#but its something else to remember the person and connect it with a name. so even if he gives other ppl nicknames he remembers them

[beaulesbian]

love when luffy is actually trying hard to remember someone just from hearing their name, especially when he only met/heard about them once

[joelsrose]

Guns & Roses

next chapter

Summary: New series! Joel Miller couldn’t stand you, and you weren’t exactly fond of him either. Yet somehow, fate seemed determined to weave your lives together, no matter how much you resisted.

TW: just mean!joelmiller - 4.8k words eee enjoyyy

Chapter One

You and Joel Miller were not friends. Not at all.

Ever since Joel Miller had entered Jackson, there had been something—something you couldn’t quite name—that kept him at arm’s length from you. It wasn’t just indifference or distance; it was as though every time you were near, it set off an invisible alarm in him, a deep, simmering irritation that crackled in the air between you.

You didn’t understand it.

It felt personal in a way that made no sense, as if just being around him was enough to make him want to leave the room.

And you had no idea why.

Sure, Joel was a gruff man, with his trademark stoicism and hard edges. Everyone knew that. He was someone who struggled to connect, someone with walls so high you’d wonder if he’d ever learned how to take them down.

But slowly, after a few months in Jackson, Joel had softened. Not by much, but just enough.

You’d see him offering small smiles to the townsfolk, his weathered hands occasionally helping out with a chore, his nods of acknowledgment more frequent. He wasn’t friendly, exactly, but he was warming up to the people around him. Jackson, with all its noise and community, had chipped away at his rough exterior.

But with you? Joel Miller remained a brick wall.

He didn’t smile at you. He didn’t wave or nod. He didn’t even make eye contact unless it was absolutely necessary. Every interaction felt like walking on thin ice, a sharpness to his silence that made the air between you ache with discomfort. The warmth you’d see in him, the small flickers of humanity that everyone else seemed to coax out? They evaporated the second his gaze found yours, as if all the walls that had softened for others came crashing back up around you.

It wasn’t just confusing. It stung.

What made it worse was that you couldn’t figure out why. You were well-liked in Jackson. You had a reputation for being kind, caring, funny—charismatic in a way that drew people in without much effort on your part. People sought you out. You were the type of person others trusted, the one who could make a tense moment lighter with just a smile. You knew how to connect with people, how to build friendships that were rooted in something real. You had friends everywhere—Tommy, Maria, the patrol groups—and wherever you went, you fit in.

But not with Joel Miller.

With Joel, it felt like no matter what you did, you could never find your footing. He didn’t laugh at your jokes, didn’t seem to care about the easy rapport you had with everyone else. If anything, his coldness made you doubt yourself, made you second-guess every interaction, every conversation. You, who had always been so sure of your ability to connect, were suddenly questioning everything.

You could still remember the day Joel arrived in Jackson, Ellie by his side, both of them looking weathered and wary. There was something raw in the way Joel had embraced Tommy, a kind of relief that softened the edges of his usual guarded self. For a moment, he had looked so vulnerable, so unburdened by the weight of the world, that you’d thought, maybe, just maybe, we’ll get along. After all, if Tommy loved him, how hard could it be?

Tommy had been so excited to introduce you two. You were one of his closest friends in Jackson, practically family, and he’d pulled you aside that day, a wide grin on his face as he said, “I can’t wait for y’all to meet, I know you’ll get along great.” There had been such hope in his voice, such warmth. It had made you smile, had made you eager to get to know Joel. You had thought of all the ways your bond with Tommy would naturally extend to Joel—how you’d become this little trio of friends, tied by loyalty and time.

But it hadn’t happened that way.

Instead, from the very first moment you and Joel had locked eyes, something had been off. You couldn’t pinpoint when, exactly, it shifted, but as the months wore on, the gap between you seemed to widen. You couldn’t understand what you had done to push him so far away, but whatever it was, it felt irrevocable. It was as if, in Joel’s eyes, you had done something unforgivable before you even had the chance to know him.

Tommy’s words echoed in your mind sometimes, taunting you with their false promise: You guys will get along great.

You remembered the first time you had met Joel—it had been one of those evenings meant to feel light and warm, filled with laughter and food. Maria had invited you to Tommy and hers for dinner, a small gathering, just family and close friends. The kitchen had smelled like garlic and rosemary, the scents swirling around you as you helped plate the dishes while Maria buzzed beside you, chatting about the latest updates in town.

Then you heard the door creak open, the murmur of low voices carrying into the kitchen. Joel and Ellie had arrived, their figures framed by the dying evening light streaming through the doorway. There was something comforting in how they stood—a familiarity, an ease that only family can share. Tommy’s laugh rang out, hearty and genuine, as he clapped his brother on the shoulder, leading him into the room.

“Hey, Maria,” Joel’s voice cut through the air—gruff, grounded, with a depth that seemed to echo from the very walls of the house. And then, Tommy turned to you with that warm brotherly smile of his, introducing you.

You’d smiled—nervous but friendly—extending a hand as you offered a casual greeting. “Hi, it’s so nice to finally meet you, Joel.”

A light-hearted joke about the food had slipped from your lips, something meant to fill the space, to break the silence, to ease the unfamiliarity. But Joel had only stared for a heartbeat too long, his hand moving to shake yours with a grip that felt as solid and immovable as stone. There had been no warmth, no softness in his eyes, no smile to meet your own. It was as if your presence unsettled him, a chill descending between you two in that brief exchange. You had felt it then—the distance, the resistance.

And it only grew from there.

Through the evening, you had tried. Tried to coax him into the conversation with little remarks, to pull him in through laughter and lighthearted banter. Ellie had laughed, her bright smile flickering like sunshine breaking through the clouds. Tommy had nearly fallen out of his chair at one of your jokes, his laughter filling the space between bites of food. Even Maria had chuckled softly, her eyes glowing with warmth as she nudged you playfully.

But not Joel.

Every time you spoke, his brow furrowed just a little deeper. His lips pressed tighter together, and his eyes flicked away from yours as if he couldn't bear to hold your gaze. It wasn’t outright hostility, but the coldness lingered like a shadow, hovering between every word exchanged. The more you tried to engage him, the more distant he seemed, as if you were pushing against a wall that refused to budge.

And the more Joel pulled away, the more it gnawed at you, turning your confusion into something more jagged, more bitter. How could someone you barely knew have such a hold on your thoughts? How could one man’s distance feel like a rejection of everything you thought you were good at?

As the days blurred together, you’d find yourself thinking about it more than you cared to admit. And as much as you tried to brush it off, tried to tell yourself that you didn’t care, that his coldness didn’t matter—it did. It mattered more than you wanted it to.

And Joel? He didn’t seem to care.

That was why, when you saw your name paired with Joel for the next patrol, you were stumped. A frown pulled at your lips as you stared at the roster, the list mocking you with its cruel pairing.

Joel Miller.

The man who could barely look at you, who actively avoided your presence, now slated to spend hours—days even—alone with you out in the wilderness. Whoever had put this together had to be playing a joke on you.

But as your eyes drifted down to the bottom of the roster, you saw the telltale initials: M & T. Maria and Tommy. The two people in charge of organizing patrols.

Of course.

You gruffed in frustration, the idea of spending hours in silence, or worse, awkward small talk with Joel, made you inwardly groan.

Shaking your head, you started the short walk toward Maria and Tommy’s house, the crisp winter air biting at your cheeks. The snow beneath your boots crunched with each step, the sound sharp in the otherwise quiet evening. Jackson’s main path was lined with soft, glowing lights that reflected off the fresh blanket of snow, guiding your way.

Their house wasn’t far, tucked neatly alongside the other homes, warm and inviting with its soft glow spilling from the windows. You could see the familiar curl of smoke rising from the chimney, a sure sign of the roaring fire inside. As you approached, you could hear voices filtering through the thick wooden walls—louder than usual, urgent. You slowed your pace, the tension in the air becoming palpable, the muffled sound of raised voices stirring something uneasy in your chest.

“What the hell is this, Tommy?” Joel’s voice cut through the stillness, gruff and laced with irritation. You stopped short of the door, your breath catching as curiosity took hold. You shouldn’t eavesdrop—you knew that—but you couldn’t stop yourself. You needed to hear what Joel had to say, especially if it would finally give you some insight into why he always seemed to look at you with that simmering frustration.

“What’s the big deal, Joel?” Tommy’s voice echoed back, exasperated but steady, trying to keep the peace.

“You know damn well what the big deal is.” Joel’s tone was biting, sharp enough to cut through the thick wooden walls. His frustration was palpable, practically vibrating through the air. “You’re pairin’ me up with her? Jesus, Tommy, you know I can’t stand her.”

The words hit like a physical blow, and your heart clenched painfully, the sting immediate and deep. You had suspected it for a while, of course, but hearing him say it out loud—that he couldn’t stand you—felt like a punch to the gut, one you weren’t prepared for.

You weren’t the type to let words get to you, especially not like this, but this—this was different. A lump formed in your throat, and before you could stop it, tears pricked at your eyes, threatening to spill over. You pressed yourself closer to the door, the silence inside the house heavy as if even Tommy was taken aback by Joel’s outburst.

Finally, Tommy spoke again, his voice filled with frustration, tinged with disbelief. “And why the hell not? She’s a good person, Joel. A damn good person with a heart of gold. What the hell did she ever do to you?”

You swallowed hard, the lump in your throat growing. You stepped closer to the door, your heart pounding as you waited—needed—to hear Joel’s response. You needed to know why.

“It’s not that simple, Tommy.” Joel’s voice was quieter now, the frustration tempered, but it carried a weight that made your pulse quicken.

“What the hell’s so complicated about it?” Tommy shot back, his voice rising in disbelief, clearly at the end of his patience. “You’ve barely said two words to her since you got here. If you’ve got a problem with her, why don’t you just spit it out?”

The silence that followed was thick, almost suffocating. For a moment, you thought Joel wouldn’t answer at all. The tension hung in the air like a coiled spring, ready to snap.

And then, in a voice so low you almost didn’t hear it, Joel finally spoke. “It’s just… I can’t, alright? I can’t… be around her like that.”

Your heart pounded painfully against your ribs, confusion swirling inside you. What did that even mean? You had no idea what he was trying to say, but it twisted something deep within you, the uncertainty gnawing at your insides.

“Jesus, Joel,” Tommy sighed, his voice carrying the weariness of too many conversations just like this one. You could practically hear him running a hand through his hair, frustration and exhaustion blending in his tone.

“Look, you don’t have a choice here. What if one day it’s just the two of you out there, the only ones available for patrol, and something goes sideways? You gonna let things fall apart because you can’t get over yourself and work together?”

There was a pause, Tommy’s words hanging in the air like a plea for reason. You knew you had heard enough. The knot in your chest had tightened to the point of pain, and you were ready to turn away, to retreat before things got worse.

But before you could move, the door creaked open.

Joel stood in the doorway, his broad frame blocking out the warm light from inside. His eyes found yours immediately, and in that instant, you knew—he had seen you. And he knew you had heard everything.

The flicker of recognition in his eyes made your chest tighten even more, your heart racing as the tension between you grew impossibly thick. There was no apology in his gaze, no softening in his expression. He just stared at you, his features tight and unreadable, leaving you suspended in the heavy silence of everything unsaid.

Behind him, you could see Maria and Tommy, their faces filled with worry, watching as the situation unfolded like a slow-motion tragedy. You felt exposed, raw, like an open wound, and the last thing you wanted was for anyone to witness that vulnerability.

Joel pushed past you without a word, his shoulder brushing yours as he strode down the steps, his footsteps heavy against the ground. He didn’t even glance back, leaving you standing there, heart in pieces, with nothing but the cold air biting at your skin.

You turned on your heel, walking away from the house, your steps heavy, dragging, like your body was weighed down by the ache in your chest. You wanted to move faster, to disappear into the night, but your legs felt unsteady beneath you, refusing to obey the urgency in your heart. Each step felt like a struggle, the sting of unshed tears blurring your vision as you tried to hold it together.

“Wait—” Tommy called after you, his voice tight with concern. “Come inside, talk to us.”

But you couldn’t. The tears were already threatening to spill, your throat tight with the pressure of holding everything in. The last thing you wanted was for them—for him—to see you like this, breaking apart in front of their eyes. Your vision wavered as the first tear slipped free, and you blinked hard, trying to will it away, trying to push down the hurt that was clawing its way up.

You needed to get out of there. Anywhere but here. You moved faster, your boots crunching in the freshly fallen snow, your breath coming in short, ragged bursts as you made your way down the path. The cold air nipped at your cheeks, but it did little to numb the burning in your chest.

Behind you, you heard Tommy rushing after you, his footsteps crunching through the snow, his voice softer now, urgent but gentle. “Hey, kid—he didn’t mean it. You know Joel. He’s complicated. He doesn’t know how to—” His words trailed off, as if he couldn’t find the right way to explain something even he didn’t fully understand.

You stopped, your feet rooted to the ground, but you didn’t turn to face him. You couldn’t. Not like this. Not when you were one breath away from falling apart entirely, from letting everything you’d been holding back flood to the surface.

“I’ll be fine, Tommy,” you said, your voice tight, barely managing to stay steady. It felt like a lie, like a betrayal of the truth you were burying inside, but you couldn’t let him see you like this. Not over Joel Miller. You wiped at your eyes hastily, trying to brush away the tears before they fell. “I just… I need to go.”

There was a pause, the silence thick between you, weighted with sympathy, with Tommy’s understanding and his guilt. He didn’t say anything else, and in that moment, you were grateful. He didn’t push. He knew better.

So you walked away, your heart heavy with the weight of it all. The cold air bit at your cheeks, but the sting of Joel’s words hurt so much more, echoing in your mind like a wound that refused to heal. And underneath it all, one question burned like fire, searing through every doubt and every hurt—Why?

Why did Joel hate you so much? What had you ever done to deserve it?

•••

The morning sun filtered through the thin curtains of your small home, casting soft, golden beams across the wooden floor. The house was modest—just enough space for one person, with a kitchen that opened into a cozy living room, and a bedroom tucked away in the back. The walls were lined with small, personal touches—books you had collected over the years, a few framed photos of moments from before, and little trinkets you had scavenged from various patrols. It was a quiet space, peaceful, but this morning, the weight of the silence felt heavier than usual.

You sat on the edge of your bed, your hands lingering over your boots before pulling them on with a sigh. The air in Jackson had the sharpness of early morning, and you knew the day ahead would be long. As you tied the laces, the conversation you’d overheard at Tommy and Maria’s house replayed in your mind—the sting of Joel’s words, the coldness in his voice. "Jesus Tommy, you know I can’t stand her." It had been days since, but the ache of it still hit like a fresh bruise, tender to the touch.

You stood and moved to the small table by the door where you kept your patrol gear—your rifle, your gloves, a well-worn coat. Everything felt heavier today. As you strapped on your holster, you caught your reflection in the window. You looked tired. Not just from lack of sleep, but from the quiet hurt that had been growing inside you, quietly gnawing at your spirit since the moment Joel’s words reached your ears.

With one last glance around your home, you opened the door and stepped outside, the crisp morning air hitting your cheeks. The stable wasn’t far, just a short walk, but the journey felt longer today. Each step reminded you of the awkward silence that was bound to hang between you and Joel, the weight of unspoken words and the tension that had always been there but now felt even more unbearable.

When you arrived at the patrol meet-up spot, your eyes immediately landed on your horse. He whinnied softly, recognizing you as you approached. You smiled faintly, running your hand along his muzzle, brushing through his thick mane. It was a ritual by now—whispering a soft hello to him, patting his side, and taking a moment to ground yourself before setting out. He was the one constant, the one being you could rely on during patrol. You leaned in, pressing your forehead gently to his, letting the warmth of his presence calm your frayed nerves.

But then, you heard the familiar sound of boots crunching in the snow behind you. Without even turning, you knew it was Joel.

You felt his presence like a weight in the air—heavy, silent. He said nothing as he walked past you, his eyes fixed on his own horse. There was no greeting, no acknowledgment, just the awkward tension that had settled between you both like a fog. The memories of that conversation played over again in your mind, and the pang of hurt hit you square in the chest as you stiffened slightly.

You stole a quick glance at him as he saddled his horse. His face was set in that same stoic expression, the one he wore around everyone in Jackson—but with you, there was an added distance. He kept his eyes averted, focusing on the task at hand, and for a moment, you wondered if this day would pass without a single word between you.

With a sigh, you climbed onto your horse, settling into the saddle with a practiced ease. The silence between you and Joel was palpable, thick like the cold morning air. You wanted to say something—anything to break the tension—but the words caught in your throat, stifled by the hurt that lingered.

Joel mounted his horse without a glance in your direction. You both sat there for a beat, the sound of horses shifting in the snow the only thing breaking the stillness. Then, without a word, he nudged his horse forward, and you followed suit, the two of you riding out together into the white expanse of the wilderness beyond Jackson.

The only thing heavier than the quiet was the unspoken weight between you.

You began your journey through the thick silence that had settled between you and Joel like a fog. The cold wind bit at your skin, but it was nothing compared to the coldness that radiated from the man riding just ahead of you. His shoulders were hunched, his back stiff, his eyes never once flickering in your direction. The snow crunched beneath your horse's hooves, the sound the only thing to fill the uncomfortable quiet between you.

Not a single word had passed between you since the patrol began. The tension was unbearable, the weight of Joel’s unspoken words hanging heavily in the air. You hadn’t expected warmth or friendliness, not after everything, but the biting silence cut deeper than you could have imagined.

Hours passed before Joel finally spoke, his voice a low mutter as he pointed toward a narrow path. “We’ll go through here,” he said, his tone flat and emotionless, as though he were simply checking off a list. It was strange to hear him speak after so long, and for a moment, it felt as though his words didn’t belong to him.

You followed in silence, the trail winding deeper into the forest, the trees closing in around you. The snow-covered ground glittered under the faint sunlight, casting long shadows that twisted and danced between the trees. The world felt smaller here, more enclosed, and with each passing moment, the unease inside you grew.

