant everything. To build up walls so high you forget who or what you’re even keeping out.” She paused, her words hitting harder than I wanted to admit. “It doesn’t bring you peace, Yoongi. It just leaves you alone.”

Her words cut deep, and I felt a flare of anger, my instinct to push back. “I’m not asking for advice, Sam,” I said, warning in my voice.

“No, you’re asking to drown,” she shot back, her frustration seeping through. “You’re letting it swallow you whole. And here’s the thing—life keeps moving, Yoongi, with or without you.”

Her words were like a jolt, breaking through the numbness I’d wrapped around myself. I wanted to argue, to say she didn’t understand, but I couldn’t deny there was truth in what she said. As much as I hated to admit it, she wasn’t wrong.

“What do you want from me, Sam?” I asked finally, my voice barely above a whisper.

“Nothing,” she said, her voice softening. “But maybe you should want more for yourself. Stop hiding in the dark. You’re not alone, no matter how much you try to pretend you are.”

Silence stretched between us, charged with all the things neither of us had said. Sam stayed beside me, solid and warm against the night, and I felt something shift inside—a flicker of realization that maybe, just maybe, she was right.

Her words felt like stones dropping into a still pond, rippling through the calm I’d forced myself into. Part of me bristled at her bluntness, but another part—the part I tried to ignore—felt grateful. She didn’t flinch from my darkness. She leaned into it, unafraid to call me out.

“I’m not great at letting people in,” I muttered, the words feeling strange, like they belonged to someone else. Keeping people at arm’s length was easier, safer, even if it meant being alone.

“Yeah, I got that,” she replied, her usual sarcasm softened by a surprising warmth. “But maybe you should try. Life’s too short to be a lone wolf forever. Cadoc taught me that much.”

“It’s not that easy,” I said, feeling the weight of it all press down on me. “Not everyone’s an optimist like you.”

“Optimist?” She laughed, a dry, almost bitter sound. “I’m not an optimist, Yoongi. I’m a realist. But you don’t have to change everything at once. Just… consider it.” Her voice softened, a tenderness I wasn’t used to hearing from her. “You never know what might happen if you let someone in.”

Her gaze held mine, steady and a little unnerving, as if she could see past every wall I’d built. I swallowed hard, my chest tight with a mix of fear and something else. “And what if I ruin it?” The question slipped out before I could stop it, the vulnerability raw and real.

Sam shrugged, unbothered. “Then you mess up. We’ll deal with it. That’s what friends are for. At least you tried.”

A small, reluctant smile tugged at my lips, the tension in my chest easing just a bit. “I’ll… think about it.”

She leaned back, a satisfied smirk on her face. “Good. And if you need practice, you know where to find me. I promise I won’t bite… much.”

A laugh escaped me, surprising and low, breaking through the heaviness of the night. “You’re something else, Sam.”

“Yeah, I know,” she replied, grinning. “And you’re welcome. Anytime you need a reality check or a kick in the backside, I’m your girl.”

We sat in a comfortable silence after that, the night air cool around us as we watched the shadows shift. It was rare, I realized, to have someone who didn’t turn away from my darkness—someone who met it head-on instead. And as Sam stayed there beside me, I felt a flicker of something I hadn’t let myself feel in a long time: hope. Maybe, just maybe, I didn’t have to carry this alone.

But that hope was fragile, and doubts clung to me like shadows. Trust was a risk, a leap into something unknown, especially when everything felt so uncertain.

After a while, Sam shifted closer, her eyes gleaming with a mischievous spark. “You know, Yoongi,” she began, her voice dropping into a playful whisper, “I’ve always thought you were kinda… cute.”

“Wait, what?” I blinked, caught completely off guard, my voice suddenly caught in my throat. The porch, the night—everything seemed to close in, amplified by her words.

She laughed, clearly amused by my reaction. “Yeah, you’re a good-looking guy. Just because you can’t see it doesn’t mean it’s not true.” There was a teasing edge to her tone, but underneath it, a hint of sincerity that made my heart skip. “Honestly, it’s a shame you don’t put yourself out there more. You could have anyone you wanted.”

I scoffed, trying to brush it off even as my pulse raced. “Anyone? That’s a stretch.”

“Not at all,” she replied, a glint of mischief in her eyes. “You’ve got a good heart, even if you are a bit of a lone wolf. People like that.”

I opened my mouth to respond, but she cut me off, her expression shifting to something unexpectedly serious. “I get it, though,” she said, her voice softer. “You don’t want things to get complicated.” She paused, then added with a smirk, “But I’ll be honest, I’ve thought about it. You and me, I mean.”

“Sam—” I began, feeling my face grow hot. “I’m not really looking for—”

“Let me finish,” she interrupted, leaning in closer, her breath warm on my cheek. The space between us felt charged, her words hanging in the air. “I’ve also had my share of thoughts about Namjoon. Can you blame me?” She shrugged, her tone turning flippant again. “But I know neither of you would go for it.”

I shook my head, trying to make sense of what she was saying. “So… you’re saying you want both of us?”

She shrugged again, almost casual. “Why not? You both bring different things to the table. But I’m realistic. I know it wouldn’t work. You’re dealing with your own stuff, and Namjoon’s got his demons, too.”

Part of me wanted to push her away, to tell her this was ridiculous, but another part—an unexpected part—was intrigued by her openness. “It just… seems messy,” I admitted, my voice softening.

“Messy is life, Yoongi,” she said lightly, though there was a hint of something else in her eyes. “But don’t worry—I’m not here to push you into anything. Just being honest.” She leaned back, her playful demeanor returning. “It’s not like I’m actually going to do anything about it.”

I rubbed the back of my neck, the tension loosening but not completely gone. “I just… I’m not looking to get tangled up in something like that. I’m barely handling my own mess right now.”

The porch felt smaller somehow, old memories and regrets pressing in on me like a heavy mist. I still carried the shadow of someone else—someone whose laughter still echoed in the quiet corners of my mind, someone who’d been my anchor back then.

Sam softened, her usual tough exterior easing for a moment. “I get it,” she said quietly. “And I’m sorry if I pushed too far. That wasn’t my intention. Just… wanted to keep things real, you know? Like always.”

“Yeah, I’ve noticed,” I said, managing a faint smile. “Maybe tone it down once in a while?”

She laughed, a warm, genuine sound that chipped away at the tension between us. “Not a chance,” she said, her eyes shining with humor. “But I’ll be more mindful. Last thing I want is to make things harder for you.”

“Thanks,” I murmured, feeling a small wave of relief, like some weight had been lifted, even if just for a second. “I’m just… still figuring things out.”

“Fair enough,” she said, her voice lightening like the night breeze. “Just don’t shut me out, okay? I’m here, whether you like it or not. Even if my taste in people is a little… unconventional.”

Despite myself, a smile crept onto my face. “You’re relentless.”

“It’s a gift,” she replied with a smirk, her eyes bright as the stars above us. “But seriously, if you ever need to talk—or just need someone to set you straight—I’m here. I might not have the answers, but I can help point you in the right direction.”

“Thanks,” I replied, my voice softer, my gratitude real this time. As we sat in the quiet of the night, the silence between us was calm, not tense like it so often was. There was a warmth that settled in my chest, something unexpected and gentle, that made the weight I’d been carrying feel just a little lighter. Sam was right—life was messy, but maybe there was room in that mess to let others in, to share the load I’d been holding onto alone.

The night pressed on, and the laughter from the others faded into the distance, blending with the quiet of the forest. With Sam next to me, the loneliness that had clung to me for so long felt like it was starting to loosen, replaced by a small, unfamiliar warmth. Maybe—just maybe—I could let someone in, let myself feel something beyond the weight of the past, let go of the fear and regret.

But just as the thought sparked, I felt a familiar ache tighten in my chest, a reminder of love lost, of empty spaces that had once been filled with warmth. Sam’s presence was comforting, but the shadows inside reminded me that I wasn’t quite ready to move on. Not yet. Not while Wendy’s memory still held me back.

The night seemed to hum with energy as Sam and I drifted into easy banter—her laughter, her teasing—familiar like an old song I hadn’t heard in a while. Before the moment could settle, the front door swung open, snapping us out of our thoughts. Jungkook appeared in the doorway, his face split in a wide grin, his presence like a burst of fresh air.

“Guess who!” he called, stepping out onto the porch. “Hope you two haven’t died of boredom without me!” His energy lit up the shadows around us, brightening the quiet with his usual cheer.

“Not yet,” Sam shot back, crossing her arms and leaning against the railing, smirking. “But we were kind of enjoying the peace without your endless enthusiasm.”

Jungkook laughed, undeterred, and set a couple of bottles on the small table between us. The clinking of glass echoed in the stillness. “Peace? Boring,” he said, shaking his head. “That’s why I brought drinks—to celebrate surviving another day in this beautiful chaos we call life.”

“Ah, yes,” I said dryly, sarcasm slipping out. “Because nothing says ‘responsible adult’ like drinking while the world falls apart.”

Jungkook clutched his chest dramatically. “Ouch! Here I am trying to lighten the mood!” He grinned, undeterred, holding out the bottle. “You two should be thanking me.”