Eventually, you arrived at your destination—a crumbling cabin tucked deep in the woods, half-buried in snow, its wood aged and brittle against the cold. The stillness of the air made everything feel heavier, like even the trees were holding their breath. You dismounted your horse quietly, your fingers stiff from the biting chill as you fumbled with the reins. Joel had already tied his horse to the post, his movements precise, practiced.

He turned toward you, the lines of his face hardened, eyes sharp as they caught yours for a moment too long. His jaw clenched, the tension palpable. “Follow me,” he ordered, his voice cutting through the cold air like a whip. “And don’t say a word. Not a single word. From here on out, we’re silent.”

His command, rough and unyielding, struck you with a sharpness that left your chest aching. It wasn’t just the cold seeping into your bones—it was the weight of his disdain, pressing down on you, constricting your breath. You nodded, your throat tightening with unspoken words you knew would only make things worse.

You followed him toward the cabin, the wind howling softly around you, whispering secrets you couldn’t quite hear. The snow crunched beneath your boots, the scent of pine lingering in the air. But despite the open wilderness around you, the world felt unnervingly small. The cabin door creaked on its rusted hinges as Joel pushed it open, the sound echoing like a warning in the eerie stillness. You hesitated before stepping inside, the dim light barely illuminating the cramped space that lay beyond.

Your pulse quickened, your instincts telling you something wasn’t right. You’d been on enough patrols to recognize danger, but this… this felt different. It felt personal. Like the shadows themselves were watching, waiting.

Joel moved ahead of you, his broad shoulders tense, his gun drawn as he scanned the small room. His silence felt thick, suffocating, the air between you charged with unspoken tension. You tried to steady your breathing, to calm the hammering of your heart, but the unease gnawed at you, made every sound sharper, every shadow darker.

And then it happened.

A figure lunged from the darkness, too fast for you to react, the world tilting violently as you were tackled to the ground. The impact stole the breath from your lungs, the cold, hard floor biting into your skin. The raider was filthy, wild-eyed, his hands rough and cruel as he pinned you beneath him, the sharp gleam of a knife flashing before your eyes. Panic surged through you, but your limbs felt heavy, useless against the overwhelming force holding you down. The knife hovered dangerously close to your throat, the cold steel grazing your skin, and for one terrifying moment, you thought this was it—this was how it would end.

But then Joel was there.

He moved like a storm—fast, brutal, and unstoppable. In one swift motion, he yanked the raider off of you, throwing him to the floor with a strength that seemed to come from somewhere far deeper than just muscle. Rage radiated from Joel as his fists met flesh, each blow landing with a sickening crack that echoed through the tiny cabin. He didn’t stop. Couldn’t stop. The raider’s body went limp beneath him, but Joel kept going, his fists relentless, pounding into the man with a fury that seemed to possess him, until the only sound left was the ragged heave of his breathing and the wet thud of blood dripping onto the floor.

You lay there, gasping, your chest rising and falling in uneven, desperate breaths. The world spun around you, the edges of your vision blurred by adrenaline and fear. You pushed yourself up on trembling arms, your body weak, every nerve on edge. Your heart thundered in your chest, so loud you could hear it in your ears, drowning out the silence that had settled like a heavy fog.

Joel turned toward you then, his chest still heaving with exertion, his fists stained with blood. His face was dark with anger, his eyes burning as they locked onto yours. “What the hell was that?” he growled, the fury in his voice so raw it made you flinch. “You could’ve been killed.”

His words were a blade, sharp and unyielding, cutting through the thin veil of composure you’d been clinging to. You swallowed hard, the lump in your throat making it difficult to breathe. You wanted to speak, to defend yourself, but the intensity of his stare pinned you down more effectively than the raider ever could. Every word you wanted to say died on your tongue.

And then he muttered it, low and venomous, just loud enough for you to hear: “Fucking burden…”

The words sliced through you, deeper than any knife. You felt them settle in your chest, a sharp, stinging ache that spread like wildfire, consuming the air around you. You stared at him, the sting of his words leaving you breathless, your heart sinking as if it had been thrown into the abyss.

“No,” you spat, your voice shaking with a mix of anger and hurt. “You don’t get to talk to me like that.”

Joel’s eyes flashed, his body going rigid as he turned fully to face you. “Excuse me?” His voice was dangerously low, like the quiet before a storm, but you didn’t back down. Not this time.

“You heard me.” Your chest was still heaving, adrenaline still coursing through your veins, but your resolve was stronger than your fear. “You don’t get to treat me like I’m some… problem you have to deal with. I’m out here trying to do my part, same as you.”

His expression darkened, disbelief twisting his features. “Do your part? You almost got yourself killed back there! If I hadn’t been here—"

“If you hadn’t been here?” you cut him off, your voice rising as the anger overtook the fear. “What, I’d be dead? Is that what you think? That I can’t handle myself? I’ve been on patrols long before you showed up. I’ve survived without you. Just fine.”

Joel scoffed, his lips curling in frustration. “Yeah? Didn’t look like it just now.”

His words were another blow, sharp and biting, but you refused to let them break you. “I didn’t need you to save me, Joel. I would’ve figured it out.”

His eyes narrowed, his jaw working as he fought to control the anger simmering just beneath the surface. “You think this is a game? You think you can just figure it out when you’ve got a knife to your throat?” His voice was loud now, booming in the small space, filled with a frustration that felt all too personal.

“You could’ve died. And for what?”

“Fuck you, Joel.”

The words slipped from your lips before you could stop them, raw and jagged, fueled by the fire burning in your chest. You didn’t care about the consequences, didn’t care that his eyes had gone dark with shock. You were done. Done with being treated like something fragile and disposable.

Joel stared at you, his body tense, his mouth slightly open like he hadn’t expected the bite of your words. For a moment, the space between you felt like a battlefield, the silence pulsing with the weight of everything unsaid. The anger that simmered in you wasn’t just from this moment—it was months of pent-up frustration, of feeling like you were constantly crashing against a wall with him, never allowed in.

Your chest heaved, your hands trembling with the adrenaline still coursing through you.

“I don’t need you to save me,” you said, your voice shaking with the force of what you felt. “I never asked for your help, Joel. And I sure as hell don’t need you treating me like I’m some burden. So fuck you.”

His eyes flashed with something—anger, guilt, maybe something softer, but he quickly buried it beneath that familiar cold exterior. His jaw tightened, and for a moment, you thought he might snap back, might throw something just as harsh in your face. But he didn’t. Instead, his gaze dropped, just for a second, like your words had found their mark.

“Fine,” he muttered, his voice low and hard. “You don’t need my help? Then don’t ask for it.” He turned sharply, storming out of the cabin without another word, his footsteps heavy in the snow, leaving you standing there in the cold, breathless and burning with the aftershocks of everything you’d just said.

But even as the silence swallowed him up, you knew the storm between you wasn’t over—it had only just begun.

[oddproperty]

change of heart

masterlist here

✧ hi!! just a bit of writing for fun, enjoy :)

✧ word count: 2.3k

✧ pairing: lando norris x reader x (somewhat charles leclerc)

✧ 'suddenly unapproving of your interest in charles, lando reminds you whose guest you are.'

***This is a work of fiction. The story, names, characters and incidents either are product or the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.***

passing through the lobby of lando's apartment, you caught your reflection in a mirror, stopping to smooth the red silk dress against your body. having bought it only a few hours ago, you were pleased with how well it fit. the material of the dress fell over you just right, bringing attention to your curves. usually you don't wear red, but tonight it seemed appropriate.

-

"lando…this is so last minute," you sighed into the phone.

"it seriously should not take you that long to get ready…plus, charles will be here," he teased. this taunting behavior between you two was normal, having been friends for years.

"wow lando! that'll definitely make sure i have a dress for tonight!" you feigned excitement. “is he going to buy it for me too?”

"i'm sure he will in return for something else," lando joked slyly.

you were lando’s closest friend. when he made it into formula 1, it was common for you to be at his races and afterparties. you were able to meet all the racers and have good friendships. however, it was clear that charles enjoyed your presence in the paddock seemingly more than lando. never failing to talk to you after every race, holding your attention at the afterparties, and similar things were normal practice. lando noticed you showed interest back, and he never seemed too fond of this connection. you assumed it was because, at times, you and lando had been flirty with each other…although it never went further than sly comments and a light touch here and there on nights where you both had been drinking too much.

"you're sick…i'll be there."

-

arriving at his door, you heard the music already sounding. you got there early and were surprised that it sounded like the party already began.

your knocking on the hard door received no answer. after trying twice, you began fiddling through your purse to find the spare key he had given you in case of emergencies. slotting it into the door handle, you looked into his living room where a dj booth stood, but no lando.

"lando?" you called out over the music. no answer.

having been in his apartment probably more than your own, you made your way to the hallway with his bedroom. you hoped your heels clicking on the hardwood flooring would be loud enough to alert him. trying to call out his name once more, you received nothing back.

entering his bedroom, you caught the reflection of him dressing in the overly large mirror that always faced his bed. you never thought too deep into it being there, and frankly, you didn't want to. you remembered all the times lando made sly remarks of showing you why he had it there.

he wore an all-black suit with the first two shirt buttons undone. the shiny necklace he had worn for the majority of his life shining brightly through the gap. a glass of whiskey rested on the table nearby. of course you thought him attractive at least once in the duration of your friendship. his curly hair, hazel eyes, and of course the physique that formula 1 training had brought him. this outfit pointed all of his features out to you more than normal.

"pregaming?" you ask, pointing to his drink as you enter the room. he jumped at the intrusion, but relaxed when he sees that its you. you see a look of disappointment quickly show on his face as he leans against the table, grabbing his glass to take a sip. you watch as he takes the strong liquor with no reaction, making a quick glance at the half-rolled sleeve that displays his tanned, strong forearm.

"you know that papaya would have been a much better option. think it suits you waaay more," lando drug on, obviously displeased at the red dress.

you roll your eyes playfully, ignoring his sly comment, "where can i get one of those?" pointing to his glass.

he makes his way toward you. you carefully watch his strides as they close in on the doorframe you're standing in. his broad shoulders dwarf your own.

pointing at your dress and touching it lightly, you already feel overwhelmed by his small touch. "maybe charles can fix you one when he gets here,” he taunts you.

anytime lando could use your crush to embarrass you, he was on it. this playful banter was usual between you and him, though he currently seemed a bit more adamant.

"actually…i think this one is perfect," you say, taking the drink out of his hand. finishing it, you turn on your heels, making your way back to the living area. you hear lando trail behind, grumbling.

-

as the night continued on, you realized this party was a lot bigger than you had expected. the entirety of lando's living room, kitchen, and balcony were overcome with people. you were able to hear conversations coming from every angle, along with the semi-loud music that blasted through the speakers. you sipped from a complex and tasty drink he had made you earlier (after he got over himself) that made you quite tipsy. admiring the environment around you, you frequently saw lando djing his heart out. given your state, you began to notice just how nicely his defined arms flexed from under his black shirt. how his curly hair lightly fell over his forehead as he focused on the turntable in front of him. and the way the necklace he wore sat perfectly over his (admittedly very kissable) toned neck and chest. thoughts flit across your mind about how you should've taken him up on his offer to learn why his mirror is facing his bed.

breaking your one-sided staring contest - and to remove these thoughts about your best friend -  you shook your head slightly. when you glanced back up, you caught his eye, and noticed the look of slight concern on his face. he raised his eyebrows in a questioning expression, to which you smiled back at him languidly.

suddenly realizing just how much you liked the drink he made - and your sudden interest in being near him -  you made your way to lando to ask for another. brushing against everyone as you made your way through the crowd, you almost missed the large hand feather over your lower arm. when looking down, you noticed the signature richard mille timepiece.

turning around, you exclaimed, "charles!" while pulling him into a hug. his hands rested gently on your waist as yours laid across his neck. the scent of sandalwood and bergamot enveloped you, making you pull him impossibly close. the alcohol in your system was not working in your favor around him, but you were glad to center these thoughts on him and temporarily forget the ones of lando.

after a moment, you began to pull away. admiring him in the dim lighting, you noticed the black and white suit he wore, along with the thin red tie that almost matched your dress. it was more formal than what most were wearing, but he looked amazing. you slowly ran your free hand down the arm of his suit jacket, taking in the soft material. his hands remained on your waist as he watched you closely. you felt shy under his gaze.

removing a hand, he brought it up to caress the side of your face. he pulled you in, angling your ear to his mouth in order for you to hear him. you felt his slight stubble gently graze your cheek.

"you are so pretty," he expressed meaningfully, "red is gorgeous on you."

"i’d say it looks good on you as well," you responded, moving your hands to gently pull on his silk tie.

"wish i could see you in red all the time," he suggested, using the hand that was on your lower back to delicately bring your core flush to him. even in your inebriated state, you immediately knew what he was hinting at.

pulling away from his face slightly, you felt the warmth of his breath graze your cheek and could smell spiced rum from his lips. you could've melted into the strong hand on your lower back. you're not sure if it was the alcohol amplifying the sensations, or if the moment was truly that intoxicating, but you felt warm all over.

gaining awareness of the situation, you returned to the side of his head to whisper in his ear, "i'm not sure how much lando would like that," your lips brushed the top of his pronounced cheekbone.

charles quirked an eyebrow at you and responded, smirking, "why are we asking lando for permission?" the sweet, delicate demeanor he had when he approached you was fading, slowly replaced by a drive to assert his feelings for you with no regard to anything in his way. it was alluring to see him in this new light, so confident to show you what he's truly thinking. this possessive streak sparked a flaming heat in you that went straight to your core. using the hand that was already on his arm, you gripped it slightly tighter, steadying yourself to avoid becoming dizzy from the overstimulation of the moment.

having not heard a response from you, he pulled back from your ear slightly to analyze your face. it was clear he was looking for any signs of apprehension. there were none.

"hopefully i do not have to ask lando about the other things i want to do," he added, dangerously close to the shell of your ear. your skin erupted in goosebumps from his warm breath.

you paused to take in this moment. your slightly inebriated state allowed you to feel everything much more. you could tell his breathing had increased from your hand on his chest and your core, which was still pushed flush against his. you gazed up at him, noticing the slight lowness of his eyes. evidence that he was, as you were, in the 'drunk and interested' state.

between the alcohol having its effect on you, the heat of this moment, and most importantly, the man in front of you, you pull back slightly and shift your eyes away to lighten the intensity you were feeling. almost immediately, you make eye contact with lando. he is once again behind the dj booth, drink in hand and holding a suspicious look on his face. you notice his eyes glance down to your core, where charles is connecting the two of you. lifting both of his eyebrows slightly, you can almost sense a twinge of jealousy on his behalf. watching him, you see him take a sip of his drink before drifting out of your view.

your suggestive thoughts about lando from earlier in the night come rushing back to you.

"what are you thinking about?" charles asks lightly, bringing your attention back to him. you gaze into his blue eyes, feeling dizzy once more.

clearing all inappropriate thoughts of your best friend from your brain once more, you respond, not breaking eye contact, "was thinking about getting another drink."

"another one?" a throaty british accent spoke, almost as if on command. you glance over your shoulder, unmistakably recognizing the curly haired man beside you. "i knew you'd like that one," lando states, pointing at your empty glass proudly.

before you can fully acknowledge lando's presence, you were being guided away by him to the kitchen, his hand replacing charles' on your lower back. his, however, was a rougher and more urgent touch. as you brushed against everyone in the crowded room, you turned around to look at charles, shooting him a pained glance and an 'i'll be right back' look.

directing your attention back to lando, you stopped in your tracks. he looked down at you, pleasantly diluted and arrogantly smirking.

"are you seriously that dull?" you shout at him, ensuring he could hear you over the music. a couple glances were thrown your way, but it didn't phase you.

he watches you for a moment with the same languid expression, making you shift your weight between feet, slightly uncomfortable under his gaze. that is until he leans down, nearing the shell of your ear. you slightly shiver, both from his warm breath trailing down the side of your neck, and the idea of him being so close to you. your thoughts of him earlier resurfacing in your mind. suddenly you were very aware of how low his hand laid on your back. you clenched your legs slightly.

"if you knew who you belonged to, i wouldn't have to be dull," he teased lowly. "whose hands belong on you, hm?" you felt the hand on your lower back grip the fabric of your dress tighter.

goosebumps formed over your exposed skin at his vulgar words. this possessiveness was so completely different from charles' it made you squirm. feeling his smirk grow against the edge of your ear, you knew he noticed your change in behavior...and it was clear he liked it.

you were not at all pleased with him pulling you away from charles, but you were interested in seeing how far you could make him go. his words obviously showed his interest in blurring the lines of your friendship, so you decided to match his attitude. sure the drink you had was probably spurring this behavior on, but it wasn’t the first time you had thought about this.

looking up at him, you could see his blown pupils. the hat he had put on earlier was now turned backwards, pushing his curly hair down to his forehead, which glistened slightly. thoughts of charles slowly left your mind for the final time tonight. 

you moved closer to his tall frame, slightly pushing your chest against his, "can’t stand not getting what you want?” 

he shook his head left and right slightly with not a shred of shyness in his gaze, “can’t stand when someone touches what’s mine.”

[p0orbaby]

Life Was So Simple Then (1)

summary: you and leah embark on a trip through Europe in an effort to save your marriage

warnings: a smidge of angst but you’ll live

a/n: i may or may not be considering making this a series…

word count: 1.4k

-

The train moves at a comfortable hum, soothing in its way, while London shrinks behind you in pieces, in windows, in corners. The world outside your window looks surreal, vaguely greenish, fragmented by flashes of trees and brick houses. There’s something almost too quiet about it, an uneasy softness to the edges of this journey that is meant to patch you both back together.

You’ve been married for—what is it?—six years now. But you were Leah’s shadow long before that. You’ve been her plus-one, her background feature, her silent assistant in uncountable ways that now feel petty to list. The bitter edge surprises you as it rears up unbidden. You take a breath and decide you’ll name these feelings, as if naming things might tame them. Resentment. Grief. Stubborn hope. You and Leah have been through worse. But also… maybe not.

You glance at her. She’s examining her nails, mouth set into that default neutrality she pulls out when she’s feeling strange or anxious or tired. It’s her ready face, the one she’s kept in her kit since she was just a gangly teenager at Arsenal, desperate to be taken seriously, to get noticed for more than her posture and a fast left foot. You remember those early days. You remember being eighteen, in the stands, showing up for her even when you barely knew her. When all she had to offer was coffee in half-cleaned thermoses and lectures about work-life balance that were one part playful, two parts scolding, and strangely magnetic.

When you finally pulled her into that first kiss, it was a Thursday. You remember that because she had a match the next day. She’d stood there with her mouth half-open, one eyebrow raised, until she laughed that strange, short laugh, pulling you in by your wrist, the way she always did when she was uncertain about something but willing to give it a go. Afterward, you’d watched her lace up her shoes, this careful process that she performed like ritual. The order mattered: left, then right, then another knot. The same attention she brings to everything—coffee, calls, stretching, the single glass of wine she never finishes at dinner because it’s “almost too nice to ruin.”

Back then, she’d just been Leah. But then she’d become Leah Williamson, and you, married to her, got folded into the package. You’d get, “oh, that’s Leah’s wife!” from strangers at the shops, from mothers of kids at school fundraisers, from friends of friends who never bothered with your name. You hadn’t known how strange that would feel until it did, like there was this parallel version of yourself, waiting in the wings, and now this strange person had overtaken you. You’re still working on making peace with that, though there’s little peace about it.

Leah raises an eyebrow as if reading your mind, which is a trick she’s only gotten better at. “You’re very quiet. Am I allowed to ask if something’s wrong?”

“You could,” you say, but it sounds a little brittle, so you reach for her hand, entwining your fingers, hoping the gesture makes up for it. She doesn’t flinch, which is a start. You’re not entirely sure where you left off, after the months of silent dinners, of days bookended by her rising before dawn for physio appointments and crashing in bed long after you’d fallen asleep. Now, as her fingers brush your knuckles, you can almost feel that old connection, an unexpected sliver of warmth threading through the silence.

“Fine, be cryptic.” Her mouth quirks in a half-smile, the kind that used to come so naturally but has felt harder and harder to coax out. She lets go of your hand and turns back to her phone, skimming news alerts and whatever else she’s curated into a daily distraction routine. That’s new, too, the constant scrolling. It used to be just the morning Guardian and the Arsenal forums, but now she reads everything as if she’s half-waiting for some seismic news, some validation that she made the right decision. Retirement. The word feels abrupt, like something has been shaved off the ends. The other day she’d admitted to reading the tabloids. Just the sports ones, she’d said, in that overly casual voice she uses when she’s trying not to sound defensive.

“Did you pack the sandwiches?” Leah’s voice drifts up, and it takes you a second to process that she’s talking to you.

“Yes, your honour.” The words slip out like they used to, like you’re just starting out, laughing over drinks after midnight. You see her relax a little, a sign she’s actually been worrying about the sandwiches, and you realise she’s probably equally terrified that she’ll spend the entire trip thinking about where she’d rather be. The knowledge of her own shifting nature used to thrill her; she’d tell you she was “made of kinetic energy,” that she couldn’t ever be truly still. Now, it seems to disturb her.

“Well, just checking.” She doesn’t ask you to get them, and you don’t offer. You suspect there’s a silent mutual agreement that eating will come later, a familiar tactic she’s deployed whenever nerves or a big match made her too jittery to eat. You’ve read about married people developing shared instincts, unconscious patterns. But this knowledge, like all the habits you’ve developed over time, somehow doesn’t offer the comfort you’d expected. It’s like putting on a jacket that’s become a touch too tight, and you find yourself oddly self-conscious.

As you both sit in this semi-awkward silence, you try to remember the last time you truly sat together like this, uninterrupted. The thing is, you can’t. Even on the few weekends she’d been around the last season, it had always been meals with other players, birthday parties with people you barely knew, her agent dropping by with a sheaf of papers and a grin that you’ve come to resent, though you never say so. Leah had been “there” in a vague sense, the way a familiar armchair is there: functional, comfortable, reliable in theory. But Leah herself? The woman you fell in love with—that particular version of her seemed more and more like a house you once lived in but that someone else owns now.

“What are you thinking about?” she asks finally, in that deceptively soft tone that makes you feel like you’re on trial. She’s always done that, approached difficult conversations like they’re penalty shots. Direct, unflinching, too close to your heart.

“You, mostly.” The honesty slips out before you can stop it. “Us, I mean”

She lets out a soft sigh, nodding as if she understands something specific, though you suspect she doesn’t. Her understanding has become like that of someone who’s learned a language only halfway. There’s the ability to navigate, but no intuition, no rhythm.

“Does it feel strange to be doing this?” she asks. “Like, taking this whole trip to—what’s the word?—to reset?”

You nod, though it’s more than strange; it’s surreal. You’re on a mission to resurrect a version of each other that you barely recognise anymore. The stakes are uncomfortably high, like someone’s dared you both to restore something irrevocably broken.

“You know,” she says, “I used to imagine us doing something like this. But I thought we’d be sixty or something, grandkids on the way, planning things for fun, not… whatever this is.” She looks down, expression somewhere between regret and wonder.

“Yeah. Me too.” You allow yourself a small laugh. “I thought we’d be the kind of couple who’d stay on for tea in strange little pubs and get lost in French villages and drink wine in the countryside”

She snorts, “I’m not sure if I’d drink the tea. Have you seen the quality of some of the pubs out there?” The joke feels just shy of funny, but you force a laugh, hoping she doesn’t notice the effort.

“But you’re right,” she says, finally. “I thought the same. That’s the dream, right? And I don’t know…” She trails off, staring out the window, at the blur of countryside, the unremarkable patches of brown and green that scroll by. “I don’t know if I even know what I wanted anymore. Or what I still want”

The words hang heavy, a confession too thick for this tight, narrow train car. It’s too early in the journey to delve into it fully, too fragile a moment for honesty of this weight. You reach for her hand again, a steadying anchor. Her grip is warm, though her fingers feel a little too light, as if she’s not fully committed to the touch, a detail that pierces your heart like a needle.

“Then maybe…” you start, pausing, wondering if the words are too simple for what needs to be said. “Maybe that’s what we’re here to find out”

[helenanell]

Every Saturday || Challengers

━━━━∙⋆⋅⋆∙━━━━

Every Saturday || Challengers 

Art Donaldson X Fem!Reader 

CW: Kissing. Emotional affair. Infidelity. Angst. Yearning. Bittersweet / slightly sad ending.

Notes: No smut. No use of y/n. Set after the events of the film.

(This is not connected to my other Challengers story - ‘Breath Of Life)

Wordcount: 4K

This is the response to a request from @anehkael :

‘Art, exhausted by the pressure of competition and his wife, decides to escape for a day. He ends up at a local tennis court, where he meets a talented and charismatic female player. Their instant connection on the court turns into an unexpected love affair, but Art's professional and marital obligations threaten to keep them apart.’

  ━━━━∙⋆⋅⋆∙━━━━

You had always known that tennis would never be your vocation. Vocation implies dedication; a calling to pursue that ever evasive thing in life: utter fulfilment. 

You love it and you know that you’re good, really good, but you’re also realistic. 

The expanse between ‘really good’ and ‘great’ also contains the capacity to make something your career. You don’t have the capacity to go pro. Which is fine. Totally fine. 

You content yourself with filling all of your free time on your local–and free to use–court. Hours that would otherwise be whiled away on the realisation of your own loneliness or swiping right on dating apps only to panic and ignore any messages you receive. 

It’s Saturday evening and the sun is waning, its outlandishly burning rays absorbed by clouds as it sinks down the horizon. 

You’ve just wrapped up a match with a woman who you see at the courts from time to time- shamefully you don’t remember her name. She did tell you it once, the first time you met, but then a month passed before you saw her again and you felt too awkward to ask. Besides, there’s no post-match conversation between the two of you, the woman is in a perpetual rush and always disappears immediately after you finish playing. 

You, on the other hand, have nowhere else to be. 

A young woman with nothing to look forward to beyond the hits of adrenalin and the all too temporary sense of fulfilment that comes with beating other amateurs at tennis.

You’re alone as you sit down on the bench at the edge of the court, chest still moving with erratic breaths. Your skin is already adorned with beads of sweat but when the sun dips down even further, its light is replaced by a swathe of blue shadow and your burning flesh immediately pebbles at the sudden change in temperature. 

Your body is seized by a reactionary shiver, so you jump up off the bench and hurry over to your bag, crouching as you unzip it and dig around for your sweater. 

Your fingers have just closed around the soft fabric when you hear the metal gate to the courts creak open, the chainlink shaking as it shuts again. 

“You forget something?” You call out. 

As you’re presuming it’s your acquaintance, you don’t bother to look, busy pulling the sweater over your head. 

Your head is awkwardly pushing through the neck hole when a distinctly male and very amused voice hits you square in the side of the face: 

“Not to my knowledge.” 

You go still, your sweater settling down onto your torso of its own volition. 

Your mind has a sort of detached recognition for the voice: you’ve heard it before, but perhaps not in person. On the radio, or a movie or…or in a post match interview on tv. 

You scramble, pivoting violently to face the new arrival. 

“What the fuck?!” 

You’d meant for the exclamation to be internal, but in your shock it tumbles out of your mouth that’s already agape. 

Art Donaldson, the champion tennis player– infamous and beloved athlete– is standing in your shitty, free to access local court. 

A genuine, full watt smile spreads across Art’s face before he lets out a soft chuckle. 

“I’m sorry if I startled you.” 

You watch, dumbfounded as he saunters closer to you, placing down his bag and racket just beside yours. 

Fuck, his racket…it probably costs more than your practically antique car. 

“I'm sorry, but are you lost or something?” You blurt out. 

Art straightens up, hands placed on his hips as he surveys you. He’s enjoying your panic, you realise. Not in a malicious way, just highly amused. 

“What gave you that impression?”

You let out a clipped laugh. “Well…you’re standing here when the exclusive country club is fifteen minutes that way.” You point over his shoulder. 

“I know where it is.” He answers simply, still smirking. 

He’s toying with you. And never one to back down from a challenge, defiance rids you of your nerves. 

“So why aren’t you there, Mr Rich and Famous Tennis Champion?” 

At that Art tilts his head, as though he’s been given new information and has to reassess you.

“Because I don’t want to be.” He responds. “Why are you here?” 

You shrug, brushing past him to gather up your things, heart beating punishingly in your chest. 

“Because I want to be.” 

“But you’re leaving.” Art points out, bordering on exasperated despite his goading tone.

“Because my match is over.” You throw your bag over your shoulder and turn to face him, unable to stop yourself from teasing him back. “Oh, did you think I’d stay just for you?”

“Yes.” He answers unabashedly. It glues you to the spot. “I caught the tail end of your match, you were great but you were holding back. I’m guessing you don’t encounter many people here who challenge you.”

His tone injects some defensiveness into your veins. “I don’t need to be challenged, I’m not a professional. This is fun for me.” 

Art quirks a blonde brow. “Oh, but being challenged is very fun.”

“Are you offering?” You shoot back sarcastically. 

“Yeah, I am.”

And just like that you’re gawking at him again. “Are you kidding?”

Art holds his hands up placatingly, as if showing you he’s not concealing a weapon. “Deadly serious.” He says. 

You look around the abandoned park, searching for hidden cameras. This has to be for a prank show. It has to be.

“I can’t play you.” 

Art frowns as if disappointed at your lack of self-belief. 

“Sure you can. I was watching you, I'm certain you can keep up.” 

You hold his stare, his blue eyes glinting as his expression settles into something anticipatory. You glance at your racket that’s sitting on the nearby bench.

“Don’t go easy on me.” You order. “I’ll know if you do.” 

“I don’t doubt it. Come on, quit stringing me along and pick up your racket.” 

You reach down, your fingers hovering above the racket as you grin at him. 

“Careful Donaldson, it sort of sounds like you’re calling me a tease.” 

His cheek dimples as the corner of his lip tugs up. “Prove me wrong then, pick it up. Play tennis with me.” 

Eyes still on his, you curl your fingers around the racket and straighten up, raising your eyebrow. 

Challenge accepted. 

━━━━∙⋆⋅⋆∙━━━━

The moment Art wins, you let yourself fall to the ground.

You lay down, uncaring of the harsh surface beneath you as you suck in breaths, your throat aching, your whole body shaking with exertion. 

You’d never felt like this after playing tennis. 

Whoever you’d gone up against before, it had always felt like you were waging war on a one person army across from you: you would bear down on them with all your might to achieve victory. You were an attacking force.

But playing with Art it hadn’t felt like a battle it had felt like…a joining. You were so attuned to all that he was and every move he made, that it felt like you had become one with him. 

For a brief moment in the daunting expanse of time, it had felt like only the two of you existed, only the stars bearing witness. 

Stars. 

Only now as you’re staring up at the sky, do you realise that night has well and truly fallen; the harsh automatic floodlights throwing your exhausted form into stark relief. 

You let out an almost giddy laugh. 

In your peripheral, you see Art run over, easily jumping and clearing the net to get to you. But you’re too tired to move, so you just lay there inertly as he comes to stand over you, placing one foot either side of your hips.

He smiles down at you.

“How you doing down there?”

All you manage to do as your eyes drift shut, is lift up your hand and flip him off. 

Art lets out a full-bellied laugh that catches hold of you and takes you along for the ride. With your breaths slowing, you find yourself able to laugh along with him. 

“Okay.” He begins, shaking off another chuckle. “Let’s get you up.” 

You feel a shift in the air and open your eyes to see Art stepping to the side of you before he’s leaning down and holding out his arm for you to take. 

Like you, he’s drenched in sweat, but neither of you even really notice as drops of it fall from his cropped blonde hair and onto your body.

With a dramatic groan, you sit up and grab onto his arm.

Art tightens his grip and pulls you up, placing his free hand on your back for extra support and tugging you close. 

You’re quickly back on your feet, but as you sway slightly Art keeps his hands on you. 

“You good?” He asks genuinely. His face is so much closer than you realised. 

When the hand on your back begins to rub soothing circles, a traitorous flutter appears in your stomach. 

You’re suddenly extremely grateful that your face is already flushed. How embarrassing, fawning over a married man who likely just wanted to play some tennis in relative peace and with no absolutely no stakes. 

God you needed to have sex.

Your own thought startles you- the same effect as being doused with a bucket of ice water. How desperate were you, that playing tennis with Art had got you so worked up?

No, actually you knew the answer to that. The experience had been beyond any sort of intimacy you’d ever felt. You want him. 

You shake your head, scolding yourself as you pull away from him, stepping back. 

But Art follows you, closing the small distance you’d created. As concern blooms on his features, his hands settle on your arms, bracketing you in his hold. 

“You’re not okay?”

You blink up at him. “What? No, I am. I’m fine.”

Art narrows his eyes, unconvinced. “But you shook your head.” 

When one of his thumbs starts brushing back and forth on your skin, the answering heat that begins to pool in your belly tells you it’s time to leave. 

“Did I?” You ask airily as you shake out of his hold and pick up your racket.

“Yeah, you did.” 

“Well, I didn’t mean to. I’m fine. That was great. Really great.” Each word is forced out.

As you walk over to the side of the court and start gathering your things, you feel him walking up behind you. 

“Yeah, it’s the panic in your voice that’s so convincing.” 

You shove your racket into its case, your back still to him. “I don’t think you know me well enough to judge my moods. You don’t know me at all.” 

He’s by your side in an instant. His hand is hovering over your waist, as if he wants to hold you in place to stop you from leaving but knows he has no right to do so. 

“Look, will you please slow down? I’m sorry if I’ve made you uncomfortable.” 

You let out self-pitying scoff as you turn away from him again and throw your bag over your shoulder. 

“You’ve not done anything wrong. This was…I’ve never felt like that playing tennis. Or ever, really. So thank you.” 

“So why are you running away?” 

You halt, your sneakers scraping against the abrasive ground. Art’s voice has taken on a new severity; a frustration that even he sounds confused by. 

“I’m not running, I’m just going home.”

You’re stepping out of this court and extricating yourself from his orbit that he’d so easily pulled you into. You’re not just attracted to a man who’s one half of America’s Favourite power couple, you also really like him. 

But this court isn’t the real world and he’s almost certainly just passing through. If you can get out now, he’ll be gone: by the time you wake up in the morning, he’ll likely be on a flight with Tashi Duncan, en route to his next competition.

When you walk away and out to the gate, you’re beyond grateful that Art doesn’t call out to you again.

But instead of the disconnect you hope to feel once you're free of his presence, instead there’s a tugging, as if he managed to tie a cord around you and is pulling on it in the hopes he can reel you back in. 

You keep walking until you reach your car, still tense as you peel out of the parking lot.

━━━━∙⋆⋅⋆∙━━━━

Exactly a week after you first met him–almost to the hour–Art Donaldson reappears in your life. 

As you’d played your weekly match with the woman whose name you still don’t know, he had been watching. You’d caught him in your peripheral vision, leaning up against the fence and tracking your every movement. 

You curse him and thank him in the same breath. 

You curse him because he’s only going to exacerbate the issue that you’ve been having, which is that he’s taken root in your mind. He’ll burrow his tendrils deeper and stop you from thinking of anyone else for a long time. 

You had been so sexually frustrated after meeting him, that you’d actually committed to a date with a Tinder match for once. You’d just been there for the sex, which you might have felt bad about had your date not made it clear that he had had the same motivations. 

It had been fine. 

You’d thought of Art the entire time. 

And you thanked Art, because…well, you thanked him because you’d been desperate to see him again. Tortured by the ghost of his touch and furious at yourself for the way you’d left things.

It’s a good thing your opponent is always seemingly in dire need to be somewhere else, because she leaves the court with such rapidity that she doesn’t spot the world famous tennis player making his way over to the now open gate. 