Sam rolled her eyes, but I could see the smile tugging at her lips. “And you think a few drinks are going to save us from doom?”

“Hey, laughter is the best medicine,” Jungkook countered, shrugging as he passed out the bottles. “Besides, a little fun never hurt anyone, right?”

“Fine, but don’t expect me to hold your hair back if you pass out,” Sam teased, clinking her bottle against mine, her eyes glinting with mischief. The sound felt like a quiet pact between us—a shared defiance against the weight we were all carrying, a promise to keep going despite it all.

In that moment, under the stars, surrounded by the quiet of the night, we shared the burden of our fears and hopes. And for a little while, it felt like enough.

The evening felt heavy and still, and as I lifted the bottle, the chill against my fingers brought me back into the moment. The sharp taste burned a little as I took a sip, a welcome distraction from the dark thoughts that had been gnawing at me. “Not bad,” I said, grudgingly giving Jungkook a nod of approval. If nothing else, he had decent taste.

A grin spread across his face, his eyes catching the faint light of the porch. “See? I knew you’d like it.” He leaned back, taking a swig before casting a curious look between us. “So, what were you two talking about? Deep fears? Secret crushes?” He waggled his eyebrows, clearly enjoying himself as he tried to shake off whatever tension lingered.

Sam’s laughter broke out, bright and unguarded, dissolving the last bit of heaviness between us. “More like avoiding any deep topics,” she shot back, daring him to push it. She took another long sip, keeping her gaze steady. “Something you probably wouldn’t understand.”

“Hey, I can be serious,” Jungkook protested, still smiling but with a flicker of something else in his eyes—a shadow of something heavier that he quickly brushed off. “Truth is, things aren’t exactly easy on my end either.”

“Oh?” I glanced at Jungkook, my curiosity kicking in. He was usually the one keeping things light, making jokes to push away the weight of the world. But now, I could see something different, something heavier beneath that grin. “What’s going on?”

He sighed, looking down at the ground. “Family’s a mess,” he said quietly. “My dad’s still reeling from everything that went down in the last battle, and my brother… he’s acting like he’s the only one carrying the weight of it all. Sol’s off doing her own thing, holding grudges, and honestly, the whole place feels like it’s one spark away from going up in flames.” His voice was softer than I’d ever heard, raw in a way that caught me off guard.

“That sounds… intense,” I said carefully, feeling the weight of his words settle around us. Jungkook’s carefree attitude had always masked a lot, and seeing him now, letting that mask slip, made me realize just how much he’d been holding back.

Sam leaned over, her voice surprisingly gentle. “You know we’ve got your back, right? You don’t have to handle all that alone.”

Jungkook let out a hollow laugh. “Yeah, well, you either let it chew you up, or you drown it out with jokes and a few drinks.”

“Solid plan,” Sam said, her tone light but her eyes showing a hint of worry. “But, for what it’s worth, laughter doesn’t really fix things. Sooner or later, you’ve got to face it.”

“And who says I’m avoiding anything?” Jungkook shot back with a smirk, though there was a hint of something unsteady beneath it. “Look, I just think there’s a time and place for heavy stuff. And right now? I’d rather laugh with my friends than dwell on things I can’t change.”

I raised my bottle with a nod. “Sometimes, laughter is all we’ve got.”

“Exactly!” Jungkook’s grin was back, and he lifted his bottle high. “To laughter, and to the best friends a guy could ask for!”

We clinked bottles, the sound breaking through the quiet night. In that moment, our laughter felt like defiance against everything weighing on us, a tiny spark of hope pushing back the dark. Just being here together, sharing the night, dulled some of the sharper edges we all carried.

“So,” Jungkook leaned in, eyes gleaming, “what’s next? More drinks? Truth or dare? Let’s shake things up!”

“Let’s not get too wild,” Sam cautioned, but there was a glint in her eye that showed she was curious. “There’s enough chaos in our lives without us adding more.”

“True,” Jungkook said, still grinning. “But hey, look at us—we’re here, aren’t we? That’s got to count for something.”

The weight of reality hadn’t disappeared, but for now, with their laughter and lightness, it felt manageable. The past and future could wait. Right now, the warmth of friendship was enough.

Sam’s eyes lit up, mischief in her expression. “How about a round of ‘I Bet the Devil’? Ever played, Yoongi?”

I raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at my lips. “Oh, I’ve heard of it. Are you sure you’re up for it?”

Sam laughed, leaning forward. “Try me.”

“Fine, I’ll start.” I tried to keep a straight face. “I bet the Devil… I’ve never snuck out at night.”

Sam snorted, shaking her head. “Who hasn’t done that? That’s like, a rite of passage!”

“Way to ruin my dramatic moment,” I shot back, fighting a smile. “For the record, I wasn’t held as a child either.”

“Oh, so tragic,” Sam replied with exaggerated pity.

Jungkook leaned in, grinning. “My turn! I bet the Devil… I had a crush on a teacher.”

Sam and I groaned, and Jungkook laughed, looking only slightly embarrassed. “What? They were cool!” he defended.

“All right, my turn,” Sam said, her eyes dancing with mischief. “I bet the Devil… I frequently trip over nothing.”

I raised my bottle with a smirk. “Taking shots at my coordination? Thanks, Sam.”

She shrugged, unapologetic, and the laughter that followed wrapped around us like a warm blanket, each joke lifting a bit of the heaviness that had weighed us down. Just for this moment, everything felt lighter.

As the night stretched on, our laughter softened, giving way to a comfortable silence that settled between us. Jungkook’s smile was contagious, and Sam’s quick wit kept us laughing, creating a kind of rhythm that made the night feel almost normal—like nothing existed beyond this porch and the quiet shadows.

The morning light, dim and sluggish, barely cut through the grimy tavern windows, casting a muted glow over the worn-out room. I slouched over my so-called breakfast—a sad pile of overcooked eggs and toast that was more like cardboard. But hunger didn’t leave much room for pickiness. Each bite felt like swallowing down the previous night: the greasy taste of regret, the lingering headache from too much drink and forced laughter, and the ache of trying to hold onto any scrap of connection left.

I pushed the plate away, the clink of the fork against the plate feeling too loud, too sharp. Since I’d lost my sight, sound had filled the emptiness, each noise amplified, vivid, impossible to ignore. It was like living without a filter, with every creak of the floorboards and murmur of conversation in the tavern drilling straight into me. The voices around me rose and fell, snippets of people’s lives passing by while I just… sat here, feeling like I was drifting somewhere I couldn’t quite reach.

The door creaked open, and a cool morning breeze slipped in, carrying two voices I’d know anywhere. Hoseok’s laughter rang out first, light and familiar, followed by Hyuna’s soft chuckle. Their voices cut through the clamor, warm and reassuring in a way that made me remember what it was like to feel grounded.

“Mind if we join you?” Hoseok asked, his tone as easygoing as ever, though I could sense the weariness beneath it all.

I gestured to the empty seats, managing a small smile. “Not at all. Just be warned, the food’s about as appealing as it looks.”

Hyuna eyed my plate with a smirk. “Greasy, stale, and questionable… just like this town, huh?”

“Pretty much,” I muttered, pushing the plate even farther away.

Hoseok chuckled, though it lacked his usual energy. “Hey, at least it’s not rations straight out of a tin. I’ll take overcooked eggs any day.”

We shared a weak laugh, but the moment was short-lived. The weight of everything we’d been through, the constant worry, crept back in, thick and heavy. Hoseok leaned back, his eyes distant. “Bridd saved my life in the last battle,” he said quietly. “I don’t even know how, but she did. I keep thinking about how… it should be me out there instead of her, alone.”

Silence settled over us, broken only by the faint clinking of glasses and low murmurs from across the room. I felt a pang deep in my chest, the reminder of Bridd’s absence hitting hard. She’d been our anchor, the one who always kept us steady. Without her, it was like we were all just… floating.

“You miss her,” I said softly, voicing what I think we all felt.

Hoseok nodded, his face etched with worry. “I think we all do. But Jimin’s taking it the hardest. He’s been beating himself up ever since that argument they had before she left. This war… it’s wearing us all down. It’s not just the fights; it’s the way it’s breaking us on the inside.”

Hyuna’s face softened, her gaze somewhere far away. “I keep thinking I should have said something to her, thanked her for everything. But I didn’t. None of us did, really. We just assumed she’d always be here, like she’d always be the one holding us together.”

I swallowed, the words coming out rough. “She’s the heart of this group. I don’t know if she realized how much she held us all together.”

Hoseok’s hand rested on the table, fingers tapping lightly. “I can’t even think about what it’d be like if she doesn’t come back. Jimin’s putting on a strong front, but he’s falling apart.”

“He’s been so distant lately,” I murmured, barely louder than a whisper. “It’s like he doesn’t know who he is without her.”

Hyuna nodded, her voice low. “We have to keep an eye on him. He’s carrying too much of this alone. We can’t let him fall apart.”

Their words echoed my own thoughts, the fears I tried to keep buried. I clenched my fists under the table, feeling the rough wood grain against my fingers, grounding myself as the tavern’s hum of voices and clinking glasses filled the background. Out there, life went on, ordinary and uninterrupted. But here, in our small corner, the weight of it all pressed down on us, keeping us isolated even in a crowded room.

Hoseok broke the silence with a sigh. “I just hope Bridd’s safe, wherever she is. The longer she’s gone, the emptier it feels around here. It’s like… we’re all just drifting, waiting for something to pull us back together.”

“Wherever she is,” I said, my voice barely a whisper, “I hope she knows she’s not alone. That we’re waiting for her.” I raised my glass, the coolness a small comfort in my hand. “To Bridd,” I said, feeling a tightness in my chest. “To her strength, her courage, and her safe return.”

Hoseok and Hyuna lifted their glasses, the quiet clink a small promise between us. “To Bridd,” they echoed, their voices low. For a brief moment, as we drank, a flicker of warmth settled over us, a fragile spark of hope.

But as soon as it came, it faded, leaving us with the same hard reality pressing down. The brief lift of hope slipped away, and the weight of everything yet to come settled back in.

Hoseok set his glass down with a soft thud, looking at me with an unusual seriousness. “Yoongi,” he said quietly, “have you thought about what happens after all this? After the war?”

The question hit me harder than I expected. Survival had become everything, the only thing. Thinking beyond it felt foreign, like I didn’t even remember what it was like to dream of something else.

I needed air. Somehow, I managed to make it outside, bumping into a few chairs and a table on the way. Once I felt the cool breeze hit my face, I leaned back against the weathered wall, letting the cold ground me. It cut through the fog in my head, the chilly morning a relief from the tavern’s stuffiness.

As I stood there, I let my mind drift back to the battle that had left me like this, fumbling in a world of shadows. The same battle that had taken Bridd from us, casting her out into danger alone. The chill pressed into me, anchoring me in the present, but memories of that day, of everything that had changed, still clung to me like shadows I couldn’t shake.

The smell of blood and smoke had filled the air, the screams and clashing steel blurring together. I remembered the weight of my sword, the way it vibrated with each swing, each hit. The elves had charged us like shadows given form, fast and brutal. I’d fought, felt the sting of cuts I barely noticed through the adrenaline. And then, in one blinding flash, my world went dark.

Since then, darkness was all I’d known—a constant, suffocating shadow. Every day felt like stumbling through a world turned upside down. Sounds felt sharper, sensations more intense, but none of it made up for what I’d lost. Each day was a battle just to keep going, to find some sense of myself in all this.

“Yoongi?”

I turned, steadying myself against the wall. Hoseok’s footsteps were careful, like he didn’t want to startle me. I hadn’t heard him come outside.

“Are you okay?” His voice was soft, laced with concern, the familiarity grounding me a bit, even as the question lingered. I didn’t have an easy answer.

“I just… I needed a minute.” I tried to keep my voice steady. “Everything feels so heavy. Like I’m trying to keep my head above water, but there’s this weight holding me down.”

Hoseok was quiet for a second, then I felt his hand on my shoulder, a steady, grounding presence. “We’re all carrying more than we should. You can talk to me. Maybe it’ll help. What does it feel like?”

A bitter laugh slipped out. “It’s not that simple, Hoseok. I can’t even see what’s in front of me anymore. Everything I counted on—it’s all gone.”

“I know.” His voice softened, like he was reaching back to who he’d been before the war changed us both. “But we’re still here.”

The words settled over me, and instead of comfort, they just felt like a reminder of everything I’d lost, of how far I’d fallen. Bridd’s absence gnawed at me, an ache I couldn’t shake.

“What happened between Bridd and Jimin?” I asked, barely above a whisper. It was something I’d been wanting to know since she left, a question that hadn’t let me rest.

Hoseok let out a heavy sigh, like the weight of the whole story was bearing down on him. “It’s complicated,” he said. “They argued about Sol, about her leaving. Bridd was trying to protect him, and Jimin pushed for answers, and it got heated. Things were said they both regret. But Jimin…” He paused, his voice quiet. “He’s a mess without her. Regret doesn’t even cover it.”

Frustration bubbled up, and I felt my fists clench. “And Taehyung? Is he just hiding while we pick up the pieces?”

Hoseok’s grip tightened on my shoulder. “It’s not that simple, Yoongi. They’re keeping a close eye on him in the palace. He’s trying to keep his family safe and deal with everything he’s set in motion.”

“That doesn’t excuse him,” I snapped, my anger spilling over. “It doesn’t excuse any of this. We’re out here fighting while he sits behind walls. And Bridd…” My voice cracked, the ache in my chest almost too much.

“Yoongi.” Hoseok’s voice was firm, cutting through the haze of anger. “We’re all in this mess, every one of us. Blaming Taehyung won’t bring Bridd back or make this easier.”

“I know.” The anger faded, leaving only the hollow ache behind. “But it feels like everything’s falling apart, and I can’t do anything to stop it. I can’t see. I can’t fight. I’m barely holding on.”

Hoseok’s hand left my shoulder, and I sensed him leaning back against the wall beside me. “You’re stronger than you think,” he said gently. “You made it through that battle. You’re still here, and that means something, even if it doesn’t feel like it right now.”

The street around us was still, the morning quiet wrapping around us like a thin shield against the chaos of everything beyond. In that moment, it felt like we were in a bubble, the noise and weight of war held at bay just for a second.

Hyuna’s voice broke the silence as she joined us, her tone steady and sure. “We’re going to get through this, together.” Her hand found mine, warm and solid, and I gripped it like a lifeline, like something real I could hold onto.

I swallowed hard, nodding as some of the tightness in my chest eased. “I want to believe that,” I said, my voice thick with everything I’d kept buried.

“You will,” she replied, her tone unwavering. “Bridd may be gone, but we’re still here. And as long as we’re here, we’ll keep going—for her too.”

The morning air was crisp and biting, but with my friends beside me, I felt a spark of warmth, a small flicker of hope breaking through the shadows. We’d lost so much, and there was still more to face, but standing there, I felt like maybe we had enough to hold on to.

After a few minutes of quiet, Hoseok headed off to find his wife. He was more on edge about her than usual, especially with the threats creeping through Leeside, cutting through the town like a knife.

I leaned against the cold, rough wall of the building, trying to catch my breath as my mind spiraled through everything that weighed on us—the war, the losses, the unknowns stretching out in front of us like some endless road. I closed my eyes, hoping for a moment of peace, but the darkness clung to me, seeping into every corner of my mind.

The sound of footsteps pulled me back to reality. I turned toward them, and relief flickered through me when I saw Sam and Jungkook. They walked with that same quiet resolve we all seemed to have now, their faces showing the weight they carried, but just seeing them grounded me. Reminded me that, somehow, I wasn’t alone in all this.

“Hey,” Sam said, her voice soft, but her eyes searching mine like she could see straight through me. “You okay?”

I forced a small smile, though it felt like it might break at any second. “Just needed some air,” I replied, even though my voice sounded as worn out as I felt. “How about you two? Holding up?”

Jungkook shrugged, his jaw tight, his usual spark dimmed. “Same as everyone else, I guess. Just… trying to make sense of it.” His voice was low, a shadow of his usual tone. He looked away, staring into the distance like he was holding back everything he couldn’t say out loud.

Sam took a small step closer, her expression softening. “We figured you’d be here,” she said gently, her tone carrying the same sadness that weighed on all of us. “Hyuna told me what happened. Are you alright?”

I swallowed, the ache in my chest tightening, sharp and cold. “Yeah,” I managed, barely above a whisper. “I’m just… everyone keeps talking about Bridd, and it hurts knowing she’s not here to see it.”

The three of us stood there, caught in a silence heavy with grief. The world around us blurred, leaving only the sting of loss and the weight of everything we’d been through. Bridd was more than just a friend—she’d been our anchor, our hope, our strength when we needed it most. And now, that strength was gone, taken from us by this relentless war.

Sam finally broke the silence, her voice a little rough, almost choked. “You know, Jin told me once that Bridd used to say hope was like a stubborn weed. You could try to pull it out as many times as you wanted, but it would always come back, even stronger.” She let out a soft laugh, one that sounded more sad than happy. “I never thought I’d be clinging to her words like they were all I had left.”

“She believed in that hope, even when the rest of us couldn’t,” Jungkook added, his voice raw. “She made us believe, too.”

I nodded, the sharp ache of missing her settling deep. “She wouldn’t want us to give up,” I said, feeling the truth of it as the words slipped out. “She fought for this—for us. I can’t let her down.”

Sam reached out, her hand resting gently on my shoulder, her touch grounding me. “We’re with you, Yoongi. No matter what happens, we’ll face it together.”

Jungkook moved closer, placing his hand on my other shoulder, his grip strong. “For Bridd,” he said, his voice filled with quiet determination, “and for everyone we’ve lost.”

Bridd had given everything she had to protect us, to stand for something bigger than herself. And even though she was gone, her spirit lived on in each of us, in the bonds we shared, in the unbreakable strength that kept us going. The road ahead was dark, full of uncertainty, but we’d walk it together.