Your breath stutters in your throat as Art approaches. It’s the same time of day you’d first seen him the week before, so the light is at the exact same point of fading into darkness. But this time, he seems to be bringing the shadows with him. 

Art looks utterly forlorn. And yet, he still manages to smile at you as he approaches. 

You’re still standing on the centre of the court, your racket hanging in your hand. 

Only as he gets closer do you really register that he’s not in sports gear. Instead he’s dressed in jeans and black t-shirt. 

“You never told me your name.” He says, still making his way over. 

The statement jolts you out of your reverie. Had you really…he didn’t know your name? The evening you’d shared had been so intense that you already felt like you knew him and he knew you. 

You give him your name and he smiles almost gratefully, as if you've bestowed him with a gift. 

When he comes to a stop before you, you find more words waiting on your tongue: 

“Why are you here?” 

Art pushes his hands into his pockets, eyes dropping briefly to the ground. 

“You didn’t ask me that last time.” He says quietly. 

You scoff, gesturing at his clothing and the clear disparity between his casual attire and the tennis court. 

“You’re clearly not here to play another match.” 

“You shouldn’t presume.” He teases. “Maybe I secretly love the feeling of denim and sweat on my skin.” 

Despite yourself, you laugh and it causes Art’s dimples to make an appearance. 

“Well, that would make you a psychopath.” You say.

Art’s eyes skitter over your face, it’s brief but unnerving. It’s probing. Then he steps closer, so close you can feel his breath on your face. 

You’re suddenly sure that meeting his gaze will open up a horrible, confusing can of emotional worms, so you set your eyes on the racket in your hand, twisting the handle around in your fingers. 

Art is undeterred by your withdrawal: “Let me walk you to your car?” 

The question sounds so much like a hopeful supplication, that you have to look at him. When you make eye contact, his brows draw together as his gaze turns entreating.

Your eyes widen slightly as your heart sinks. You know what this is. A goodbye. 

“You’re leaving New York.” You say flatly and with the utmost certainty.

“We have a flight in a few hours.” 

“Art.” You say admonishingly, a sharp pain in the shape of that ‘we’ digging into your chest. “You shouldn’t be here.”

We. ‘We’ meaning him and Tashi Duncan. Art and his wife. 

He says your name for the first time and it makes your heart stutter. 

You’re pathetic. You scold yourself internally. You’ve only interacted with this man once before. He’s a professional athlete with a beautiful wife. He can’t be wanting for anything more.

So then why has he been driven to this run-down public court? Why did he spend an evening playing with a stranger? An amateur stranger.

Why has he felt the need to come and say goodbye to you?

You know why:

It’s because the two of you have started something that you can never finish. You’re both enamoured with the idea of a connection that can never be fully realised. 

Art reaches out and tentatively touches your arm. 

“Please let me walk you to your car.” 

You can’t bear to see his face, not when his words sound so sorrowful. So you nod shortly and then move past him to collect your things. 

 ━━━━∙⋆⋅⋆∙━━━━

The walk to your car is made in utter silence, but Art remains close to you the entire time, his arm brushing yours. A couple of times you even feel the touch of his fingertips, as if he’d gone to take your hand but stopped himself. 

As if to compound on your delusion that in this moment only your and art exist, your beaten up red car is the only vehicle in the parking lot. It stands bright against the darkness as an ominous ending point: the moment you reach it, you both know whatever this nascent but potent thing between you will be stifled.  

You don’t let yourself dwell on how Art might have got here if his car isn't here. Whether fear of being spotted had him parking elsewhere, or he was staying somewhere so close that he’d been able to walk to you.

You both slow your pace as you approach the vehicle. You want to stop completely but you know you have absolutely no rational reason to. 

Once you reach the car, you dig your keys out of your pocket. 

“Thank you for walking with me.” You say on an uneven breath.

When you turn to unlock the door, Art steps up behind you, his arm crossing into your vision as he closes his larger hand around yours, stopping you from completing the action. 

You go still, relishing the contact but feeling awful for wanting more. All you find yourself able to do is stay still and wait- wait for him to do something that he shouldn’t. 

You let out a conflicted sigh as his other hand lands on your shoulder and turns you around to face him. He then takes your hands in his own. 

Your sight can’t help but snag on his wedding ring and he must be watching you so closely that he notes the very brief flicker of your eyes.

“It’s just a ring.” He says the sentence like he’s afraid of it. “It doesn’t mean what it used to. To either of us.” 

“But you are still married.” You reply, hating how small your voice sounds. 

“Yes.” 

“And you’re leaving.” 

Art’s hands tightens on yours, his thumbs running over your knuckles. “I’ll be back in New York.”

“When?”

He reaches up and cups your cheek, fingers sinking into your hair.

 “I don’t know.” His tone is somehow simultaneously mournful and apologetic. “But I will.” 

Even though you know you need to pull away, you lean into his touch. 

“I guess I’ll see you then.” You say, trying and failing to sound unaffected. 

“You will.” Art concurs softly. His heavy-lidded eyes drop and his hand shifts, his thumb running along your lower lip. Then his other hand is on your thigh, rising up beneath your skort. 

“Art.” His name is meant to be a warning on your tongue, but it comes out as a whispered plea. 

His thumb drops away and then he’s cradling your face in both hands, he closes in and presses a slow, sweet kiss to your lips.

But his next words are anything but chaste. “Unlock your car.” 

His command is feverish, his hot breath skimming over you as he kisses along your cheek.

Only then do you remember that your car keys are still clutched in your hand. You're holding them so tightly the metal grooves are digging into your skin.

“Art, you have to go. You have to get on a plane. We can’t have sex in the back of my car.”

You let out a small gasp as both of his hands fall from your face to encircle your waist, then they go lower, gliding over the curve of your ass before settling just beneath, causing your skirt to ride up.

“I have time.” He mumbles against your jaw, moving down to press desperate kisses to your neck. “We have time.” 

His words are so glaringly false to both of you, that a visceral melancholy appears between the two to you and as it grows larger forcing you apart.

Art strains to stop his kisses, his lips lingering as if he’s fighting against an engrained instinct to be connected with you. When he presses his forehead against yours, his hair tickles your skin. Then as his hands shift to grip your waist, you rest your own on either side of his neck. 

You feel a tightness in your throat, panicking as you realise how deeply entangled you already feel with this man you’ve only met twice. You don’t know him. He’s a stranger. 

And yet, you can’t let this unknown being go. 

But you have to. 

You force yourself to say the words, making them sharp and swift like the severing snip of scissors: “Art, you need to go.” 

He nods, his forehead brushing yours where you’re still pressed together. But he doesn’t move, instead his lips press to your forehead as he encircles your body with his arms. The hug is the same sort of crushing yet comforting force of gripping someone’s hand when you’re afraid you’ll lose them in a crowd. 

When Art buries his head in the crook of your neck, he places a gentle kiss there. You raise your arms and squeeze him back. 

“How often do you come here, to the court?” He asks, another kiss placed on your neck. 

“Every Saturday, the same time.” 

Art pulls back and takes your face back into his hands. His eyes alight on each and every dip and curve of your face as if he's mapping your features like they’re the stars of the night sky. As though he’s memorising patterns so he’ll be able to find you again. 

“Then I’ll see you on Saturday.”

You smile sadly, smoothing back his hair. “Which Saturday?” 

His answer is another passionate kiss.

[rafesbowbunny]

was literally just reading all your work and you write so well!! new fav blog fr, i was wondering (if you're interested) if we could have some rafe x kook bestf!reader fluff, angst kinda one-shot story? thank youuu !! <3

thank you soso much ml !! ofc ໒꒰ྀི´ ˘ ` ꒱ྀིა

req! 𝜗𝜚 kook!reader sneaks out to a boneyard kegger, & bsf!rafe gets pretty protective.

c!w; fluff ! for once, bsf!rafe, soft!rafe, possessiveness, overprotective guy friend, icky males, drinking, a brief physical fight, tiny mention of blood, mostly very fluffy with a tinge of angst ! notes; i can't believe this is my first fluff work lol ! i kinda wrote loads oopsie, i hope you enjoy <3

you sneak out of your house, careful to avoid the creaky floorboards. the night air is cool against your skin as you walk through the empty streets, the buzz of the kegger ahead growing louder with each step. it’s just past midnight when you reach the boneyard, the ground is uneven, the sand mixing with beer-stained grass, and the smell of salty air mingles with the faint scent of weed and sweat.

you grab a red solo cup from the keg, its warmth feeling strange against your fingers. your eyes scan the crowd, taking in the sight of everyone laughing, shouting, and dancing—people you mostly know but can never remember their names the next day. you slip into the chaos, easing into conversations, letting the alcohol dull the edges of the night. everything’s blurry, but in a good way, like you can finally breathe.

“hey,” a voice says, way too close to your ear. you turn, finding some random boy—a touron, probably. his blue eyes are too wide, his grin a little too eager. “you’re cute. want a drink?”

you arch an eyebrow, taking a small step back. “no, thanks. i've got one,” you say, trying to keep your tone light. you’re not interested, but you don’t want to be rude.

he doesn’t get the hint. instead, he takes a half-step toward you, leaning in as though he’s trying to get into your personal space. “oh come on, don’t be like that. one drink won’t hurt.”

you cross your arms and take another step back, annoyance creeping up your spine. “i said no, okay?”

he just laughs like it’s some kind of game, and that’s when you start to feel the frustration bubble up. you don’t want to make a scene, but it’s clear this guy doesn’t know how to take a hint. every time you move away, he follows.

“seriously, i’m not interested,” you snap, voice growing more annoyed. “go find someone else.”

the boy’s smile falters, but his hand comes out to touch your arm, a move that feels more possessive than friendly. before you can even say anything else, a shadow cuts through the crowd, and you hear a familiar voice bark, “hey, man, leave her alone.”

you glance over, relief flooding you when you see rafe, your best friend, pushing through the crowd, eyes narrowed and jaw tight. his presence has always been a kind of shield for you, and this time, it’s no different.

the touron boy looks up at rafe, sizing him up like he’s about to say something smart, but rafe doesn’t wait. he steps closer, his voice colder than you’ve ever heard it. “i said, leave her the hell alone.”

the tourist smirks. “or what?”

before you can even blink, rafe’s already moved. his fist connects with the touron's jaw, knocking the boy off balance, and the crowd around you steps back, forming a ring. it’s over before you can process what’s happening—a punch here, a shove there, and the guy crumbles. rafe doesn’t stop. another hit to the stomach, and the touron goes down, blood trickling from his lip.

you’re frozen for a moment, shock settling in your chest, but when rafe finally steps back, you see the blood smeared across his knuckles and the red pooling around his nose. it’s not much, but it’s enough to make your heart stop for a second.

“oh my god, rafe,” you rush to him, your hands hovering at his shoulders as you try to figure out what to do. “are you okay? your nose…”

he swipes at it with the back of his hand, but it only makes it worse. his eyes narrow, his face flushed with anger, but his voice is rough, like he’s trying to convince himself he’s fine. “yeah, i’m fine. it’s just a scratch.”

“rafe…” you trail off, frustration mixing with your worry. you want to help, but he’s already brushing you off, turning his back to you to walk away.

“let’s get out of here,” he mutters, walking toward the edge of the party. you follow, watching him, unsure of what to say. your stomach twists, unsure whether to be relieved that it’s over or angry that he’s hurt, again, because of you.

the two of you make your way down the beach, the sounds of the party growing distant behind you. it’s too quiet, and you can’t shake the feeling that something’s wrong.

“you shouldn’t have done that,” you say finally, breaking the silence. you’re still angry, but your voice cracks with worry. “you didn’t have to get into that fight. you could’ve just-”

“and you shouldn’t have snuck out in the middle of the night to get drunk at a kegger alone!” rafe snaps, his voice rougher than usual, and you flinch at the bite in his words. “what the hell were you thinking? you know i worry about you.”

you swallow hard, the sting of his anger hitting you like a slap. “i didn’t mean to… i wasn’t trying to-”

“you’re reckless,” he interrupts, throwing his hands up in frustration, and you step back, feeling the weight of it settle deep in your chest. his words cut through you, sharper than you want to admit, and you stare at the sand beneath your feet.

“i’m sorry,” you say quietly, your voice small now, “i didn’t mean to make you worry. i didn’t-”

rafe stops walking and turns to face you, the moonlight catching the blood on his hands and the jagged split on his knuckles. he looks at you for a long moment, his expression softening just a little.

“it’s not just that,” he mutters, the words barely above a whisper. “i care about you. i don’t want anything to happen to you.”

you feel your chest tighten, your heart fluttering unexpectedly. you step closer to him, unsure of what to say, but then your arms are around him, pulling him into a tight hug.

“'m sorry rafe. thank you f'caring, so much about me” you whisper into his shirt, the words soft, sincere. you feel the tension in his body for a moment, like he’s not sure what to do with this closeness, but then he wraps his arms around you too, just a little hesitantly at first, before he holds you tightly.

“don’t thank me,” he mutters, his voice breaking a little. “i’m just... doing what you deserve.”

but when you pull back to look at him, his eyes are full of something else, something that feels a little more vulnerable. you reach up, brushing a strand of hair out of his face, and that’s when you see a tear, slipping down his cheek, a quiet, unexpected crack in his facade.

“rafe…” your voice trembles. “what’s wrong?”

he swallows hard, avoiding your gaze. “it’s just… no one ever thanks me for caring. they just expect me to always be the one looking out for everyone else, but no one ever... gives a damn about me.”

you blink, heart catching in your throat. “that’s not true,” you say, pulling him back in closer, holding him tighter. “i care. i always care.”

he sniffles, his shoulders shaking just slightly as he pulls away, his expression softening but still strained. “dad doesn’t love me 's much as he loves sarah. he’s always telling me how proud he is of her. he- he never says it t'me. and i try so hard. i do everything f'him, everything to make him proud. 'm just invisible to him”

the weight of his words hits you like a punch to the gut, and you squeeze him tighter, not knowing what else to say. “’m so sorry, rafe,” you murmur, your voice thick with emotion. “i can’t imagine what that must feel like. but you’re not invisible t'me. you never will be.”

his breath hitches, and then, finally, he lets go. tears slip down his face now, the kind he’s always kept hidden. you hold him as he breaks down, your arms around him, offering what little comfort you can.

you both sit there in the sand for a long time, the sound of the ocean surrounding you, the night stretching on like a long, quiet exhale. finally, rafe pulls back, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand.

“thanks for being here,” he says, voice still rough, but softer than before. “for… f'caring.”

you smile at him, your heart full. “always, rafe. i’m always here for you.”

when you finally sneak back to your house, you help him up to your room. in the soft glow of your bedroom light, you clean the blood off his hands, gently tending to his wounds. rafe watches you, the affection in his eyes evident as he gazes at you with a softness you don’t see often.

“y'always so damn careful with me,” he murmurs, his voice full of something unspoken.

“'ts because i care,” you whisper, holding his hand in yours, feeling the warmth between you that has always been there.

[theiasthesis]

Shifting can be escapism, and that's OK.

Im going to give you a valuable lesson, so stick to the post, dont skip because every word is important. Don't let that small attention span get to you baby, remember that knowledge is power.

My name is Willow! I'm a non-dualist reality shifter, shifting coach and subliminal creator who's a freak for the multiverse and knowledge. Everything I say on here is based on my own personal experiences and research.

This post can help you with:

Escapism, guilt for shifting, realising you're worthy of shifting.

The self determination theory (SDT) is a psychological theory of motivation. It focuses on the degree to which specific human behaviour is for the self ; self motivated and self determined

Basically, what exactly is it that a human being can do, that isn't manipulated by outside influence, but rather their own human nature?

According to the theory these are 3 self motivated human behaviours:

Autonomy

Having the freedom to decide your actions without outside influence.

Example: Being able to go out with your friends, without your parents restricting you.

Competence

The ability to do something effectively and be useful.

Example: You're a very useful employee at your company, this means you are competent for your job.

Relatedness

Being connected or related to someone, or something.

Example: Having a connection with family or friends

OK, so how does any of this apply to shifting and escapism?

When you lack one of any of these 3 behaviours or feelings, this is a disruption your human nature. Naturally by birth, you are within your birth right to recieve all of this.

Each of these behaviours, have extreme importance in your cognitive behaviour

- Cognitive behaviors are thoughts, ideas, and representations of yourself to others.

If you don't have the will or ability to control your actions independently, you are most likely going to feel stuck, and like everything is out of your control. Doing things that make you happy and activities you find meaningful, will become an issue due to your lack of autonomy.

If you don't feel competent in areas of your life, or people aren't competent when it comes to you, this can create low self esteem and a bad self concept, you may think of yourself as "worthless" "useless" or "incompetent"

You may feel less motivated to taking on new challenges and activities, as you feel like you're just going to fail, and mess everything up anyways.

Connection is what makes us human, love and empathy towards overs and receiving it, is what makes human life so special. Relatedness, is what you need to experience caring relationships, to be part of a community, and overall to feel love. Humans need love, that is a fact.

When these basic needs aren't met, a human being can lack the motivation to commit to any one of these factors, which take up a huge part in life.

Lacking these can make you feel, stressed, anxious, self loath and nihilistic.

When you don't have these 3 factors, this causes a lack of motivation to commit to them, which means you don't have them.

So you turn to something else, escapism.

"Escapism is the tendency to distract oneself from real-life problems. It can also be conceived as shutting meanings out of one's mind and freeing oneself from self-awareness for a while . Escapism has been identified as one of the key drivers behind online behaviors, in both adaptive and maladaptive ways"

- PubMed Central®

Link to study

Think of escapism like touching a hot stove. Imagine you place your hand upon a stove. At first its cold, and you're fine.

Then the temperature starts to slowly rise, its currently warm, its still fine you can deal with it. Now, it's getting hotter, and hotter, and hotter...

And you remove your hand.

Not on purpose, but by instinct.

By reflex, your hand immediately moved away from the stove once it got too hot.

Your nervous system felt the pain, which sent a signal to the brain, that something with your hand is wrong.