As the sun slowly rose, casting light across the worn cobblestones, I felt a hint of warmth—a reminder that dawn always comes after the darkest nights. We couldn’t change the past, couldn’t erase what we’d lost, but we could honor Bridd’s memory by holding onto hope, by fighting on. She’d left us with that much: a spark of resilience even in the deepest dark.

“For Bridd,” I murmured, looking at Sam and Jungkook, feeling that small spark of hope catch once again.

I stood by the river, watching as the first golden light of the sun hit the water, scattering in a way that felt like promises—warm but fleeting. The river sparkled, flowing along like nothing had changed, as if it didn’t know how wrong things were now. Each flicker of light only made the ache inside me worse, a reminder of everything I’d lost: my sight, my strength, and the confidence that had once felt as natural as breathing. Now, whenever I tried to summon my magic, it was like grasping at smoke—something just out of reach, slipping through my fingers no matter how hard I tried to hold on.

I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and tried to reach for the magic, like it was still somewhere inside me. It used to come so easily, like a flick of my wrist, a thought. But now, every attempt was a struggle, a tugging on something deep within me that felt barely there. The light that had once danced at my fingertips was barely a spark now, flickering out before it could even form. Frustration twisted in my chest, sharp and tight, a constant reminder that I wasn’t who I used to be.

Flashes of the last battle came back to me—the clash of metal, the roar of flames, the chaos that blurred right before my world went dark. The elves had come at us like shadows, swift and ruthless, their arrows deadly. In those final moments, something inside me had broken. And now, as much as I wanted to fix it, I wasn’t sure I knew how.

I tried to shake the memory off, forcing myself to focus on the gentle sounds of the river. But even that peace felt distant. Bridd’s face surfaced in my mind, and I felt the sting of her absence all over again. Then, I could almost hear Ji-Hyun’s laughter, taunting me with every failure, every spark of magic that sputtered out. I clenched my fists, trying to channel the frustration into something useful—something that might remind me that I hadn’t lost myself entirely.

“Come on,” I muttered under my breath. “You can do this.” But all I got were a few faint sparks that faded into the air. Every failure widened the hollow ache inside, gnawing at my resolve. Without my sight, everything felt strange, like I was stuck in someone else’s life. Doubts crept in, telling me all the things I didn’t want to believe.

The riverbank was too quiet—a thick, lonely silence that just reminded me how isolated I felt. I wished someone were there, just to break me out of my own head for a while. A rustling in the bushes made me jump, my body tensing instinctively. But it was only a bird, flapping away, leaving me alone again. I sighed, looking up at the sky, where the sun was beginning to set, stretching long shadows over the ground like reaching fingers.

I tried again, reaching for the magic, but it slipped away, useless. Every failed attempt felt like a punch, reminding me that I was no longer the person everyone had once counted on. I was just a shadow now—stumbling through the dark, holding onto pieces of my old self that seemed to drift further away each day.

Frustration built up until I couldn’t hold it in, and I let out a shout—raw, loud, breaking the quiet. I kicked at the dirt, wishing I could do something—anything—to shake this feeling, to get out of the cage I felt trapped in. But the river kept flowing, steady and uncaring, while I stood there, stuck.

“Get it together,” I whispered, my voice trembling. “You’re stronger than this.” I had to be. For Bridd, for Jimin, for everyone who’d counted on me in that battle. I had to believe there was a way forward, even if it meant stumbling through the darkness, even if I had to reach for the parts of myself that still felt out of reach.

I took a step back from the river’s edge, feeling the solid ground under my feet—something I could still rely on. My magic was still there, somewhere, even if it was weak and fractured. I had to believe I could find it again. I wasn’t ready to give up, not yet.

The sun dipped lower behind the mountains, painting the sky in soft hues of orange and purple—colors I could barely make out but remembered vividly. The river glowed in the twilight, and the world felt softened, muted. I leaned against a twisted tree, still caught up in the mess of my own frustration, when I heard her voice.

“Yoongi?”

It was soft, like she wasn’t sure if she should interrupt. But there was warmth in it, something gentle that made my chest ache in a way I couldn’t name. I turned toward the sound, and even though I couldn’t see her, I could feel her presence. Sam had this way of showing up without even needing to touch you, her warmth reaching out on its own.

“I thought I might find you here.”

I tried to smile, though it probably came out tired. “Hey,” I said, my voice sounding as worn as I felt. “Didn’t realize it had been that long.”

Her footsteps were soft as she came closer, careful, as if not to startle me. I could picture her there, head tilted, looking at me with that slight frown she wore whenever she was worried. Sam always watched without saying much, checking in without needing to ask.

“You looked like you were somewhere else,” she said quietly. “I just came from Jimin’s. He’s… well, he’s managing. Sort of.”

I swallowed, the guilt biting deeper. “Is he alright?” The words slipped out before I could stop them.

She hesitated, and I felt her shift, searching for the right thing to say. “Not really,” she admitted. “But he’s trying. We all are.”

I nodded, her words tightening something inside me. “It’s hard to shake this feeling. Like I’m trapped, stuck in this loop, trying to make sense of everything.” My voice broke a little, and I hated how small and raw it sounded.

Sam moved closer, her hand resting lightly on my arm. She didn’t pull me into a hug or make a big deal of it; she just stood there, steady, her warmth comforting. “You’ve been practicing, haven’t you?” she asked, so gently that I almost wanted to cry.

“Yeah,” I said, lifting my hands, as if to show her what I couldn’t put into words. I focused, feeling the faint warmth start to build up, just enough for a small glow—but then it faded, leaving my hands empty. “It’s like… I can’t even trust myself anymore.”

She didn’t speak right away. Her hand stayed on my arm, her thumb tracing small circles on my sleeve in absent comfort. “I get it,” she said finally, and I could hear the honesty in her voice, like she really did understand. “But fear’s tricky, Yoongi. If you let it, it’ll take over. It’s okay to be scared, but don’t let it make your choices for you.”

Frustration spiked again, making my voice come out sharper than I wanted. “It’s not that simple, Sam.”

She didn’t pull back, didn’t flinch. Instead, she squeezed my arm a little tighter. “No, it’s not simple. None of this is.” Her voice was fierce, like she needed me to understand. “But you can’t keep running from it. You’ve got to face it, even if it scares you.”

Her words hit me hard, and I felt my throat tighten. “I wish I could be as strong as you,” I whispered, the vulnerability slipping out before I could stop it.

She slid her hand down, finding mine, her grip warm and steady, like she wouldn’t let go. “Being strong doesn’t mean you’re not scared,” she said. “It just means you keep going anyway. I’m scared too, Yoongi. We all are.”

Her words settled around me, and for the first time, the weight on my chest felt a little lighter. I swallowed, her honesty touching something deep that I hadn’t let anyone near. “I don’t want to bother everything,” I said, the words breaking as they left me.

“You’re not bothering anyone,” she said, her voice fierce. “Not me, at least. You matter, Yoongi. You matter to us.” Her words felt like a lifeline, pulling me out of the storm.

Something warm flickered in my chest, fragile but real. “I just… I don’t want you to feel like you have to carry me,” I murmured, barely audible.

She squeezed my hand a little tighter, her voice softening. “I care about you, Yoongi,” she said, her voice almost like a promise. “And that’s not something you get to decide for me. You matter, and I’m not going anywhere.”

Even without seeing her, I could feel her gaze, warm and steady. I let out a shaky breath, realizing that maybe I didn’t have to be strong on my own. Maybe there was strength in letting others stand with me, even when I couldn’t see the way forward.

“Thank you,” I whispered, feeling the weight of those words, knowing they weren’t enough. Her kindness, her unwavering support—it was something to hold on to, something to keep me grounded, even if only a little.

She smiled, and though I couldn’t see it, I felt it. “You don’t need to thank me,” she said softly. “Just let me be here, okay?”

I nodded, and we let the silence settle around us—a silence that

spoke louder than words. The river murmured, the leaves rustled above, and as the night crept in, I felt the gentle hum of life still moving forward.

The darkness wasn’t gone—it never really was. It still hovered there, like a shadow clinging to my mind. But with Sam’s hand in mine, something shifted, like those shadows had loosened, just enough to let a little light slip in. The sun had finally dipped behind the mountains, leaving the sky streaked in deep oranges and purples—beautiful, but tinged with a kind of sadness, like saying goodbye to another day. But maybe that wasn’t so bad. I took a deep breath, letting the cool night air settle me, and felt more grounded than I had in a long time.

“You’re right,” I said quietly, my voice a little stronger, even though I still felt shaky inside. It was a steadiness that came after a storm—no idea where I stood exactly, but clearer than before. “I need to face this. All of it.”

Sam gave me a soft smile; I could hear it in her voice. “One step at a time, okay? You don’t need to have it all figured out. None of us do.” Her words felt gentle but solid, like something to hold onto.

I nodded, feeling a gratitude I couldn’t quite put into words. The darkness was still there, but knowing I didn’t have to handle it alone made everything feel less impossible.

After a moment, Sam’s tone shifted, her voice taking on that playful edge I’d come to rely on. “So, I’ve got some gossip for you,” she said, like she was letting me in on some juicy secret.

My curiosity sparked, tugging me out of the heavy thoughts weighing me down. I let my fingers dip into the river, feeling the cool water wash over them, almost like it could rinse some of the dark thoughts away. I could sense her leaning in beside me, close enough that her warmth pushed back against the night’s chill.

“What’s the gossip?” I asked, my tone lighter, a bit of the old playfulness sneaking back in.

“Turns out Hyun-Jin was the one who tipped Sol off about Bridd,” she said in a low, secretive voice, like we were swapping secrets under a blanket fort. “Taehyung only confirmed it when she backed him into a corner. She wouldn’t have believed it otherwise.”

Hyun-Jin’s name made my stomach clench, any hint of lightness vanishing. “Why would he do that?” I muttered, not really expecting an answer that would make any of this better.

Sam leaned in closer, her breath warm in the cool air. “Lorcan overheard Hyun-Jin arguing with his wife,” she whispered. “Hyun-Jin’s best friend died in the siege, and he blames Bridd for not warning them. He thought she knew and kept it quiet. He’s angry, Yoongi, and telling Sol was his way of lashing out.”

I clenched my jaw, feeling the bitterness rise. Hyun-Jin’s grudge was like a poison, and his need for revenge was threatening to tear apart everything we’d fought so hard to hold together. “Great,” I muttered sarcastically. “Just what we need. Another reason for everyone to turn on each other.”

Sam sighed, her shoulders slumping a little. “Exactly. Everyone’s already on edge, and Lorcan thinks Jimin doesn’t know yet. We can’t let him find out—not like this.”

I stared out at the river, watching the way the water flowed, steady and constant, even as everything else seemed to be falling apart. I could picture Jimin’s face if he found out, the anger that would rise up in him, fierce and unchecked. “If Jimin finds out,” I whispered, the weight of it settling on my chest, “it wouldn’t surprise me if he killed Hyun-Jin. And that would be the end of whatever stability we have left.”

“That’s why we can’t let it get to that point,” Sam said, her voice sharper now, cutting through my spiraling thoughts. “We have to handle this carefully. One wrong move, and everything could fall apart.”

I let out a long breath, feeling the weight of her words pressing down. “But what can we really do, Sam? We’re just trying to keep from drowning here.”

“Maybe,” she admitted, her tone softening. “But we can watch, we can listen, and we can make sure Jimin hears the truth in a way that won’t tear everything apart. We know him, Yoongi. We’re his friends.”

I turned toward her, even though I couldn’t see her face clearly. “Together,” I echoed, letting the word settle. It was simple, but it felt like a promise, something solid in the middle of all this uncertainty. “I like the sound of that.”

She nudged my shoulder, a smile clear in her voice. “Good. Because I’m not letting you carry this alone. You’ve got enough to deal with.”

A real smile crept onto my face, a warmth flickering to life. Despite everything still weighing me down, Sam was like an anchor—a reminder that maybe, just maybe, I could get through this with her by my side.

As we sat there in the quiet, though, the ache of Bridd’s absence hit me hard, sharp and raw. I could almost hear her laugh, see her smile, and for a second, it was like she was still here. But then it was gone, leaving that hollow ache that wouldn’t quite fade. Sam’s hand rested on my shoulder, steady and warm, but even her kindness couldn’t fill the space Bridd had left behind.

The last of the daylight slipped away, leaving the sky a deep indigo. I took a breath, letting the cool air calm me, and nodded to myself. “You’re right,” I said again, the words easier this time. “No more hiding.”

Sam’s smile was soft but sure. “One step at a time, Yoongi. We’re all just trying to figure this out. You don’t have to have all the answers right now.”

I nodded, letting her words settle in. Sam always knew when to be gentle, even when the world felt like it was unraveling. Tonight, I was more grateful for that than I could ever say.

“So he’s punishing Bridd for something she couldn’t control?” I shook my head, the disgust settling in my chest.

Sam nodded, her expression hardening. “Yeah, but he’s misjudged how this’ll play out. Callisto isn’t taking it lightly either. If she finds out about Hyun-Jin’s involvement, things could get… ugly.”

I clenched my fists, feeling the tension build as I imagined the fallout. “If Jimin hears it from anyone but us… it’ll destroy everything. It’ll be a civil war, and there’s no way the Park brothers could fight each other like that. It would all fall apart.”

Sam’s eyes softened, the sharpness fading as she looked at me, something real and unguarded in her expression. “Then we make sure he hears it from us,” she said firmly. “But we have to confront Hyun-Jin first. And we need to tread lightly. If he feels like we’re accusing him, he’ll just deny everything.”

“And if he does?” I muttered, running a hand through my hair, feeling the frustration build. “What if he thinks we’re just sticking our noses where they don’t belong?”

Sam’s gaze held steady, her determination like a solid wall. “Then we make him see this isn’t just about him. It’s about all of us—especially Jimin. If Hyun-Jin has any loyalty left, he’ll understand.”

I let Sam’s words sink in, and for the first time, the grip of doubt around my heart loosened, even if just a little. The uncertainty was still there, but her conviction—it was hard not to let it stick. “You really think he’ll listen?” I asked, almost talking to myself more than to her.

“Everyone’s got a weak spot, Yoongi,” she replied, her gaze steady. “We just need to find his. And from what I’ve seen, Callisto might be it. The heart of a wolf is always bound to his mate.”

Her words felt like the first hints of a plan, fragile but real. I could almost picture a way forward as we started walking along the riverbank, the twilight casting everything in shades of silver and deep blue. A quiet sense of purpose stirred inside me, growing stronger with each step beside Sam.

“And Jimin?” I asked, my voice tight. “If he finds out before we talk to Hyun-Jin…”

“We won’t let that happen,” she said quickly, her tone so steady it made me feel braver. “We’ll get to him as soon as we can and tell him the truth. He’ll trust us, Yoongi. He has to.”

“Yeah,” I replied, letting her confidence seep into me, feeling my doubts start to ease. “For once, maybe we’ll actually get ahead of it all instead of watching everything fall apart.”

The evening deepened, stars slowly coming into view, softening the world around us. The night felt quiet, like it was giving us this rare moment to just breathe. I glanced at Sam, the gratitude I felt for her presence warming me in a way I hadn’t expected.

“Thanks, Sam,” I murmured, my voice catching a little as I looked away. It didn’t feel like enough, but I meant it. “For sticking with me through all of this.”

She gave my hand a gentle squeeze, her touch warm and grounding. “No need to thank me, Yoongi,” she said, her voice as steady as ever. “We’re in this together. Besides,” she added, a little smile creeping into her tone, “you keep me grounded too. Honestly, I might’ve lost it ages ago without you around to keep me steady.”

A laugh escaped me, breaking through the quiet. “So we balance each other out, huh? Fire and ice?”

“Fire and ice,” she echoed, her eyes gleaming with that familiar spark of mischief that always seemed to make things feel lighter. “But I’m air, and you’re more like earth than anything else.”

We kept walking until the path ended, the night stretching out above us in a blanket of stars, their light soft and calm. For a brief moment, I felt a sense of peace settle over me, a quiet resolve wrapping around me like a shield against the cold.

Whatever happened with Hyun-Jin, whatever came next with Jimin, I knew we’d face it together. And somehow, in that moment, knowing that was enough. It felt fragile, like a flame flickering in the wind, but it was real. And that was all I needed.

I stared into my drink, watching the amber liquid swirl, blurring like everything else in my head. I didn’t want to think about why I was here or what I was doing, but somehow, even with all the whiskey in the world, my mind refused to let go. The tavern was its usual dim, loud self—a mix of voices, clinking glasses, and the smell of stale beer hanging in the air. None of it could drown out the emptiness that seemed to have carved a place inside me.

Then the door swung open, and a familiar laugh sliced through the noise, grating and sharp. I glanced up, the blurry form of Hyun-Jin stepping into the dim light, his mouth twisted in that smug, careless grin he always wore. He spotted me right away, and instead of looking the other way, like a decent person would, he headed straight toward me. I could already feel my chest tighten, my hand curling into a fist around my glass.

“Well, well, look who’s here,” he said, sliding into the stool beside me without an invitation. “Didn’t expect to find you out, Yoongi. Figured you’d be off somewhere crying about poor little Y/N.”

His words hit me like a slap, but I bit down the anger that flared up, keeping my eyes on my drink. “You don’t get to say her name,” I muttered, my voice low, hoping he’d take the hint and leave. But he just laughed.

“Oh, I don’t?” He leaned in closer, a sneer twisting his mouth. “Last time I checked, I was free to say whatever I wanted. She wasn’t exactly the saint you all like to pretend she was.”

That was it. I couldn’t keep it in anymore. I straightened, turning to face him, letting all the anger I’d been holding back finally show. “You’re one to talk about Bridd. This mess? You’re the reason it all went to hell in the first place.”

He rolled his eyes, leaning back, looking completely unfazed. “Oh please, don’t try to put that on me. What did I do, exactly?”