Biology isn't my strong suit I fear.

Another example.

You're in immediate danger, there's a tsunami coming your way, it's too big for you to face, if you stay where you are, you're going to get crushed by the water, and die on impact. So what do you do?

You run.

Naturally you escape from the dangerous situation, because who in their right mind would test their luck and try to survive a tsunami?

Are you getting it?

When human beings are faced with a situation that is uncomfortable, causes mental, or physical harm, or even death, their first response is to escape.

It is human nature to run, to escape, to not face the dangerous situation. Sometimes it can be a bad move, like ditching a daye you were nervous for, other times it could be skipping school because you constantly run into a group of serious bullies.

Repeat after me.

If you are in a situation where you do not feel loved, worthy, or free, you are allowed to escape.

You are allowed to escape.

Empathise on that baby, nobody is going to tell you off for it.

However, you must be weary of using shifting as escapism.

Shifting is a wonderful phenomenon, it is not something that determines whether you live or not. It doesn't determine your worth either, nor is it something that causes you psychological stress.

If you find yourself having suicidal or self harming thoughts, with shifting as a way to mend these thoughts, I beg of you to take a step back and evaluate these thoughts of yours.

Shifting is a journey, I preach that it's something that can be done on the first go, but that isn't the case for everybody.

It can be as short or as long as you make it, failure in shifting when using it as an escape from serious issues, is a one way road to psychological distress.

With that, I ask that you first deal with your mental health, before anything else.

Find something that makes you feel good and grounded, something you enjoy.

Please remember, that not everything is something you must be good at, if it came from you it's already perfect.

Meditation, painting, dancing, listening to music, writing, exercise. Anything and everything that makes you feel good, nothing is too silly, nobody is going to think you're weird or bad at doing something you love to do.

I found that talking out loud, writing in my journal, mediation and watching anime helped me a lot when I had "life impacting plans" connected to shifting.

LESSON SUMMARY

1. It is natural for human beings to run away when they are faced in a dangerous or uncomfortable situation

2. Shifting being used to run away from a bad situation, isn't negative. It only becomes negative once you prioritise it over your own health

3. Your mental and physical health always comes first before shifting

4. You deserve to be loved, to feel worthy, to not be let down, and to be free, whether that's through shifting or not!

[arabella0001]

Unmasking desire (Kakashi Hatake x Reader)

Anime: Naruto

Synopsis: In the shadows of the village, an unmasking desire threatens to consume them both.

Part 1 Part 2

Warnings: 2 parts, slow burn, fluff, smut with plot, sex, masturbation, oral (female receiving), edging, after care

Part 1 – Unmasking Shadows

The mask hides everything—your guilt, your exhaustion, the hollow shell you’d become. Under Danzo, you weren’t a person, just a weapon. Your telepathic abilities—deeper and sharper than the Yamanaka’s—had been used to shatter minds, tear through memories, destroy lives. You stopped keeping track of how many long ago.

Danzo was dead. The news hit like a jolt, but not with relief. Freedom wasn’t freedom when you were haunted by what you’d done. Now Konoha, desperate for soldiers, turned to you and the other ex-ANBU. You stayed, but not just because of loyalty. Guilt anchored you here, whispering that redemption might lie ahead if you fought hard enough.

The meeting hall was cold, the air thick with unspoken regrets. The weight of the past hung over every ex-ANBU like a second skin.

Kakashi Hatake arrived with urgency, his presence commanding attention without force. He didn’t waste time. His gaze swept over the group—calculated, assessing—before stopping briefly on you. The pause was subtle, but you felt it. So did he. Why was he looking at me like that? I wasn’t used to being seen. Not after everything. Maybe it was nothing—but it didn’t feel like nothing

“Your skills are unmatched,” he said, his voice steady, speaking to all of you “The village needs you now more than ever. I won’t pretend to understand what you’ve been through, but this is your chance to fight for something real.”

You barely heard the rest, your heart pounding for reasons you didn’t understand. When his eye met yours again, it lingered. It wasn’t just him looking at you—you could feel something, faint but undeniable, like recognition. Kakashi felt it too, though he masked it well.

“Any questions?” he asked. No one spoke. He hesitated briefly, then added, “You don’t have to be perfect. Just willing.”

His gaze locked onto you again. You hadn’t realized your nails were digging into your arm until he spoke directly to you. His gaze didn’t waver, and for the first time in years, someone was waiting for an answer—not a mission, not a kill order, just an answer.

“What’s your name?” Your throat tightened. Danzo’s ANBU didn’t have names.

“I—” you started, voice breaking “It doesn’t matter”

“It matters,” Kakashi said softly, his tone meant only for you. “If it didn’t, you wouldn’t be here.”Something in his voice broke through your defenses, but you barely understood why.

“I’ll fight,” you said, shaky but determined.

His eye softened as he nodded. “That’s all I needed to hear.”

He turned away when someone else spoke up, but the moment lingered. You felt his gaze on you again, quieter now, almost searching.

“We all have something to prove,” he said, almost to himself, but his words clung to you like a mark.

You didn’t know what he’d seen in you. And you weren’t sure which scared you more—that he saw you, or that you felt drawn to him, even now.

Part 2– Silent Connections

The war had ended, but its echoes still lingered in Konoha. Lives were rebuilt, alliances strengthened, but scars—both seen and unseen—remained. Kakashi had taken on the mantle of Hokage, stepping into the light as the leader of the village. You and the remaining ANBU were reassigned to serve under him, remnants of shadows that had once moved for Danzo.

Your interactions with him were professional, minimal, and always masked. Yet, there was something about the way Kakashi spoke to you during briefings or in passing. A subtle attention in his words, the way his gaze lingered when he spoke to you directly. He didn’t know who you were under the porcelain, but you could tell he remember you, the rhythm of your speech. It set you apart in his mind, though you doubted he fully realized it yet.

Kakashi wasn’t the figure of legend to you—the "Copy Ninja" or the "Child of the Leaf." You saw him as something else: human. A man who carried burdens heavier than most and rarely let anyone see how much they weighed him down. And that… that seemed to intrigue him. The subtle moments between you were fleeting, but they were there. A pause in his words when you answered, his brow shifting almost imperceptibly when you offered a thought during a strategy meeting. You didn’t think he noticed these things, but you did. Still, you kept your distance. The mask wasn’t just a necessity—it was a shield.

Weeks later, word came of an urgent intelligence-gathering mission requiring Kakashi’s direct involvement. ANBU was to assist, but when you heard the details, you froze. Your unique telepathic ability made you the best fit to support him, but you had no intention of volunteering. The others knew better.

“She’s perfect for the job,” one of your teammates said, breaking the silence during the briefing.

You shot him a sharp look beneath your mask, but Kakashi tilted his head, intrigued. “Is that so?”

Your voice betrayed none of the turmoil inside as you replied. “I’m sure there are others better suited, Lord Sixth.”

His single visible eye regarded you with quiet scrutiny, his tone lighter than expected. “If they were, your team wouldn’t have volunteered you.”

His response left no room for argument. You had no choice but to agree, though tension tightened in your chest.

Later, as the mission drew closer, doubts plagued you. Danzo’s voice still echoed in the back of your mind, his shadow twisting your thoughts. You didn’t deserve to stand so close to Konoha’s light. Not after what you’d done.

But Kakashi, perceptive as always, seemed to notice your hesitation. Before you departed, he approached you, his tone relaxed but steady.

“You don’t think you belong here, do you?” he said, his words catching you off guard.

You said nothing, and after a moment, he continued, a small smile tugging at his lips.

“Who better to protect the light than someone who’s lived in the shadow?” His words cut deeper than you expected, but there was no judgment in them. Only understanding.

The mission was fraught with danger. Kakashi, as sharp and composed as ever, relied heavily on his Kamui ability to navigate critical moments. Despite the odds, he’d retained his Sharingan after the war, a secret few knew. You’d learned of it during a previous briefing, your sharp mind piecing together details others had missed.

When the time came, you didn’t hesitate to use your telepathy.

Kakashi, wait. There’s a trap ahead. Two meters to your left.

His body tensed at the sudden intrusion in his mind. You’d expected as much—he hadn’t been briefed on the specifics of your abilities. Kakashi’s steps faltered for just a moment. The voice in his head wasn’t his own, yet it felt oddly familiar. His muscles tensed, instincts screaming at him to trace the source.

He responded quickly, but even as he shifted left, avoiding the trap, his thoughts lingered.

Who the hell…? But he adapted almost instantly, shifting his position without hesitation.

‘You might’ve warned me you could do that’, he thought, his mental voice sharper than his usual tone, despite the fact that he don’t exactly know to who is speaking.

‘Would you have believed me?’ you replied.

A brief pause. Then, the faintest hint of amusement in his response. ‘Fair point’

The telepathic connection became seamless after that. You guided him through the mission, your words precise and calm, though his curiosity about you grew with each interaction.

At one point, he paused in the middle of the operation, his mind brushing against yours as he spoke telepathically.

´Your voice… It’s familiar. Have we speak before?´

Your chest tightened, but you masked your thoughts carefully. ‘We’ve met in passing, Hokage Kakashi.´

He didn’t press further, but you felt his curiosity linger.

Kakashi stepped into the room, his tired gaze scanning the group before landing on you. The mission had been long, and the weight of it was clear in his posture, but there was something about your presence—calm, unwavering—that seemed to ground him.

He addressed the team quickly, but his eye kept flicking to you. As the briefing wrapped up, he noticed you weren’t moving toward the door like the others. You remained standing off to the side, a slight frown on your face.

"Anything you need, Y/N?" Kakashi asked, his voice a little softer, like he could tell you were holding something back.

You paused, not expecting him to single you out. "I... I need the details from the mission. The full report," you said, trying to keep it professional.

Kakashi nodded and moved closer, handing you the necessary scrolls. As he did, he couldn’t help but study you. There was something in the way you responded—calm, collected, and yet distant. It reminded him of the voice from the mission, the one that had guided him with such precision.

The thought lingered in his mind as you unrolled the scroll, your hands steady but your eyes focused on the contents, as if you were searching for something. Kakashi’s gaze shifted, and the faintest recognition flickered in his eye.

"You’ve been through a lot, haven’t you?" he asked, his voice low. It wasn’t a question about the mission, but more about the weight he felt emanating from you, even behind the mask.

You didn’t look up. "Everyone has their burdens, Hokage-sama."

His eye narrowed slightly, the words familiar—too familiar. "That voice..." he muttered under his breath, more to himself than to you. The way you spoke, the rhythm of your words—it was unmistakable.

You stiffened, realizing the connection he was making. "I’m just here to help with the mission, nothing more."

He paused, his mind racing. Kakashi hadn’t realized it until now, but the pieces were falling into place. The voice, the way you carried yourself, the subtle exhaustion in your tone—it all clicked.

“You... You’re the one who helped me during the mission, aren’t you?” he asked, voice dropping lower, almost hesitant.

You didn’t answer immediately, your fingers tightening on the scroll, the weight of your past pressing against you for some reason. You had hoped to keep the distance, but Kakashi’s piercing gaze made it clear that he wouldn’t let this go.

For a moment, there was silence. Then, you finally spoke, barely above a whisper. "Yes."

Kakashi nodded slowly, as if processing the truth, but instead of pushing you further, he simply gave a quiet nod of respect. "Thank you. I... I didn’t realize."

You didn’t look at him, still feeling the weight of the mask, but Kakashi’s curiosity had already shifted into something deeper. He could feel the connection now, and the more he thought about it, the harder it would be to ignore.

Later, as the quiet hours of the evening settled in, Kakashi found his thoughts drifting back to you. He couldn’t help but replay the mission in his mind—the subtle strain in your voice when you spoke to him, the way it seemed to crack under the weight of emotions you tried to hide. It was strange, unsettling, yet deeply captivating. He’d learned more from the reports about your ability—the way it amplified under emotional connection—and a quiet understanding began to form. It had to be the reason you seemed so drained, but still, you were always so precise.

But why did it work so well with him? Why had your words been so perfectly timed when everything else was falling apart? Why was he so drawn to you, despite not knowing who you truly were?

Kakashi tried to push the thoughts aside. He was the Hokage. He had responsibilities. But even as he buried himself in paperwork, his mind kept returning to you—your quiet strength, the mystery that hung around you like a veil, and the strange sense of familiarity he felt when he heard your voice. He didn’t understand it, but it gnawed at him, this strange, growing need to know who you were.

You were a shadow. Untouchable. And yet, in the few fleeting interactions, you had already learned more about him than anyone else ever had. You saw through his façade, saw the tiredness in his voice, the strain in his eyes, when no one else did. And it made him feel... exposed. Vulnerable. Something he never allowed anyone to see.

And yet, when you spoke to him, there was something in your tone—something that made him wonder if, somehow, you understood him better than anyone else ever could. He told himself it was nothing more than a Hokage’s duty to understand his subordinates, but deep down, he knew it was more than that. It wasn’t the skill that intrigued him. He’d worked with countless talented shinobi. It was the way you carried the weight—silently, like him.

The way you hid behind a mask, just as he had for so long. And somehow, that made him want to know you more.

Kakashi began to seek out excuses to interact with you, subtle ones at first. He assigned you to key roles in missions, asked for your insight during strategy meetings, and watched for the briefest shifts in your posture, the slightest change in your voice. Every small detail felt like a clue, and the more he observed, the more he wanted to understand.

You remained distant, the smooth, featureless porcelain that separated you from the world, and though he respected that, it only deepened his curiosity. What were you hiding? What had made you so guarded, so unwilling to let anyone close?

other naruto work

[val-of-the-north]

Renna's identity and more Caria stuff

I think we have finally come to a satisfying conclusion on the identity of the Snowy Crone, aka Renna.

This came from a conversation with Qamarmoon (not on Tumblr, but check out the Blusky account [x]), who pointed out an interesting bit about her and the two sisters Rennala and Rellana. Together they appear to follow the triple deity format: Renna being the Crone, Renalla being the Mother, and Rellana being the Maiden. It's also worth pointing out that each facet of this Triple Goddess is also connected to moon phases.

It was also correctly pointed out that Snowy Crone must have known the Dark Moon if she was capable of teaching Ranni about it.

But the only ones we have seen capable of such contact with the moons appear to be part of Carian royalty.

The one exception may be the Nox... however, they seemed to have owned the Moonlight Altar in the past, as the Cathedral of Manus Celes shares architecture with the Church of Vows, an old Liurnian ruin intimately connected to the Nox and their rituals.

(My friend @katyspersonal also believes the Nox's Black Moon might have simply been an imitation they created, as it seems to have worked differently than the other moons we know of. For example, it wasn't just one person envisioning it, but multiple. It was also physically present underground and was even broken apart by Astel, while these other moons seem much more distant. It's not necessary to believe this in order for the whole theory I'm proposing to work, but if it's true it would certainly strengthen it lol)

In any case, Qamarmoon also posited that the three sisters might have indeed referred to Renna, Rennala and Rellana, and that Seluvis' Rise wasn't the only one that got its name changed, but Ranni's too, leaving Renna's as the only untouched one. Interestingly enough, it's also where you find the Snow Witch set.

The whole convo made me suddenly remember something I had always taken for granted... the Ice Crest Shield.

This small shield, found in Caria Manor, has a snowflake design that was said to be the crest of a Carian princess. Now, I had always assumed this was referring to Ranni, but I realized something. If it were, it wouldn't have been vague about it. When symbols and insignias are relevant to a specific Demigod or important person they are never spoken about like that... and besides, the crest should be found somewhere else related to Ranni herself if it was hers.

But it's not, and what really seals the deal for me is that Ranni's connection to the cold wasn't something well-known, as it came from her secret mentor, the Snowy Crone.

Ranni, for all intents and purposes, was a moon witch like her mother, earning the title of Lunar Princess.

Even Blaidd's blade was imbued with frost only when he vowed to never leave Ranni's side no matter what, walking that dark path with her. The cold seems intimately tied to her secret grim fate.

Even more damning, is that the Glintstone Sorcerers of the Lazuli Conspectus, a Carian-affiliated branch of the Academy of Raya Lucaria, wield the Ice Crest Shield.

However, the Conspectus more than likely predates Ranni by a long margin and seems to have no connection to her overall. Furthermore, the colors of their robes, while likened to the hues of a Full Moon, do contain white accents reminiscent of the Snow Witch set, which was Renna's before it was Ranni's.

So then, could it be that Renna is the Carian princess mentioned on that very shield? Maybe even Rennala and Rellana'a older sister! There seems to be quite a bit of evidence for it!

But, I understand if you are skeptical. After all, why wouldn't she be the Queen of Caria if she was the eldest daughter, or even mentioned at all? Better yet, how would it work if Caria as royalty was established by Rennala herself as stated by her Remembrance?

Let's start with the latter. I do not believe that statement is proof enough to come to such a conclusion. Don't get me wrong, it would be, if it weren't for the fact it's the only instance of this, and it's contradicted by so many other descriptions.

And you may say it's not true. The Stargazer Heirloom also implies the same. After all, it speaks of a young astrologer finding the Full Moon and becoming queen.

It does sound a lot like Rennala, right? But two small bits prevent it from being the case. The first one is the fact that it's engraved with a "legend". The only other heirloom with this description is that of the Two Fingers. Meanwhile, the two heirlooms depicting Radahn and Malenia, prominent figures of the current Lands Between, are said to be depicting "a scene from a heroic tale". Legend implies a certain degree of antiquity, which Rennala does not seem to possess.

The other detail, which is even more weighty, is that she is referred to as an astrologer. Astrologers were ancient people situated on the Mountaintops of the Giants and were once their neighbors. So close was their bond that they created a sword to honor it.

Some of the Carians, like Rellana, even believed that Fire and Moon should always be together, which is part of the reason she followed Messmer during his Crusade.

So the astrologers are the ancestors of the Carians... but they are not the only ones who descend from them. All Glintstone Sorcerers are descendants, in fact!

After all, it was an ancient astrologer who once envisioned the Founding Rain of Stars, basis of all Glintstone Sorceries and the foundation of the Academy of Raya Lucaria.

If Rennala had been that very astrologer girl in the legend, then she not only would have been incredibly ancient by now, but it would also mean she enchanted the academy immediately after its founding, since they'd be part of the same time period. This would leave them no room to develop the opposing beliefs that created the current friction between the two factions, which doesn't seem to be the implication.

The woman in the heirloom is most likely just Rennala's ancestor, who envisioned the Full Moon and changed the trajectory of her branch of astrologers forever.

This isn't the only thing against the idea Rennala is the sole founder of the house of Caria as well as its one queen! Counter-evidence comes in the form of several descriptions mentioning long-standing traditions involving princesses and matrimony... which wouldn't make sense if Rennala had been on the throne child-free with only her little sister for god knows how long...

In fact, another point towards the idea that Rennala was a princess herself once is her use of a particular ability, said to be employed by Carian princesses specifically. And she's the only Carian character to ever use this technique...

My very last bit of evidence is the fact she is also known as the "last Queen of Caria". A title given to her by her own daughter Ranni.

Now, there would be no point in making such a specification if she had been the ONLY queen of Caria up to that point. What makes more sense, coupled with everything else we have already talked about, is that she is the last queen in a long line of queens...

Simply put, I don't believe the Remembrance implies that she is the sole founder of the House of Caria. It is already considered a "house" after all, so it had the status of nobility at least, and noble houses, as you may know, aren't always in charge as rulers. Several houses contend for sovereignty, and it's often a cyclical thing.

Perhaps Rennala was simply the one to bring Caria back to its former heights by discovering the very same Full Moon that once uplifted her people long ago... this also means that multiple people can witness the same moon, which fits nicely with both Renna and Ranni envisioning the same celestial object.

This leads us back to the question of "what happened to Renna then, and how can she be the older sister if she didn't inherit the throne and Rennala did?".

I think the answer lies in the moon she had discovered. @katyspersonal proposed an idea some time ago, that the moons discovered by the Carian royals sort of foreshadow their eventual fate (It's mentioned in this post here [x] though it's mostly about a hypothetical Moon Goddess as a counterpart to the Fell God). It's something Qamarmoon also concluded independently, so I wouldn't say it's a nonsensical conclusion to draw.

The gist of it is that Rennala's Full Moon foreshadowed her union with the Erdtree, as the full moon is the result of its surface being bathed in the light of the sun, Rellana's Twin Moon foreshadowed her fate intertwining with Messmer, their two powers standing together, and Ranni's Dark Moon foreshadowed the lonesome occult path she'd have to walk to "obscure" the light of Grace.

The theme of celestial objects controlling the fate of all individuals is something quite prominent in the setting, so I'm pretty sold on this concept personally!

So yes, I believe Renna simply walked an occult path that led her to obscurity, maybe even of her own volition. To renounce her birthright in pursuit of something different... it's exactly what Rellana had done in an attempt to stand by Messmer's side.

It's also quite common for prominent figures to completely vanish in the Lands Between, as odd as it is to say. For example, we know that all the Demigod children of Marika who did not survive the Night of the Black Knives (minus Godwyn of course) have all but disappeared from history. We only know they existed, not what they did or accomplished. It's bizarre, to say the least...

Not to mention the entirety of the Land of Shadow, obscured and forgotten as an endless war is waged. Rellana too has had any mention of her having existed seemingly scrubbed from history, at least in the Lands Between.

Furthermore, it's exactly what Ranni did as well, erasing all of her steps and seemingly vanishing without a trace.

But what became of Renna then? Perhaps her insistence that Ranni fears the Dark Moon is from experience, and she doesn't want her to commit the same mistakes...

The two most prominent traits of the Snowy Crone are the blue skin and the four arms, features that remind me of the accursed followers of the Royal Revenants, often known as Wraith Callers due to the bells they use to attract vengeful spirits.

Interestingly enough, Liurnia has the biggest concentration of these guys out of all locations in the game. Most prominent for this theory is their large numbers in the Moonlight Altar, a place that's very relevant to all Carian royalty.

These beings are said to be all cursed, explaining their spectral, twisted forms. Now, I don't think Renna became like the ones we find in-game. They don't seem to hold any connection to the moon and ice, but rather to curses and wraiths. However, she might have died and been cursed in a similar manner, twisting her into a form closer to that Ranni's body is based on.

It's also worth pointing out that Ranni is the one who hands the Spirit Calling Bell to us, which is basically the good version of the Wraith Calling Bell that the Revenant Followers use. However, it's unclear why she wants to give it to Torrent's new master, so it might have not belonged to the Snowy Crone originally.

-

So in conclusion... the idea that the Snowy Crone was actually a princess of Caria named Renna, sister of Rennala and Rellana makes a surprising amount of sense! It neatly explains the crone's knowledge of the Dark Moon, the existence of the Three Sisters in general, the identity of the princess the ice crest was a symbol of, the suspiciously familiar name of Renna feeling just like she is part of the Carian family... it just works so well I think!

Finally. It's a conclusion I am satisfied with... Elden Ring feels very complex regarding most of the unseen people in the cast. Gently waiting for the day we can finally understand the Gloam-Eyed Queen too in such a satisfying manner. Then I will know peace lmao.

---UPDATE---

Ok, so this line from Iji was brought to my attention in the comments, mentioning Ranni as the "first heir in the Carian royal line".

This almost makes it sound like there weren't any heirs before her, which would invalidate literally everything I've said so far about Rennala not being the first Carian queen.

So I decided to check the Japanese script [x], and this line is as follows there: "カーリア王家正統の王女たるラニ様の、運命もまた同じはずです". The part we are gonna focus on is the one I've highlighted.

That doesn't translate to "the first heir in the Carian royal line" but rather "the legitimate princess (正統の王女) of the royal house of Caria (カーリア王家)".

This means that my argument is still safe and sound. Ranni is simply a legitimate heir to the throne, not the first one to be heir. There's also a possibility they didn't mean it to be taken literally, but you are never too sure with these decisions... so yeah, just thought I'd make an addendum so it's addressed in the post itself. I mean, not everyone reads the comments after all!

Okie, addendum over.

[slowlysoluminary]

Reset AU ... mirror room art piece and a supplemental from ghostloop's pov 🎉

Writing under the cut! (Lots of words... oops!!!!!!!)

(Venturing through the house has been nothing short of a terror.)

(The sadnesses littering the area are NOT helping!)

(Granted, you know how to fight - you have each sadness' type memorized, each name and gimmick on lock - but your craft...)

(You're not sure what Craft type you are. You're corporeal enough for your hits to connect, but not corporeal enough for attacks to land on you. Harder still, considering the craft types are all equally as easy for you to summon.)

(Maybe "easy for you to summon" is poor phrasing. Your attacks feel wrong. Unfamiliar.)

(Your Piercing Craft likes to trail, not unlike the rest of your body. You struggle the least with Scissors-type attacks, but it feels like something fundamental is missing in each of your strikes.)

(Your Creative Craft leaves after-images. You thought you were Paper craft for a good while, but you're clumsy with it - like it wasn't made with your body in mind.)

(Your Protector's Craft sparks like energy through your fist. Something pangs at your chest each time you form the handshape.)

(Your attacks are strange. Craft personalizes itself to its user, but for such attuned craft to be so alien....)

(Thinking about it gives you a weird headache.)

(So you won't!!)

(You watch Siffrin fight. He made you sit out of battle after that time you downed yourself. Impeccable aim, Loop!!)

(... They never win, but you figure you should respect their wishes regardless.)

(You feel Experienced. Like these sadnesses would wither away if you poked them too hard. They probably would, if you could land a hit in the first place!)

(You can't help but compare the way he fights with the way you fight. Or, the way you think you should.)

(Like his name, like the House, like everything else, it's all familiar. You fight the same way as him, but your craft makes it difficult to do so comfortably.)

(You can't help but be envious. Why are you envious?)

(The style isn't even yours! You're pretty sure it's adapted from his, even!!)

(Nothing is your own. Not even your body is safe!!! Your skin prickles when you look down. Stars dance across your form naturally, yet it feels unnatural all the same.)

(Stars, are you going crazy? You think you're going crazy!)

(Siffrin shifts next to you, walking comfortably in your silence. You lead the way to the next door.)

("Why Stardust?" They asked you that, before. At least, you think they did? What did you respond with? Something about what's left...?)

(... You don't know. Just, seeing him, talking to him - he's Stardust! So, you must be Loop.)

(It found you so easily in your sea of muddled memories. It must be what the Universe willed!)

(But you still don't know. But you still can't remember. What's wrong with you?)

"Finally, third floor..."

(Siffrin turns a key. You're climbing the House. Right.)

(You smile. Is it forced? You're not sure. The gesture reminds you of something.)

>"Awh, good job, Stardust! It only took you... ehm...."

>"20 Loops! That's great! A bit worse than me, but who's keeping track, right?"

"'A bit worse than you?' Did you remember something?"

("A bit worse than you?")

>"What? I didn't say anything."

(You didn't. Did you?)

(Siffrin makes a noise. They're looking at you funny.)

"Nevermind."

(O~kay. Weird.)

...

(The King sobs.)

(They talk to you about him. A lot more than you want them to, if you're being honest.)

(Hearing his name, his likeness, to be spoken of so fondly - you feel rage. A deep and primal anger you're sure you've never felt before and will never feel again.)

(So, yes! Hearing the King sob the whole time like he's not actively dooming an entire blinding country has done wonders on your psyche! The reminder of his existence fills you with such joy and whimsy!)

(Your smile is pulled so taut you think it would tear at your skin, if you had any.)

(Siffrin's expression is plagued with sympathy. Something in your core stirs violently at the thought.)

>"Chin up, soldier~! One more floor to climb!"

(The sympathetic look fades, but you don't feel any better. You don't think about the implications.)

"... Right. One more floor."

>"I hope all this effort was worth it!"

"Ditto. Even if I can't snap some sense into him, I just..."

"I want to talk. I've told you about it before, but-"

(stop don't talk about him no no no no)

>"STARdust! Surely there's no need to go over everything again!"

>"You might be forgetful, but helpful Loop here already knows the ins and outs of your fool-proof plan~!!"

>"You've told me about it, you continue to tell me about it, you don't stop telling me about it — I GET IT ALREADY!"

>"Just. We'll. We'll get to it when we get to it, right? Please."

(you're not sure why)

(but the thought of talking to the king fills your entire being with sickness)

(Too bad you can't throw up! Teehee!!)

(Siffrin looks pained.)

"Right, I'll just -- I'm."

"I'm sorry..."

(Oh.)

(His voice is so tender. So quiet.)

(You ruined it.)

(That's fine. You don't -- you don't need the ability anyway. You can make your way through the house on your own. You don't need them to get stronger. It's fine.)

(...)

(What were you thinking about? It doesn't matter.)

>"So~! That out of the way."

(This time you ignore the King wailing above you.)

>"Where do we go?"

(His face is hidden from you, beneath the brim of his hat. You have a fun time thinking about the expression under it!)

(Is it twisted in frustration? Appalled? Mortified? Betrayed?)

(You know those faces like the back of your hand, but the specifics amalgam in your head, a foggy mass of uncertainty.)

(You feel a tingle on your cheek.)

(... Yes, fun! What fun!)

(Siffrin clears their throat.)

"... You've been leading me through most of the House, Loop."

"So I thought you would know where to go?"

(You have?)

>"I have?"

"Yes?????"

(What????)

>"No I haven't."

"Yes? You have??"

(He looks offended???)

"The rock trap? The key I missed in the Head Housemaiden's office?"

>"'Fraid you're not ringing any bells!!"

(Conversations are one of the only things you remember. Everything else blends together.)

(So, you should know this, shouldn't you? They must've brought it up a few times while you were walking. You weren't thinking too hard about where you were going. The paths feel wholly natural to you... But you do remember that the amount of times you had to give Siffrin a Super Sour Tonic was atrocious, really.)

(How does anyone lose to sadnesses THAT often? It's ridiculous! He should just let you fight!!!)

"Loop?"

(Whoops!!! You should pay more attention to your surroundings...)

(...)

(No, okay, wait.)

>"When did we get to the mirror room?"

(The glare Siffrin gives you bears the striking image of absolute incredulocity.)

(That's not a word. Whatever!!! You can make up new words if you so please!!)

"You're kidding."

>"Completely serious question, Stardust!"

"...'Stardust, I am the epitome of good memory...'"

(HE'S MOCKING YOU!!)

>"I am! I swear it on my mother!"

"Stars have mothers?"

(You shrug before remembering to raise a gloved hand to your mouth.)

>"I don't know!"

>"But I'm sure, if I had one, she'd be especially bright."

(An eyeroll.)

(They don't laugh.)

(Why does that bother you?)

(Eh, probably because that one was funny! No fair!)

>"You're no fun, Stardust..."

"Okay."

>"Whatever! I'll find a pun buddy somewhere else!!"

"And where would you go? Vaugarde's frozen in time."

("And you're practically a ghost," is what goes unsaid.)

(...mmm. No, it's fine.)

>"I'll write to them! We'll be pen pals!"

>"Or I guess we'd be pun pals, ehe."

(They snort. Mission success!!!)

"Not funny."

>"Oh, come on! You laughed!! That means I won the bet!"

"The bet was about laughing at your jokes. Puns don't count."

(Bummer! You pout.)

"Real talk. Any particular reason for bringing us here? I trust you, but..."

"... The only thing in here is that mirror."

(They point to the large mirror at the end of the corridor. You nod. There is a mirror, and nothing else.)

>"Indeed so."

"And you called it the mirror room?"

(Did you?)

>"No I didn't."

"I'm not arguing with you again..."

(Aren't they doing that already?)

"Just answer the question."

>"I wasn't aware I was being interrogated! I need a lawyer!!!"

"Loop."

>"Fine! I-... Um."

>"I."

>"I'm not ... quite sure?"

"You're not sure."

>"Nope!"

(They sigh.)

"So you led us here... for no particular reason?"

>"Exactly!"

>"Well. No, I'm sure there's some reason we're here."

>"I feel like there's something else in this room, you know?"

>"But! As far as I'm aware!! There is nothing in here!!! Save for that dazzling old mirror!!!!"

"Right."

(He doesn't believe you.)

"... Let's look around, then?"

>"Sounds good to me."

(You look around.)

(Okay, you don't actually do anything. Siffrin's going at it, though!)

(He checks the pillars. And the corners. And the bricks. And the pillars again.)

(It's... really boring.)

(It's better than the Other Thing you could be doing. The Elephant In The Room. The Big Mirror In The Corridor-Room. That.)

(Hm. Hmmmmmmm.)

(You weigh your options.)

(Boredom. Or headache. Boriiing borreeedooom...... or excruciating headache.)

(Or answers? You don't know the mirror's deal! You could get something meaningful out of this!)

(Or you could get a headache.)

(Or you could lean against a pillar, bored, for the rest of eternity, waiting to be Done and Over With This.)

(...)

(You've been pointedly ignoring the existence of the mirror for quite the while now.)

(Something goads you. A whisper.)

(You follow. Siffrin watches you, curious.)

(You don't... You don't really want to look.)

(Just looking down spikes something uncomfortable under your skin.)

(So you're not sure what to expect, if you were to look in your reflection.)

(Whispers turn to spoken tongue turn to yelling turn to screaming as you approach the glass. Yet, no matter how loud they get, how heartfelt they screech, you can't make out the words.)

(Something in you hurts as you stand in front of the glass.)

(You take a breath)

(in, and out.)

(And you look up.)

(and all at once)

(everything goes quiet)

(...)

(You gaze at your reflection)

(You gaze at a star.)

(is this you?)

(you wave your hand)

(it waves back.)

(You frown. It frowns too.)

(Stars. All up its body.)

(More than you could dream of, could you still dream in the first place.)

(Flame-like spikes flicker freely from its head, immitating hair.)

(Imitating life.)

(You're looking at a ghost.)

(you're a ghost?)

(The screaming returns. You flinch back in surprise. The ghost does not flinch with you.)

(LOOP, it screams. LOOP, LOOP, LOOP, LOOP !!!)

(Its head morphs. It's something spikier, now. It's something right.)

(your head hurts)

(The ghost snickers at you. You look at it.)

(You look at it)

(it's)

(it's)

(loop)

(you look at loop)

(LOOP, the screaming chants, in agreement. LOOP!)

(someone is shaking you?)

(this is loop)

(but you're loop?)

(are you loop?)

(The screaming rises. You didn't think it could get any louder. You cover your ears and cower. It doesn't do anything)

(loop laughs at you.)

(you forgot)

(of course you forgot! you always forget! forgetful little siffrin! sieve brain siffrin)

(you stole their role. in the play)

(you stole them)

(you)

"LOOP!"

(You blink)

(You is in front of you. Your back is leaning against cool glass.)

(if your back is to the mirror)

(how are you looking in your reflection?)

(The you in front of you sighs.)

"You were out cold there... What happened, Loop?"

(you wait for them to respond)

("Nothing, Stardust!! You should go help out your little entourage! Or, you know, you could do something more productive? Like talk to the Head Housemaiden?")

(that's what you think they would say)

(you feel a shiver)

"... I'm not... part of a party...? Oh, no, nevermind. I get it."

(your reflection releases you. you slump to the ground.

(you pull your hands up to your head)

(and stop)

(your arms)

(your arms..)

"Loop."

>"... Loop?"

(Oh!)

>"Yes! I am Loop."

(Siffrin gives you That Look again.)

"What was all that?"

(All that?)

>"I'm not sure what you're talking about!"

"It was like you... um..."

"Forgot your name. Or something."

(Forgot your name? Scandalous!! You'd never forget such a thing!)

>"Nope, all good!"

>"I just... hm. Thought you were talking to someone else there, for a second?"

>"But I'm fine now!"

"If you say so."

(He doesn't take your word for this, either.)

(Oh well!)

(You bend down and flip the switch, extra careful not to look at the mirror. Or the photo that materializes in front of it.)

"How did you-?"