I clenched my jaw, forcing myself to stay calm. “You told Sol. You’re the one who told her Bridd left town. You basically handed her all the ammunition she needed to turn everything upside down. It's your fault the story was so twisted and convoluted. You manipulated a teenage girl to run and tell your brother a bunch of bullshit about his girlfriend, so you didn't have to get your hands dirty, you filthy mutt.”

Hyun-Jin snorted, a bitter laugh escaping him. “Oh, so now I’m responsible for her choices? Bridd wanted to play hero. She got what she deserved.”

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. The rage bubbled up, twisting my stomach, and before I knew it, I was out of my seat, my fists clenched tight. “You have no idea what you’re talking about. Bridd was trying to protect us, all of us. She had the guts to do something while you sat around running your mouth.”

His face twisted into something ugly, his eyes flashing. “Protect us? Please. Bridd was a selfish, arrogant mess, always acting like she was better than everyone. And you? Pathetic, moping around here, pretending like she cared about you.” His words turned venomous, each one a slap in the face. “She didn’t give a damn about anyone but herself. She's a murderer.”

That was it. Every bit of anger and grief I’d been trying to bury boiled over, and before I knew it, my fist connected with his jaw, the impact sending a shockwave up my arm. Hyun-Jin stumbled back, clutching his face, but he recovered fast, his face twisting with fury. He came at me, grabbing my collar, and his fist crashed into my cheek, hard enough to make my vision blur.

The tavern around us erupted in shouts, people scrambling out of the way, but I barely registered it. All I could focus on was Hyun-Jin’s smug, hateful face, and the satisfaction of finally, finally hitting him. I was ready to go at him again, but then someone yanked me back, a strong hand pulling me away from the fight. Dizzy and disoriented, I looked up to see Jimin, his face tight with anger.

“That’s enough,” Jimin said, his voice cold and hard, a tone I’d rarely heard from him. He was glaring at Hyun-Jin, and even through my own fury, I could see the barely contained rage simmering under his expression. “Get out, Hyun-Jin.”

Hyun-Jin wiped the blood from his lip, glaring back at me. “Maybe you should keep your little witch on a leash, then,” he spat, his voice dripping with venom. He threw one last look my way, filled with contempt, before storming off, muttering curses under his breath.

Jimin’s grip on my shoulder tightened as he steadied me, his gaze full of disappointment and frustration. “Sit down,” he muttered, his tone leaving no room for argument. “You’re going to regret this tomorrow if you keep going.”

I pulled away from him, stumbling back to my seat at the bar, feeling the sting in my cheek where Hyun-Jin had hit me. The pain throbbed, a dull ache that only added to the hollow feeling gnawing away at my insides. Jimin lingered a moment, watching me like he wanted to say something, but I couldn’t bring myself to meet his gaze. Eventually, he turned and walked off, leaving me alone in the swirl of whispers and judging stares.

The other patrons were all looking at me now, whispering, and I could feel their eyes on me, sharp and heavy. I tried to ignore them, tried to focus on the glass in front of me, the warmth of the whiskey as I took another sip. But the shame, the humiliation, settled over me like a weight I couldn’t shake.

Hyun-Jin’s words echoed in my head, twisting and cruel, sinking into the darkest parts of me. He’d said she didn’t care. He’d said I was pathetic for mourning her. And no matter how hard I tried to drown them out, his words stuck, settling in the back of my mind, dragging me down.

Bridd would hate seeing me like this, sinking into anger and self-pity, letting someone like Hyun-Jin get to me. She’d tell me to get it together, to focus on what mattered, to stop hiding behind the bottle. But even her memory wasn’t enough to pull me out tonight. I was tired. Too tired to pretend that I could just keep pushing forward. The weight of everything—her absence, the fallout of Hyun-Jin’s betrayal, the feeling that I was failing everyone—felt like too much.

I took another long drink, ignoring the whispers that had grown louder, filling the room like an invisible fog, thick and suffocating. I couldn’t shake the feeling that they were right. That maybe I was pathetic, maybe I was just another broken piece left in the wake of everything Bridd had tried to hold together. The thought settled like a stone in my chest, heavy and cold.

So I sat there, alone with my drink, letting the shadows press in closer. The world around me blurred, slipping further away as the familiar numbness took over. The ache in my chest, the bruising on my cheek, the weight of everyone’s stares—all of it faded into the background. All that was left was the silence, dark and all-consuming, wrapping around me like a blanket, pulling me under.

And for the first time, I didn’t try to fight it.

Taglist: @greezenini @adventures-in-bookland @kthstrawberryshortcake-main @zae007live @jimin-neverout @nikkiordonez12 @canarystwin @yamekomz @chimthicc @michiiedreamer @amorieus @mima795 @yunki-yunki-yunki

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thatloveislikea-star · 2 days ago

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At @brighteststarz request, here are some starcest recs!!

These are just a few of my favorite complete fics, I ran out of steam because I read so much so I might do another list later 😂 a lot of these authors have WIPs that are really amazing, so check those out if you like to follow along

An absolute classic, Want, by Saras_Girl

So good, really interesting family dynamics in Rapture on the Lonely Shore by @tenrousei-kuroi, check out their other starcest too! Another one I love of theirs is Capacious as the Sea

The Mind of Madness by phantasmaraneae is so good I’ve read it so many times

Really really hot, includes James, Little Lion by @tracingpatternswrites

I thought family planning by heated_mausoleum was funny

Heat wave by heartshapedbathtub is one of the hottest things I’ve ever read, definitely read it if you like bunny stuff, they’ve written a few more fics too

Constellations series by Evandar, has two fics, both so good, also Toujours Pur is really sweet

Winner Takes All by @the-invisibility-bloke, it’s hot, it’s funny, it’s charming, it’s perfect

Pretty much everything by @faeries-withspirits , but some favorites are Cherry Waves, Morning Glory, Starbursts (bring me back to life), Down the black hole of my lust I descend, Secret Shows in Shower Stalls. Definitely check their other fics out if you like celestial quad (reg/siri/rem/james) also their WIPs are so good

Psychiatristgirl exclusively writes bangers, like And All Was Well, my pussy tastes like pepsi cola (my eyes are wide like cherry pies), and speak in tongues (til you listen). That last one is celestial quad, it’s just too good to omit

Baby, it’s cold outside by @andwaitforthespark is so so so good, their WIPs are amazing, and the house always wins only has one chapter left!

@melissamwrites is one of my favorites, especially Black Holes, please check out their other works, especially their WIPs, especially Wormhole (though it is celestial quad and not just starcest) ALSO they make podfics!!! Check those out for sure!

Underneath the mistletoe by Sirci is one of the sweetest starcest fics ever, they have some other really good fics you should check out!

I love JBlackMalfoyRosier’s smutty little Blackcest series, if you like infidelity, it’s for you!

constellations, collisions, and other ways to say love by @matthewfairhoe is a brilliant two-parter

The Arrangement by rattlesnake_black, technically its wolfstarcest, but the dynamic between Regulus and Sirius is gold, and Remus is a hot bonus

@cassetteinability has some amazing fics, like All night long, need, sweet stars, Friends and brothers and lovers (take care of me) that last one does have James involved

Make Your Dreams Come True by @goldenbi is so hottttt

#starcest #blackcest #regulus x sirius #sirius x regulus #brother x brother #harry potter #marauders #regulus black #sirius black #fic rec #fic recommendations #fanfic #fanfic rec #starcest fanfic recs

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woofuspigeon · 1 day ago

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so random question, what’s your favorite song?

also if you feel like drawing maybe team ZITS :D

Have a cuddle session!

And for the other part of the ask:

I’m the person who has current favorites and it changes a lot.

(Also warning, I don’t really follow the people, really just listen to the music. So if there is any drama around them, there is almost a guarantee that I do not know it)

Favorite bands overall:

-Rainbow Kitten Surprise

-The Crane Wives

Current band obsessions:

-Air Traffic Controller

-Caamp

Favorite songs overall:

-Conrad by Ben Howard

-Bring on The Dancing Horses by Echo & the Bunnymen

-(sooooo many more)

Current song obsessions:

-Dark Waltz by Tow’rs

-Jimmy’s Song by Air Traffic Controller

-Tooth and Nail by The Accidentals

-(again, sooo many more)

I could keep going, huge music person, apologies for the ramble :p

(Also fun fact: pretty sure I have my music taste to thank for me discovering hermitcraft and life series)

#woof ask #woof rant #team zits #tangotek #skizzleman #impulsesv #zedaph #I could keep listing songs and bands for hours

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lara-cairncross · 2 days ago

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Hi! how are you? I hope fine!

I wanted to know if you could recommend me some Mikey angst fanfics. I feel like I've read them all and at the same time I haven't, hehe.

Love your fairy AU its verry beautyful

(My english is not the best 😅)

heya! i'm glad you like the au :D

I can definitely give u some recommendations for michelangelo fanfics! can't guarantee you haven't read them already, but hopefully a few of them are novel. also gonna tag @roronoacoldbrew, @desterea, and @appleblondie0397, cuz y'all asked for some mikey recs too!