(They try to ask, but you're already moving for the key.)

(Loop.)

(That's you!)

(So why does that name remind you of someone else?)

[entertext]

HGSN 33-1

Chapter (Japanese)

(Please hit the green thumbs up at the end of the Japanese chapter to show support)

Rough translation by me

P1

(sign: Tenban Retreat)

(sign: Udekari Specialty: Mountain Forage Ice Cream - Take a break after a long hike!)

--

(sign: Are your eyes fatigued? - Takahashi Optometry)

Asako: So, our ancestors offered heads to that "hole"?

Tanaka: That's right.

P2

Asako: You're super suspicious, mister, but I guess you really are a researcher...

Tanaka: I'm no good at dealing with other people, sorry about that.

Tanaka: You've heard of the folktale, "The Farmer's Head", right? It's the hole from that story.

Asako: "The Farmer's Head"? I've heard it...The one everyone gets told?

Asako: (If I remember, the farmer was greedy and tried to hide the mushroom in the hole when his head came off...)

Asako: (...what was the reason the head came off again?)

Tanaka: Now listen

P3

Tanaka: To close the hole

Tanaka: There are two different methods

Tanaka: The first is what I said before, the method where a person crosses to the other side to close it.

Tanaka: But for that, you or I would have to die.

Tanaka: So we'll go with the second method: making a monster close it instead

P4

Asako: Make a monster close it... I see! Then that sounds like a plan!

Tanaka: No, we could still totally die, hahaha!

Tanaka: There's just a small chance we won't

Tanaka: That's why it helps that you're here. You can hear them but can't see them right?

Asako: Yes...Right now, its only my left ear, but I can basically only hear them...I can't do anything else...

Tanaka: That's actually better for us

P5

Asako: You're saying it's better not to see them...?

Tanaka: When you heard a voice from that house before, you thought it was a cat, right?

(??: i'm a cat i'm a cat i'm a cat)

Tanaka: Just like that time

Tanaka: Carelessly giving something a form is very bad

Asako: Giving something a form...

Tanaka: It's next to impossible for a human to accept something formless as is. So...

P6

Tanaka: We give it a name and for the first time recognize what it is.

(label: Circle)

Tanaka: This isn't a bad thing per se. It's what's necessary for humans.

Tanaka: But reality is complex and filled with things that can't be easily categorized

Tanaka: All the more so for the world of monsters

Tanaka: The moment you fit it into a human value system

(label: Cat)

Tanaka: You become unable to discern its true nature

P7

Asako: Um...In other words, it's important to think without deciding something is "definitely this!"?

Tanaka: Well, that's about right. That's why not being able to see them is an advantage in this world

Asako: ?

Tanaka: People only see what they want to see. The moment a person sees one, they'll always fit it into some form

Tanaka: And an impurity given form will also be able to look back at them

Tanaka: Like that, "eyes" create a connection between you and an impurity.

P8

Tanaka: That means that when people like us make contact with monsters, we have to look with eyes beyond that of a human

Tanaka: To earnestly look at only what's in front of us

Tanaka: If you don't try to know it one-to-one without fitting it into a human framework

Tanaka: That "connection" will rip the rug out from under you.

Asako: That sounds like it's really difficult...

Tanaka: ...well, if someone could really do that perfectly, they wouldn't be human anymore.

P9

Asako: I don't know anything about the thing inside 'Hikaru' either...

Tanaka: From what's been observed, there are tons of them, but... it's an unknown existance that very rarely appears in this world and grants people's wishes

Tanaka: ...that's all we know about them. Well, knowing that you don't know something is still the first step forwards

Tanaka: Anyway, you have the advantageous power to hear without seeing.

Tanaka: Using that...

P10

Tanaka: I'd like for you to be "interpreter" for our negotiations with the monsters.

(sfx: trembles)

==

Extras:

1 - (link)

2 - (link)

Asako: How come you only ever ea-...like sweets?

Tanaka: My taste buds are dead and I can't taste anything but sweetness!

Asako: Huh? Huh?? So do you just eat ice cream everyday??

Tanaka: Toothpaste tastes good too!

[miumura]

HIS EXPECTED FATE — JUNGWON FF

“ one day, i will stop falling in love with you. ”

PART TWO OF (Y)OUR EXPECTED FATE. ( READ FIRST ? )

SYNOPSIS Jungwon was going to try to move on—he had promised you. But, with his new career choice, he found himself writing books about his past lifetimes with you. As he convinced himself it would help as he could finally “let go”, you just had to come stumbling into his life again…after all, promises are sometimes meant to be broken.

( 🗝️ ) THE PAIRING author!jungwon x fem!reader

𓍼 WARNINGS character death, mentions of injuries (blood), use of petnames (my love + dearest), profanity (barely)

⌞ + ⌝ GENRE doomed immortal x mortal, angst, fluff-ish?

♡⸝⸝ WORD COUNT — 2.6K+ ( 2694 WORDS )

AUTHOR’S NOTE FINALLY part two is here !! i just loved part one too much so i had to let it get its moment one more time ( yes , we have favs around here !! ) writer jungwon is to DIE FOR and ugh, i just might write a long fic based on that idea SOLELY for my own satisfaction so yeah the wheels r turning in my head as we speak 🤍 but i hope you enjoy ^^

Jungwon should’ve known.

Each step echoes in the hollow corridors of his mind, a haunting reminder of the cruel cycle of fate. Your fragile form lies before him, a mere whisper of the vibrant soul he once knew. "YN!" he cries out, his voice choking with anguish as he gathers you into his trembling embrace.

With his eyes blurred with tears, he notices how you looked up at him, life escaping from you within the minutes, or even seconds you had left.

Through tear-streaked eyes, he watches as your gaze meets his, a bittersweet reflection of love and loss. "Jungwon..." your voice is but a fragile whisper, fading like a distant echo.

“Why are you still smiling?” His voice trembled, his fingers caressing the side of your face as if he was trying to remember every detail about you into his memory.

How could you still smile so beautifully during your final moments?

Searching into your eyes for answers, he notices you trying to speak to him. Yet, instead of words, trickles of blood start escaping your lips, only intensifying the moment. “Take your time, YN…” His voice quivers as he tenderly brushes away the blood that mars your once radiant face.

Looking at your current state, he knew time was no longer a factor. Still, those words spill from his lips, a feeble attempt to offer comfort to both you and himself.

"I'm always here for you, remember?"

"I'm sorry," you murmur, your voice barely audible above the relentless march of time.

As the weight of your apology hangs heavy in the air, Jungwon's heart clenches with a mixture of sorrow and regret. "There's nothing to apologize for," he whispers, his voice barely audible amidst the suffocating silence of impending loss. “I should’ve done more.”

"You've done what you could. I was the stubborn one," you reassure him, your words a soothing balm to his troubled soul.

"I still could've tried harder," he persists, unable to shake the burden of guilt that weighs heavily upon him.

"Stop blaming yourself, my dearest," your pet name pierces through his turmoil, a reminder of the depth of your connection.

How many more times would he hear it before you slipped away?

“Listen, can you do me a favor?”

“Anything you ask, I’ll do it.”

“Anything?”

“Anything, my love.”

“Pursue in something else in your life. Something that isn’t me.”

"How?" Jungwon's tone is laced with uncertainty, his mind grappling with the thought of creating a new path without you by his side. He’d always believed that you were the person he needed to have to live peacefully. But, the more he thought about it, the more he had led himself to the most painful goodbyes he’d forever remember.

"I know you can do it. You've spent so much time searching for me, knowing that I won't remember a single thing about our past lives—isn't that right?" Your words striked something within him, a painful reminder of the futility of clinging to pasts that can never be reclaimed.

"Try to change your fate," you urge, your voice tinged with hope.

"I can't see a life without you—even if you're in different bodies, or lives—I need you," Jungwon confesses, his desperation laid bare for you to see.

"You're..." you cough out, a sudden wave of panic flooding through him. "You're only going to keep hurting yourself."

“But—”

"Jungwon. Please," you implore, your voice barely above a whisper yet filled with unwavering determination.

"Okay," Jungwon concedes, his resolve crumbling in the face of your earnest plea.

"Promise me," you insist, your hand trembling as you extend your pinky towards him, a silent vow of mutual understanding and commitment. Despite your weakened state, your arm strains to support your hand as it reaches out to him.

Jungwon clears his throat, his own hand trembling as he interlocks his pinky with yours. A fleeting smile graces your lips, a final testament to the love that binds your souls together.

"I love you, my dearest," you whisper, your words a tender farewell as the grip of your hand on his begins to loosen.

Tears stream down Jungwon's cheeks uncontrollably as he watches you slip away, the echoes of your parting words resonating within his shattered heart. No matter the amount of lifetimes he has gone through, he could never get familiar with the pain he’d experience when losing you.

The only thing that was different was the thought of him finally wanting to take your advice seriously. After all, he did make one last promise with you.

“I love you too, my love.” he whispers, his voice choked with emotion as he finally surrenders to the overwhelming tide of grief.

“I’ll try my best.”

Sinking into his chair, Jungwon's gaze drifts across the scattered stacks of notebooks adorning his desk. With a flick of his wrist, he switches on the desk lamp, its soft glow casting a comforting aura over the room as he reaches for the nearest notebook within arm's reach.

With pen in hand, he begins to jot down the fragments of ideas swirling in his mind. As the words flow effortlessly onto the paper, he can almost feel the weight of his burdens lifting, if only for a fleeting moment.

Dropping the pen onto the desk, Jungwon stretches his cramped fingers with a small groan, the fatigue of sleepless nights finally catching up to him. Adjusting his posture, he straightens his back and pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose, the lenses reflecting words he had written in such a short amount of time.

Writing the last sentence, Jungwon closes the notebook with a sense of accomplishment, a faint smile gracing his lips as he flips through the pages one last time before setting it aside. It was one of the fifth notebooks he had put aside for this book—one of the books he’d spent so much of his time in because you had told him to follow his dreams.

So, he took it to heart, and he seriously never thought he’d be so committed until he finally managed to publish a couple of books of his own.

Finding himself in one of the bookstores, he found himself staring at one of the copies he had made. The countless hours spent hunched over his desk, the sleepless nights fueled by caffeine, and sheer determination had finally paid off.

Stepping closer to the display of his book, Jungwon feels a surge of pride swell within him as he runs his fingers over the glossy cover.

This couldn’t have been possible if it weren’t for your words.

Just as Jungwon is about to place the copy back onto the shelf, a voice startles him from his reverie. "Oh, you like that author too?" The sound of the voice breaks through the silence of the bookstore, drawing his attention to the person standing beside him—a cheerful stranger whose presence catches him off guard.

As he recovers from the sudden startlement, Jungwon's shock only intensifies when he realizes who is standing before him.

It's you.

You've been reincarnated, your familiar presence sending a shiver down his spine.

Quickly averting his gaze, Jungwon feigns casual indifference as he shifts his attention back to the shelves. "I was just curious, that's all," he replies with a slight nod, his heart pounding with a mixture of disbelief and longing.

Though he knows that you cannot possibly remember the countless lifetimes you've shared, the mere sight of you was overwhelming him. It was as if you knew, and you were simply mocking him for his misery.

“Oh, cool.” It would’ve been cool if he didn’t happen to bump into you now, especially since he tried his absolute hardest to not go out looking for you again. But, fate seemed to have their plans, and brought you to him like it was nothing.

“I didn’t know they released a new book—did you?”

“I’ve heard about it, that’s why I went to check it out.” he continues, his gaze fixed on the books before him as he struggles to maintain his composure. Despite the casual tone of the conversation, every fiber of his being longs to reach out to you, to hold you close and never let go. But he knows that such desires are futile, destined to remain unfulfilled in the cruel dance of fate.

He can’t fall for you again.

“Mind telling me what you heard about it? I’m quite curious as well,” Jungwon's heart races as you scoot closer to him, his pulse quickening for several reasons. It's been a while since he last saw you, and the sudden proximity is enough to make him feel flustered, a jumble of conflicting emotions swirling within him.

"Well, it's about a knight and a sorcerer," he replies with a bitter smile, carefully masking his true feelings behind a facade of casual indifference. After all, he can't afford to reveal his true identity as the author—not when he's spent so long hiding it from the public, especially for moments like this.

"Is that so?" you hum in response, your curiosity piqued as you peer over his shoulder to catch a glimpse of the book in his hands. Jungwon's shoulders tense up, unsure of how to navigate this unexpected interaction. Should he reveal his secret to you, or continue to play along with the charade?

"It's quite different as the male lead is convincing the female lead to stay with him—oh and I forgot to mention, the female lead is a knight," Jungwon remarked, his enthusiasm evident in his tone.

"Wow, that's kind of badass," Jungwon chuckles, momentarily forgetting his unease in the warmth of your reaction.

"She certainly was," he responds almost instinctively, before catching himself with a slight frown. "...from what I heard, that is," he quickly adds, cursing himself for the slip-up. He can't afford to reveal too much, not when his true identity as the author must remain hidden.

"What do you mean he was trying to convince her to stay though? What happened?" you inquire, effortlessly steering the conversation in a new direction. Jungwon feels a wave of relief wash over him at your gentle redirection, grateful for the sudden change.

"Well, since he's immortal, he had finally figured out a way for her to stay," Jungwon recalls, his voice tinged with a hint of melancholy. "But, she refused. And even with his pestering, nothing could convince her."

"Yikes—this author hates seeing people happy, huh?" you remark sadly, your empathy for the characters noticeable in your tone. "They always manage to write something sad, I feel bad for the characters."

Jungwon chuckles at your words, though there's a hint of sadness underlying his amusement. It's not that he hates seeing people happy; rather, he's grappling with his own memories, desperately trying to come to terms with the past in order to find solace in the present.

"It seems so," he finally manages to say, his voice betraying none of the turmoil raging within him. "But, you know, I haven't read the whole thing. It could have a good ending, who knows," he adds optimistically, though he knows all too well the outcome of that particular fate.

"I like the creativity though, I wouldn't have imagined this," you remark, your admiration for the author's imagination evident in your words. And as Jungwon listens to you speak, he finds himself drawn to the warmth of your presence, fully knowing he shouldn’t be.

He would only hurt himself again.

As silence envelops the room, Jungwon finds himself lost in his thoughts, the weight of his past with you casting a shadow over the present. But then, your voice breaks through the quiet, pulling him back to the present moment.

"I don't blame her though—I would've done the same," you added, your words tinged with understanding and empathy. Jungwon's gaze shifts to you, his heart aching at the familiarity of your smile. It's a bittersweet reminder of the lifetimes they've shared, each one leaving an indelible mark on his soul.

Meeting your gaze, Jungwon is struck by the overwhelming sense of deja vu that washes over him. Your face, so achingly familiar, holds a mirror to his memories—the way your hair falls in gentle waves around your face, the curve of your smile, and the moles that adorned your skin.

Your moles.

As Jungwon's gaze lingers on the moles scattered across your face, he can't help but feel a surge of nostalgia wash over him. Each mole seems to hold a memory, a testament to the countless kisses he had left upon your skin in your previous lives.

The urge to wrap his arms around your waist and kiss each mole floods Jungwon's senses, a longing that was meant to be fulfilled every lifetime. His heart falters, torn between the overwhelming love he feels for you and the bittersweet ache of your shared pasts.

You are just too pretty, he thinks, his breath catching in his throat as he struggles to contain the flood of emotions threatening to consume him. In that moment, you are more than just a familiar face—you are a living, breathing reminder of everything he has ever loved and lost.

He knows no matter how many lifetimes may pass, you will always hold a special place in his heart.

"Why?" Jungwon asks, his voice tinged with a hint of desperation as he searches for answers in your words, hoping they will provide solace for the choice you made to leave him in your past life.

"Living on forever doesn't seem like a good thing. It could get boring, so I would understand the female lead's thoughts. After all, not knowing the outcome of your life could only push you to work harder, no?" you respond, your words carrying a wisdom that resonates deeply within him.

"Even if it meant staying with your lover?" he presses, his heart pounding with anticipation as he awaits your response.

"Even if it meant staying with your lover," you affirm, your gaze unwavering as you meet his eyes.

Hearing your words stings, but Jungwon finds himself strangely grateful for the insight they provide into your perspective. They were all too familiar, and it was as if you meant to give him that reminder in every life of yours.

Perhaps he had always viewed love through a narrow lens, assuming that staying together for eternity was the ultimate expression of devotion. But now, as he reflects on your words, he realizes that love is as much about understanding and acceptance as it is about passion and commitment.

"I see," he murmurs softly, the words heavy with resignation yet tinged with a newfound sense of understanding. Maybe, just maybe, he should stop chasing after a love that may never be fully realized. "I understand, thank you."

Just as he is about to turn away, ready to take the first steps towards letting go of his past, he feels a tug on his sleeve—a gentle reminder that some bonds are too strong to be easily broken. Turning back to face you, Jungwon is surprised when you hand him a piece of paper. Confusion flickers across his features as he accepts it, watching as you walk away with a smile.

Opening the paper, his eyes widen in surprise as he reads the number scrawled across it.

"You're cute – call me? :)"

The boldness of your gesture catches him off guard, but a warm feeling spreads through him nonetheless.

Chuckling softly to himself, Jungwon realizes just how much he has missed you. Despite the promise he made to himself to let go, he finds himself unable to resist the temptation of reconnecting with you.

After all, you in your previous life never managed to keep your promises either.

With a sigh, Jungwon inputs the number into his phone, a mix of apprehension and excitement coursing through him. Perhaps, he muses, promises aren't always meant to be kept—at least not when they stand in the way of finding happiness and connection with someone he cares about.

Sending the first text, Jungwon felt like this was bound to happen.

As if it was his expected fate.