I'm not gonna include all my recs, cuz that would take ages, but I DO have a collection on Ao3 that has like, ~250 entries. and they're 90% mikey-centric, sooooo there's a lot more there! it's linked at the bottom of this post :D

i'll be your detonator -> rottmnt, 4k one-shot, oh my god this fic/series deserves so much more attention. bad future timeline, follows Mikey being THE coolest motherfucker while having several mental breakdowns and arguing with Leo and missing his brothers a lot. the writing style of this author is probably my favorite on this entire list-- like, I would read a novel written like this!!! please read it oh my GOD. and then message me to tell me you read it so I can have somebody to talk about it with I LOVE THIS FIC SO MUCH

atrophy -> 2012, 36k two-shot. ohhhhh boy this one is NOTHING but angst. follows Mikey reflecting on his life and his relationships with his brothers, right before a suicide attempt. second chapter is his brothers reflecting on their relationships with him as they try to save his life. if I'm being honest, the language is a little too flowery for my taste at certain points? but it's also VERY visceral and graphic, and if you're looking for angst this is literally as angsty as it gets!! like seriously check the tags on this one

1660 days ago -> rottmnt, 4k one-shot human au that isn't exactly mikey-centric?? but basically, follows Donnie's POV after he, Raph, and Leo all die in their family home and stay behind as ghosts. Mikey is a little kid who moves in and is the only one who can see them, and they all begrudgingly adore him. ITS SO CUTE AND IT NEEDS MORE ATTENTION PLEASE. PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE

over the rainbow -> 2012 x rottmnt, by @vanillavengeance! I think a lot of people have read their other fic (which is also amazing and definitely recommended), but their most recent one is SO GOOD ALREADY and it deserves more attention. Rise!Mikey opens a portal as a tot, falls straight into the 2012 verse, and gets found by Karai-- so he ends up in the hands of the Foot Clan! SUCH good Mikey angst and the relationship between 2012 Raph and Rise Mikey is absolutely adorable, I love them so much :,) 2012 RAPH IS SUCH A BIG BROTHER AND I WILL NEVER SHUT UP ABOUT IT

house away from home -> 2012, AuDHD Mikey rep!! and also anxiety and self-esteem issues and dysfunctional family activities and swufhehnfenhhjrr HEY I LOVE THIS FIC but it does. hit a little close to home. REALLY WELL WRITTEN AND FANTASTIC EMOTIONAL ANGST THO! and also Woody is here :D completed, but the author has it listed as 3/4 chapters, so don't be scared off by that!

choose wisely (or at all) -> rottmnt, 8k one-shot, turtle tots!!! this one is SO CUTE omg-- basically, Mikey is his brothers' favorite playmate, but because he's so little all three of them just kinda??? make him play whatever they wanna play? LIKE ok it's hard to explain but it's literally just a fic about little kids messing around and how being the youngest sibling sucks and learning to speak up for urself and it's PERFECT. THIS IS MY COMFORT FIC. its sweet its fluffy its (slightly) angsty and i love it dearly!!!!

stalling -> 2012, 1k one-shot. VERY short but pure Mikey angst. he stays behind to fight Shredder to give his human siblings time to escape and warn the other turtles :,)

walk with open hands -> 2012, 10k two-shot by @goodlucktai. Mikey gets his hands on one of Renet's time-traveling clocks after Splinter dies, and jumps around the timeline to try and save him. takes some really cool cues from Rise!Mikey's powers! GOD I CANNOT RECOMMEND THIS FIC ENOUGH. like this altered my brain chemistry the first time I read it.

--actually now that I think about it. basically ANYTHING BY THIS AUTHOR IS AMAZING. so much fantastic 2012 Mikey-centric stuff!!! you do have to go back to their older works, since most of their recent fics have been about Rise Leo-- but it's worth it! a few of my other favorites by them are:

the entire give up the ghost series -> 2012 human au where Donnie dies, Mikey is the only one who can see him, and he becomes a paranormal investigator in college because of it;

problem child -> 2012 human/highschool au that's basically 100k words of the 2012 boys fucking around and being family and overcoming difficulties together and Mikey being the most annoying lovable golden-retriever ray of sunshine to ever exist;

traveling so far to get there -> 2012 one-shot where Mikey and Raph end up in a post-apocalyptic world and just kinda,,, chill? until they don't. idk how to explain it but it's really fun, I love how Mikey and Raph's dynamic is written here :D

either way, we're not alone -> rottmnt, 16k one-shot that takes place over the course of the Kraang invasion in the bad future timeline, all from Mikey's POV. another one that doesn't have NEARLY as many hits as it deserves oh my god-- I love love love fics that take a look at this timeline and how fucked up it was! and this is a rly nice mikey-centric one :)

promise -> rottmnt, 8k two-shot by @dysfunctional-doodle. Listen this author has so many amazing Mikey fics from basically every iteration, BUT. THIS ONE. THIS FIC IN PARTICULAR. IS ABSOLUTELY MY FAVORITE. follows Mikey in the good timeline as he grows his mystic powers, with the caveat that he starts seeing visions of the future. I ain't spoiling anything more than that but GOD plz read this one it makes me insane, and the second chapter??? HEARTBREAKING the angst is 10/10. I also really really love this fic by the same author, so that's another one I recommend checking out if you haven't read it before!

big siblings, big family -> 2012, 2k one-shot. this one's pretty short BUT ITS SO CUTE. Mikey gets sick with a virus that only infects mutants, so all his human siblings get to take care of him-- featuring big brother Casey and big sister April and big sister Karai, and hey. hey what if I screamed. i love this concept so much THOSE ARE HIS BIG SIBLINGS!!! AND HE'S THEIR LITTLE BROTHER!!!! this makes me so happy, not super angsty but Mikey does get REALLY sick so you can count it as hurt/comfort :D

orenjinohana -> rottmnt, currently 120k+ words by @geoblitzz and @urlocalllama!! this fic is SO fucking angsty and delicious and terrifying,,, like I would get sick to my stomach with anxiety whenever a new chapter dropped. Mikey catches the eye of a really dangerous yokai and gets kidnapped, abuse and gaslighting and angst ensue. you gotta be especially careful with the tags/trigger warnings on this one tho-- not gonna spoil too much, but things get dark. this fic isn't complete, but it's reached a very natural end to its first arc in my opinion? so you can finish it without feeling like you've read an incomplete fic :) also check the comment section on every chapter if u wanna see me going insane I LOVE THIS FIC SO MUCH

the better half of better things -> 2012, 4k one-shot, ITS SO FUCKING CUTE. Mikey and Leo hanging out at 3am, Leo comes out as transfem to Mikey, sibling bonding ensues. this is another author that I LOVE the writing style of, but this time it's more for their humor??? like the comedic timing in their fics is SO GOOD. this fic in particular is my favorite but they've written some really fun Rise ones too! not angsty at all but as the CEO of baja blast duo I needed to include it lmao

wanting, getting, needing -> rottmnt, 2.5k one-shot. Mikey dies saving Leo during the events of the movie, and everything kinda falls apart without him. this one's pretty short but ngl I LOVE this concept, Mikey is always depicted as the heart of the team in every iteration so it's super fun to see what happens when he's no longer there!

remember your mission -> 2012, 60k words. IT'S A FUCKING MIKEY-CENTRIC PACIFIC RIM AU. I love this fic to death. it's got ANGST it's got COMFORT it's got SIBLING BONDING it's got,,,, MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH. but also the sillies being silly!!! anyway the ending broke me. read this one at ur own risk but like,,, DO ACTUALLY READ IT LMAO and then. once again. yell at me that you did so I can talk to somebody about it. Mikey being able to drift with basically any of his family members??? and the four main boys all being interchangeable because they're just THAT close????? perfection

someone to protect -> 2012, 3k one-shot. Mikey's brothers get turtlenapped during a mission that goes wrong, he gets to be a badass and rescue them, and ends up getting seriously injured in the process. hurt and comfort! yay!

our hearts beat louder (than thunder) -> rottmnt, currently 5k words by @belleyells and still being updated as far as I know! Mikey gets injured during a battle and loses his memory; cue older brothers being worried sick and trying to prevent Mikey from freaking out and being scared of them. I'm so excited to see where this one is going!! it's angsty, but Mikey with memory loss is also just,,, really fun to read about in my opinion ahdhehfhrh

the night at rucker park -> rottmnt, 78k words. Shellshocked fic!!! honestly, one of the few Mikey/Miles fics where I feel like both of them are characterized really accurately? anyway its ~80k words of the two of them falling in love and fucking around and being idiots and-- in Miles' case-- slowly experiencing cellular decay! Yay for angst! I know I keep saying this but GOD I LOVE THIS FIC. IT DESERVES MORE ATTENTION. give it some love plz, it's also one of the only finished Shellshocked multi-chapter fics I could find (coming from somebody who currently has an unfinished multi-chapter Shellshocked fic shhhhhh)

be like your brothers (and never like yourself) -> 2012, 25k words. this is another author who has so many FANTASTIC mikey-centric fics from multiple iterations, but this one is definitely my favorite from them!! Mikey's self-worth is so low that he starts picking up specific traits from each of his brothers in an effort to be more "useful", which. doesn't go very well. very angsty, lots of mikey hurting (emotionally and physically), but also pretty cute at the end! hurt/comfort my beloved mwah <333 I LOVE THIS FIC SO MUCH something about it itches my brain

feed me poison till i drown -> 2007, 8k one-shot. Leo leaves, everything kinda falls apart, aaaaand Mikey ends up being convinced to join the Foot Clan by Karai! and the eventually his brothers find out and everything goes very terribly wrong. and i love it. the ending is also left up to interpretation, so it's a really cool read! not super angsty, but Karai's mind games leave Mikey as an unreliable narrator, and the breakdown of his relationship with his family is really well done :D plus anything with Karai and Mikey bonding makes me happy sooooooo

trust is earned (not freely given) -> 2007, 2.5k one-shot, from the same author as the previous entry I believe? mikey's brothers slowly realize that something is wrong with him-- they can't read his emotions or his actions anymore, he dodges questions, etc etc. eventually donnie realizes that they fucked up and he doesn't know how to fix it! no real resolution, just angst and dysfunctional families YAY

when you can't sleep at night -> rottmnt, 7k one-shot. follows three separate instances in Mikey's life where he had trouble falling asleep for whatever reason, went to his brothers for help, and got all the sibling love and comfort he deserves :D primarily fluffy but there's definitely some hurt/comfort in here, especially for the part that takes place after the events of the movie! this is another comfort fic for me ahdhehfhher it's just. very cute. and it reminds me SO MUCH of my little brother when he was a toddler SO IT MAKES ME FEEL SAD AND HAPPY AT THE SAME TIME RAHHHHH

so, I guess we all have issues -> 2012, 122k, human au. OH MY GOD. LISTEN LISTEN LISTEN EVERYTHING BY THIS AUTHOR IS SOME OF THE BEST SHIT YOU'LL READ IN THIS FANDOM BUT THIS FIC IN PARTICULAR WAS SOOOOO FUCKING GOOD. super fucking angsty, but also a lot of sibling bonding??? technically found family??? basically, the 2012 boys all get reincarnated as humans, but Mikey is the only one who remembers their past lives and the fact that they're siblings. he goes on this whole journey to find out where Leo and Raph and Donnie ended up (kinda? cuz in the end they all sort of come to HIM instead but yknow), and has to convince them of the fact that they were mutant ninja turtles in a past life. so that's fun! also raph is trans and leo has PTSD and donnie is struggling as a child genius AND ITS SO GOOD AND SO ANGSTY AND SO FLUFFY AND ITS COMPLETED SO THERES NO REASON WHY YOU SHOULDNT READ THIS RIGHT FUCKING NOW RAHHHHHH

other fics (specifically mikey-centric) by the same author because i swear to god they're LEGENDARY TO ME:

on the flipside -> rottmnt one-shot where April and the boys get hit with some kind of species-swap spell, and April ends up as a mutant turtle while the boys end up as humans;

exhaust trails through space -> 2012 one-shot where Donnie and Mikey need a fucking vacation from Earth (don't we all), so Donnie gets a spaceship from Bishop and Pb&J duo get to fuck around the cosmos for a few weeks and ignore their problems while actually enjoying each others' company;

(un)reality -> 2012 two-shot where Mikey gets captured by the Kraang during his stint in Dimension X and basically gets brainwashed to the point where he tries to kill his brothers when they finally come for him;

play the fool, pity the fool -> 2012 two-shot with MEGA depressed Mikey, this one in particular is really well written-- his downward spiral into depression, his suicide attempt, and his eventual recovery are all written beautifully and realistically and MMM it's so fucking good;

if i could have it back -> 2012 one-shot human au/apocalypse/zombie au, where Mikey and Donnie get separated from the rest of their family and have to survive long enough to find them again;

these days -> 2012 multichapter, unfinished BUT basically Mikey and Donnie get fed up with the way Leo and Raph are acting after Splinter's death (this fic definitely bashes them a little but it's still a good read), and decide to leave the lair and build their own home away from their dysfunctional family;

division difference -> 2012 multichapter, also sadly unfinished BUT it's about Donnie and Mikey getting separated from Splinter and their brothers as tots and growing up feral-- super intriguing concept, and very well written :DD

the broken and the helper -> rottmnt, 9k words. Mikey playing therapist for literally his whole family except himself and completely burning out. and then his brothers figure that out and talk to him and its all very fluffy and sweet in the end and sometimes that's what i need. not super angsty, but definitely hurt/comfort!

angelo -> rottmnt, 4k one-shot. AUGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH MIKEY GETTING THE NICKNAME "ANGELO" FROM LEO BC LEO SEES HIM AS A GUARDIAN ANGEL. baja blast duo fics you have such a special place in my heart (I need more of them) AND THIS ONE IS JUST SO CUTE IM SORRY. a little bit of angst bc of,,,, movie events? but still very cute :)

consuming darkness -> 2012, 68k words. Mikey messes up on a mission and it ends up getting Donnie seriously injured. he gets blamed by his brothers, internalizes it, gets serious with his training and basically becomes this like??? cold-blooded murderer on a revenge mission??? LISTEN LISTEN LISTEN I am. SUCH a lover stories where a character loses/sacrifices everything about their personality to become what they think everyone wants them to be. THIS IS THAT STORY. and then when Raph and Leo realize what's happened to Mikey and have no idea how to "fix" him??? THATS THE GOOD SHIT OH MY GOD. love this fic inject it straight into my veins. on fanfiction.net instead of ao3 (and sadly unfinished), but it's really good for Mikey angst :3

new tricks -> 2012, 3k one-shot, another one from fanfic.net! this one isn't angsty at all, just Mikey and Splinter hanging and bonding together :D I love it though, it's such a cute little fic and very comforting to read ahdhehfhehfhr

no one is alone -> rottmnt, 23k words currently! follows Mikey dealing with everyone's emotional shit after the events of the movie,,,, except his own obviously lmao so he turns to self-harm as a way to relieve stress and anxiety, eventually gets found out, anddddd his brothers help him through recovery :) it's currently unfinished but still being updated as far as I know, and if you want angst, there you go!

temporal differential -> 2012, 7k one-shot. follows Mikey getting stuck in Dimension X for a lot longer than he lets on, and losing hope of his brothers finding him. this one's part of a mini series that kinda revolves around Mikey's time there? and the aftermath? there's a ton of fics that follow this concept but this one isn't tagged very well and doesn't have a lot of hits, so there's a chance you haven't read it if you're looking for new Mikey angst fics to read! plus mikey gets to be smart :333

breakfast for sensei -> 2012, 6.5k one-shot. WHILE WE'RE ON THE TOPIC OF DIMENSION X. this one's about the aftermath!!! AND it has Mikey and Splinter bonding at 3am so I love it so so so dearly. Mikey struggles a lot with nightmares and insomnia after he gets stuck in Dimension X, and eventually opens up to Splinter about his time there and how LONG he was alone and gets some much-needed advice and love. good angst, good comfort, Splinter being a good dad, love love love this one. plus you get a free breakfast recipe! yay!

we'll burn them down -> 2012, 9k one-shot. OKAY LAST ONE ABOUT DIMENSION X I PROMISE. sunset duo focus-- Raph is the first one to figure out that something is off with Mikey, and he's gotta decide how to deal with it! Mikey gets to be a scary badass after surviving alone for so long, Raph gets to be a worried older brother, and Donnie,,,, gets to be there too i guess lmao like i said it's very much a sunset duo fic. enjoy the angst! the hurt/comfort! it's lovely!

empty canvas -> rottmnt, 43k words. I honestly don't remember a lot about this one, BUT Mikey basically takes Leo's place in the prison dimension after opening the portal to get him out?? very very angsty, lots of hurt Mikey! sadly it's unfinished (and it doesn't seem like it'll be updated anytime soon), but what's there definitely qualifies as Mikey angst if that's what you're looking for :) and ofc lots of worried older brothers, which I adore.

--and then ofc, I have a bunch of my own Mikey-centric fics here! I've really only written for Rise so far, but I'm dedicated to mikey angst o7

and like I said, I also have a whole collection on ao3 dedicated just to my favorite TMNT fics! there's genuinely SO MANY MORE I could recommend, but I tried to stick to ones that are older/don't have as many hits?? Kinda?

The rest of my recs would be in this collection! Most are Mikey-centric, but there's a few in there for the other boys too:

for my rottmnt hyperfix | Archive of Our Own

I should warn you though-- I didn't have my collection moderated originally, so people could add their own fics to the collection if they wanted! but then some weirdo Tc*ster ended up adding their shit to it, and I'm pretty sure there's at LEAST one tc*st fic in there somewhere. I've locked it down since then and don't allow outside contributions anymore, but you might wanna filter those tags out :( I contacted ao3 about removing those fics but I never heard anything back. just a warning!!

anyway. hopefully this is helpful for the, like, five people who ALSO feel like they've read every single Mikey fic in existence lmao

#asked and answered #ramblings #fanfic recommendations!#i am obviously completely and utterly normal about this fictional turtle what r u talking about

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