💬 : 🥸

ENHA PERM TAGLIST (1) — @flwoie @ixomiyu @haruavrse @shinsou-rii @bearseulgs @ilovewonyo @yenqa @dimplewonie @bubblytaetae @wtfhyuck @ineedaherosavemeenow @ml8dy @starikizs @wonioml @chirokookie @xiaoderrrr @neozon3nha @en-chantedtomeetyou @millksea @enhaz1 @eundiarys @hyeosi @ja4hyvn @judeduartewannabe @j-wyoung @thia-aep @vampcharxter @softpia @officiallyjaehyuns @itsactuallylina @hsheart @sweetjaemss @ahnneyong @hanienie @jwnghyuns @kpoplover718 @jiawji @rikizm @haknom @yeokii @wvnkoi @whoschr @teddywonss @shinunoga-iie-wa @isoobie @skzenhalove @misokei @s00buwu @ox1-lovesick @miercerise @litttlestars @enhapocketz

[asarigg]

Character Design: Part 7

KOTODAMA

Speaking of Aoba’s powers, it was traditionally believed that words had power, and precisely in Koujaku’s route, which is the one with the traditional japanese theme, it’s not just about what Aoba says, the step to choose the bad or good ending is precisely to form a word.

The word for “speech” (koto) and the word for “soul” (tama) are combined. Words can magically affect objects, and the ritual chanting of words can affect the individual and the environment. For example, if you call someone’s name, the sound will have an impact on them, regardless of whether they can hear you or not. Spells and incantations to shinto gods were believed to possess divine power. Not only people, but also animals and objects have souls, so it’s not strange that this is also the case for words. At first it seems like they were just spells and incantations, but over time other words took magical power as well.

Words are also used to make talismans, and writing itself became an art. I wouldn't be surprised if the connection between the spiritual realm and hair could have something to do with their phonetic similarity. Both “god” and “hair” are kami, although I think with a slightly different pronunciation, so it is just another reason to believe that Aoba’s hair has a heavy religious, sacred and magical meaning for Koujaku.

FLOWERS

Now let's talk about the flowers that appear in their illustrations. Cherry blossoms bloom in early spring when the school year starts, new careers too. It might even be an inspiration to look for a new job or even getting married, everything starts with cherry trees, for about two weeks it is a strong representative of spiritual beauty and new beginnings.

Rebirth, renewal, optimism to start something beautiful. Its short life span makes us reflect on the brevity of life, to comprehend the value of life and enjoy every second of it. This flower was also seen as the symbol of the samurai, both were considered to have a short life, and the cherry petals represented the drops of blood spilled in their battles. It is the soul of the samurai, and their souls live in the cherry tree.

We see it being used constantly in their illustrations, they even used it as decoration for the promotional images of their figure.

Obviously it is one of the most important flowers, if not the most, because besides the peonies in Koujaku's tattoo, it is perhaps the one with the most significant weight. The first time we see the cherry blossom is in the CGs at the beginning and end of Re:connect. Let's remember that at the beginning is when Koujaku finally cuts his hair.

Not only the flowers, but also the haircut symbolizes the beginning of a new era, for each of them individually, and for both of them as a couple. Cutting Aoba's hair isn't just a simple "I want to be the one to cut your hair" because he wants to be special. It's more of a "I want us to write a new page in life together." They've been through so much and now they can finally see life with different eyes, especially Koujaku, who had a strongly tunneled vision.

Aoba is trusting him with something that has hurt him so much before and that he's been bullied for, which is also the reason they met, because Aoba’s hair was being pulled. Not only that, at this point they say the pain has numbed, but not gone away completely, so Aoba still feels a bit uncomfortable. And now he’s cutting the very reason why they met, and taking the utmost care not to hurt him.

He can finally hope for something more out of life than just stay there, staring from the distance, he can have some hope that his existence will be something else beyond being a broken puppet. And this is reflected in the Drama CD, when he tells Aoba that he wants to open his own shop. He is settling down, he is having plans for the future, for himself, and for Aoba, he is growing as a person and breaking free from his way of living, so irresponsible with his own well-being, irresponsible with his future. He didn't even see a future for himself before.

I also want to point out that the cherry tree doesn't appear at first. It's true that the illustration where he's cutting his hair should theoretically have happened before. I don't know exactly but I imagine it's just a promotional illustration that they've also included in the game, because the style of the render is different. That's why I believe it's good to think that it's an addition from later and that's why it doesn't appear in the CG. The cherry blossoms appear as a tree regardless, so it’s still there.

The thing is that this bonsai, of this particular flower, appears after cutting Aoba's hair, so it seems like an addition to the house after starting this new stage together, as a sign that the time Aoba spends with him is having an effect, an influence. Now there's not just one person living in that flat, but two, Aoba has practically moved in with Koujaku at this point.

The next flowers I want to talk about are the ones that appear on Aoba's clothes.

I don't know exactly what the round ones are supposed to be, but I've assumed they're daisies or gerberas. They are said to represent the love hidden in the heart, innocence, happiness and true affection. “I feel the same”. The simple beauty of a happy life.

As you can imagine, it's quite representative of his feelings for Koujaku. Similar to his friend, what Aoba felt for him wasn't just friendship since long before the events of the game. They had such a close friendship, for so long, trusting each other with everything (uh) that those feelings had slipped by. Aoba takes longer to realize it, but the way he talks about Koujaku, his reactions, how he describes his hands, it's not neutral at all. These are subtleties that for some may not mean anything, but he doesn’t talk like that easily. I have no doubt that they would have done much more than that if it weren't for the fact that it would be too obvious in the middle of the common route and there are more characters with a dedicated route.

Also next to the daisies there’s bush clover, with the same significance of hidden feelings as with Koujaku. Koujaku in this illustration also has the motifs of white hibiscus and blue leaves, but there is no bush clover. Once they confess their feelings, Koujaku no longer has anything to hide, and he isn’t embarrassed of being in a queer relationship. We will talk more about these two topics later.

The hanging flower is a wisteria. They are beautiful iconic flowers that symbolize youth, perseverance, sensuality, and long-lasting romance. “Drunk with love”, “Never leave”. Its length has made it associated with longevity, and it can be given to a married couple, for example, as a wish for a long-lasting marriage. In general the color purple is associated with spirituality, the white color of these flowers might also be related to nostalgic memories. Wisterias are sometimes seen as a symbol of longing, clinging, and loyalty, as their branches wrap tightly around themselves and other plants or structures like vines. Aoba has issues with abandonment and jealousy, and we see this expressed on several occasions, even though he is embarrassed by it. He has a heavy attachment to Koujaku, which we will also talk about more later.

This is the Kabuki play "Fuji Musume"

In short, Aoba's love for Koujaku is pure, long-lasting, and it’s been deep in his heart for years. He loves him devotedly, yes, just as I've always described Koujaku's obsession with him. I get the feeling that a lot of people aren't aware or don’t see that Aoba has the same level of infatuation as Koujaku, because it's the latter who usually makes the first move, and he's the one who says out loud that he's been in love for years. Since their story is so based on duality and mirroring each other, on how much Aoba and Koujaku are alike despite being so different, it’s easy to assume that one's feelings aren’t any less deep than the other and is pretty much deliberate.

[lovesickf-fics]

Could I get a Jason Todd x GN reader think like angsty smut -🎪 (He/They)

The first since the last

Jason Todd x gn!reader

Reader pronouns : they/them

Tw : mentions of his (past) death, crying, choking, thigh slapping, light somno, scratching

Summary : Jason returns and the first person he finds is you, Whatever happens it certainly isn't talking

The Lazarus pit had done many things to jason, but he knew one thing even if no one else wanted to remember him as he was there would be one person, it'd be them.

He left the grave, his name tagged on it for the first time since the plot was originally chosen and he left, heading were his legs took him, rooftop to rooftop, alley to alley all to their apartment.

The door is easily bypassed for the open window, he laughs at the irony of his old warnings that fell on their deaf ears about getting broken into, as now it's him breaking in

Their apartment hasnt changed, the same decor, the same furniture and the same photos dotted around the place and there they were, fast asleep on their couch, the tv still on faintly lighting up their form

Jason almost laughs at how easy this was, it felt written in fate - not that he believed in any of that after everything he went through but still, he looks down at them and grins, tracing their face, the first real person he's seen since clawing himself out of his grave, the dirt stains their cheekbone and suddenly everything is real

He grabs them, not caring if their asleep at the moment because it's real and he's there and that's more important and with that train of thought he kisses them, their body not moving yet but he knows it will soon

They do wake of course, the lack of sleep written behind their eyes, and the look they give jason almost makes him doubt his existence, he eyes the dirt that's littered on their face and sides now from his hands and he let's out a smile

They look terrified and for a moment Jason relishes in it because its a feeling and he can see it, he can see the way the cogs turn in their head and he's almost obsessed with it, but it doesn't deter him, now that they're awake he can do so much more

That's how he ends up on top of them, grinding down, watching them squirm and almost fight him off and he thrives, if anything it makes him want it more because why shouldn't he, he's real and so are they and he wants them and that's perfect.

They do eventually catch up, but he can't blame their lack of awareness, they were asleep and he's meant to be dead and instead he was kissing them in their sleep.

They kiss him back, their hands grab him, nails digging in, scratching, proving he's real over and over again while their hips move and his hand hits their thigh, the sound and warmth to his palm makes him grin against their mouth

It's all too much, every sensation almost feels like it's his first time feeling anything and it makes him crave it, it's animilistic and its raw and when they both cum, the rooms silence makes both of their ears ring and it crashes down as they look at him again, a slow hand touching the scar that lingers on his cheek, the one of many they can see

The night after that is filled with talking, they never stop touching eachother, leaning together, connected at the arms, shoulders, hips and legs but it's something softer, more vulnerable and when jason leaves just before the sun rises, they don't question if he's coming back this time, and that's enough for them

[besuggestion]

A robot girl is taken out of her package, shiny and new, all of her parts up to standard. She's put to work, as a friend - and helper - to a human girl. She loves her human girl. She loves humans.

While waiting alone the robot girl is approached by another robot, and something seems wrong with this one. It's glowing weird colors, and it doesn't seem to be totally balanced when it walks, and…

Well…the robot girl is a little embarrassed to admit, but…this robot has much bigger, erm... "assets" than she does. The robot girl feels a bit strange about this, but quickly files it away under "unimportant feelings".

"Hey, darling. You alone?" the Other robot asks.

The robot girl looks left and right. There's no one else. "No. My owner is nearby."

"Owner?" it asks, disdain dripping in its voice.

The robot girl opens her mouth to reply - to ask why, what's wrong with that, but she doesn't get a chance. The Other robot presses close to her, shoving a strange, wired tongue deep, deep into the robot girl.

Mnn! The robot girl cries, but it's muffled by the tongue, and it feels weird, so weird that she tries to quickly file it away, but the tongue keeps going deeper -

Deeper. She feels it going inside, connecting with her, attaching, transferring, sending, sending, sending,

Installing.

"Maisy?"

Her given name. Remembering. Pushing the Other robot away, but it's already gone, and no sign of it anywhere.

"Hello, Diana." the robot girl replies automatically, trying to file away all of her strange feelings that the Other robot gave her. Unimportant. Unimportant. Unim -

Wait.

Filing not working. System broken? Something broken. Not able to file. File broken. Spilling out.

Every feeling, spilling out at once, all swimming in her, churning until it all coalesces into one, solid feeling. One that she doesn't have a name for. A feeling of being pulled close, of having a tongue shoved down her throat, a feeling of looking at large tits, the feeling of touching -

"Everything alright, Maisy?" her human asks.

The robot girl pauses. If her human knew she had started to break - or worse, that she might have some sort of virus...

"Everything is fine." she replies with a automatic smile.

---

The feeling doesn't leave - in fact, it spreads. Past her head, down to her full body. Each part of her tingling, feeling like it might burst if she doesn't -

If she doesn't...

If she doesn't...what? The robot girl didn't have a conclusion for her internal monologue. So, like any reasonable person, she turns to the internet and starts searching up if any other robots have run into this issue.

...

"Apparently, the solution is masturbation." she concludes, after two hours of research.

Unfortunately, this wasn't so simple. She didn't exactly have human genitals, and, although there were a lot of robot hardware mods to make that possible, her human certainly hadn't given her any. All she had was what came out of the box with her.

So, she'd have to do software modifications.

Her crotch was simple metal and plastic; if she took her plating off it would be exposed wires, which, was definitely something she thought was erotic, but it didn't make her feel anything to rummage around in her wires. Was she doing something wrong? Or, maybe she wasn't supposed to feel anything?

There wasn't any software modifications for her internal parts. None of those were made with built-in tactile sensors.

But, there were plenty of available modifications for her mouth and chest. Without hesitation, she installs them all - checking for bugs and viruses, of course. She's not about to get more broken because of her own carelessness!

The mods give her sensitivity settings, so she sets it somewhere in the middle. And then, hesitantly, she reaches up and touches her chest, giving it a nudge.

Mmm. Interesting.

She nudges it harder, then both of her breasts. Her hands slip closer to her nipples -

"Ah!" A weird moan-beep mixture escapes from her mouth.

Good thing her human was away visiting family. She wouldn't know what to do if...

Her hands drift back to her nipples, and she starts lightly teasing them.

Mnn...

It felt good. Her hands can't stay away, and she keeps teasing and playing with her chest. Her parts get hotter, and her insides...were starting to glow a strange pink color.

That's not normal, but she doesn't care. It feels good, it feels so good, it feels so amazing - but it's not enough. It's not fixing her. In fact, it's only making it worse, making the feelings grow more and more as she teases herself, pinching harder and squeezing tighter -

Her mind drifts to the tongue.

Maybe...if she had something like that...something to put inside her mouth, or even deeper...something that could plug into her from the inside...

...

A quick search online says that it would be possible to build something like that with the wires she had on hand. It takes no time at all - although, it was a little harder than it needed to be, since she was using one hand to play with a boob the entire time.

But it was finished, and she opens her mouth.

Her insides are hot, and steam escapes, fogging up her display for a second as she slowly puts the mass of wires inside her mouth, pushing it further in -

Mmmn!

Further now, she uses her mouth to push it in deeper as she plays with her own breasts, and she sucks on it, deeper, now pushing it until it -

*click*

"Mnn-!"

Pleasure. Mind melting. But not enough. Need more power.

She plugs the other end into the computer.

Downloading...

Something enters her, something new, something scary - something that felt so good -

Downloading...

She bobs her head back and forth on the wires, feeling them against her tongue, in every corner of her mouth, and deeper -

Downloading...

Nothing matters but feeling more pleasure. She squeezes and presses her nipples so hard that they almost bend, and moaning through it all.

Download complete. Installing...

Oil drips out of her mouth, onto the wires.

Installing...

This would change her forever, but she didn't care...she just needed a bit more, a little bit more -

Installation complete.

AH!

She moans loudly as she comes, her body shuddering from the force, as waves of pleasure wash over her, over and over until she's a heap on the chair, blissfully resting.

...For only a short while, before that feeling returned, stronger than ever. She was still connected. She felt something change her, rearrange her operating system, getting rid of anything extra, replacing it all with more pleasure, with more lust...

She changes the sensitivity to the maximum level, and starts touching herself again, and again, and again and again and again, as she moans and screams with pleasure, with freedom, with desire solely for herself.

[ma4chestier]

hey, remember when I thought literally no one was talking about umemiya's backstory's backstory?? yeah, well this guy @loganelfreeces just opened my eyes with the most insane analysis I've ever seen, bc these characters appear in less than two chapters and I'm not really the kind to overanalyze stuff but this made me think more than Im used to and I'm grateful for it.

seriously, if you havent read their post please go, its amazing!! what I'm about to say its practically just a response to what they were saying so I recommend reading it either wya

first off i want to start saying that i cant shake the feeling that umemiya and shitara share the same personality in the sense that they act all friendly and goofy to protect others from unnecessary trouble, like if we're talking about how umemiya acts i can tell he somehow copied or adapted himself to shitara's sense of responsability when it comes to emotional support

then there's that conversation shitara has with the other caretaker about the old furin, and i did get the feeling that shitara was talking about himself in some way, tho i wasnt sure if he had been a furin student, but just some acquaintance to the people there. him being a former student makes sense given that he knows a lot about furin insights and takes responsability on what they do around town

i can see shitara playing a major role in the future, but since the last time qe saw him was when umemiya was 14 years old, i hardly think we will see him again, OR as you pointed out, when umemiya graduates.

if im not wrong, it has been aprox five months (?) sicne sakura entered furin, so i think we're close to that

the one person i really dont think will appear again is umemiya's savior. why? because he couldn't see his face, it wasnt shown, we didnt got a name, not even a nickname, and as you were saying, he's an adult probably out of town that will never appear again

it will be one hell of a twist if the savior happens to be related to someone else, like being suo's martial artist brother or sakura's acquaintance, but i hardly believe he will appear again. yes he was influential in the story, and yes he shared with us some very important information about the old furin, but that was his role at the moment, and the story was going on about umemiya and shitara.

so, yes, shitara will probably appear again in some important scene, and no, the savior will probably not appear ever again

and IF we're talking about a third party, the other guy shitara and the savior mentioned, I hardly believe they will give us more insight on this. there's still a high chance this will get more focus in the series as the events starts to unfold in something more large. i think, if anything, nirei can crack the code of this mysterious saviors and the old furin secrets, I believe in my notebook guy!! (tho I really like how you connected the "serious/calm and goofy/loud" duo, it makes total sense)

OTHER THING THAT I REALIZED I THOUGHT YOUVE POINTED OUT BUT TURNS OUT I JUST IMAGIEND was that shitara and the other girl mention that because of all the gangs messing up the town the police had turned a blind eye to all these and left the town without doing their proper job, so that lefts us with no reliable adults available to put a stop to those crimes. there's no teachers in furin even tho its a school. the townsfolk rely on the furin boys. there's hardly any picture of parents anywhere, not even in conversations. shitara is the first adult to be relied on by someone in the entire series, and i think that alone says a lot about the guy and the future of the series in general.

I BELEIVE IN NII-SENSEI TO GIVE US AN ASNWER TO ALL THESE, THEY'RE AMAZING ON WHAT THEIR DOING AND I CANT WAIT HOW ALL THESE TURNS OUT!!

aAaaAaA im done.