#can’t believe these two are getting married

[stllmnstr]

something old, something new

hello have a 2.3k drabble about Heeseung still having feelings for his ex heavily inspired by the above behind the scenes no doubt mv pics and based on this anon prompt sent to me:

this was supposed to be short but I got carried away and ended up writing 2.3k on my PHONE in an hour so please excuse any typos 😭

⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖

Lee Heeseung loves weddings.

When he admits this to people, which is in and of itself a fairly rare occasion, they assume it’s for all of the usual reasons.

The open bar, the well curated playlist, the free food... After all, those are the typical things men in their mid twenties tend to enjoy. And Heeseung always nods along. Forces a laugh whenever his conversation partner cracks another age old joke about getting a little too tipsy on the dance floor.

Besides, it’s not like he’s immune to baser pleasures. At twenty-five, Heeseung does genuinely enjoy eating well and getting drunk on someone else’s dime.

But if he digs a little deeper, is a little more honest with himself, the real reason he loves weddings so much is the romance of it all.

A white dress thats been agonized over and alternated to perfection. A cake thats been taste-tested and intentionally designed with the lucky couple in mind. A venue that likely cost an arm and a leg, but it’s worth it, because it’s the place where two people get to display the love they have for each other in front of everyone that’s important in their lives.

And Jay, he thinks, has outdone them all. The ballroom Heeseung steps into with perfectly shined shoes is jaw-droppingly gorgeous. Crystal chandeliers bathe the high ceilinged room in soft, warm light that almost glows like candles at dusk.

The aisle separates two generously sized sections of seating from one another. Each table is laid with a crease less cream colored tablecloth and a bouquet of flowers that Heeseung doesn’t want to guess the price of. It’s stunning. It’s perfect.

And Jay, Heeseung’s best friend of thirteen years, deserves nothing less.

Jake seems to agree. Coming to stand next to Heeseung, he jerks his chin towards the door that leads to the neighboring room. “I just heard from a very trustworthy source that the open bar starts at 1 pm sharp,” he grins.

Heeseung has a sneaking suspicious that this trustworthy source is Sunghoon, which means it’s likely to be incorrect. Besides, booze isn’t what he’s here for.

“Hopefully not,” Heeseung nudges Jake’s shoulder, “since no one wants to watch you stumble down the aisle.”

“At least I’m just a groomsman.” Jake shrugs. “You, on the other hand, Mr. Best Man, have to be on your best behavior. Besides, I can handle my alcohol.”

Heeseung’s lips flatten. “I have several videos that prove otherwise.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Jake waves his palm. “I’ll be good. I promise. No shots until after the ceremony.”

Heeseung just rolls his eyes. His younger friend might be a little more lax when it comes to conducting himself in public, but Heeseung isn’t actually worried. This is Jay’s wedding, after all. And no matter how much Jake and Sunghoon enjoy a good party, they also know how to take things seriously when it matters.

For a moment, Jake just looks around the room, taking it in like Heeseung had a few minutes prior. Similar actions, different conclusions. Jake doesn’t comment on the lighting or the tablecloths or even the romance. Instead, he says, “I can’t believe Jay’s actually getting married.”

“Yeah,” Heeseung breathes. Jay is the first in their friend group to officially leave bachelor-hood, and it does feel a bit strange to bear witness to. “Me neither.”

Jake is still shaking his head. “And he’s the first one out of all of us. That’s almost weirder. You know, we always thought it would be –”

Remembering himself, Jake lets the sentiment die on his lips.

It doesn’t matter, though. Heeseung already knows what he was going to say.

We always thought it would be you.

Four long years ago, at twenty-one, Heeseung had felt far too young for marriage. But that didn’t stop him from imagining what you’d look like in a white dress. What flavor of wedding cake the two of you would select from the box of samples. What overpriced venue you would decide to officially intertwine your lives in.

It didn’t stop him from tucking away a small, velvet box in the back of his drawer for safekeeping. From fantasizing about kneeling in front of you and finally sliding a gorgeous, sparking ring right where he wanted it to belong.

It didn’t stop him from making promises and plans. Adjustments to his life just to make sure there was always space for you.

But one year later, the box and the ring inside were still tucked away. And the love Heeseung kept safe suddenly had no place to go.

He told his friends it was mutual, that you’d made the decision together. But Heeseung never wanted to let go. Even if a job opportunity meant you had to move across the country. Even if it made no logical sense for him to follow when he was still finishing his degree.

It was circumstances, he explained to his friends, to his family. Not anything either of you did wrong.

But alone, surrounded by the four walls of his bedroom and the overwhelming clamor of his own thoughts, Heeseung just cried. Sobbed. The kind of tears that left him gasping for air and with a throb behind his temple.

Because he knew that he never would have done that to you. He would have turned down the job, would have found a way to make long distance work, would have transferred to another university to be close to you even if it wasn’t logical.

He would have done it, the big romantic gesture that gives the rom-com a happy ending and signals to the production team that it’s time to roll the credits.

But you didn’t. When he suggested long distance, you just sighed. And there were tears in your eyes too, but there was no fight.

So Heeseung, despite every bone in his body screaming at him not to, let you go.

And now, three years later, he’s about to watch his best friend get married and pretend it doesn’t sting. He’s happy for Jay. He is. But the selfish parts of him will always wish he was the one waiting at the end of the aisle instead. For you.

The universe has never made a habit of bending to his desires, though, and he fulfills his role as best man well. The ceremony goes off without a hitch, and Jake is appropriately steady-footed in his role as a groomsman.

The white dress is gorgeous. The cake is delicious. The venue is perfect. Whatever romance is, Jay and his fiancée — no, his wife — have captured it well.

Despite his earlier words, Heeseung makes a home for himself at the aforementioned open bar the second the ceremony is over. Knocking back another swig of whiskey, he appreciates the slight burn. At least it’s in his throat this time, instead of his heart. And at least it’s induced by alcohol instead of misplaced jealousy.

But he must have had one too many drinks, because for a fleeting moment, he swears that the late arrival that makes a hesitant entrance into the reception room is—

No.

There’s no way.

You only knew Jay because you knew Heeseung, and those flowers withered three long years ago. You have no reason to be here now.

But then he hears it, and oh the lurch in his heart hurts just as bad as it did the first time. Because despite the improbability of it all, that’s your voice that floats above the music and exchanged pleasantries with another guest. Even after all the time that’s passed, Heeseung would know it anywhere. Could pick it out of any crowd.

He turns to you slowly, as if he can delay the inevitable just a little longer. As soon as his eyes land on you, he realizes his mistake. He shouldn’t have looked at you at all, should have just slid off the bar stool and ran in the other direction because it still hurts.

You’re three years older, and the time has been good to you. The evening dress you wear hangs from your body in a way that only reminds him of what you look like beneath it, of the way running his hands and his lips and his love over the skin you conceal used to feel like second nature. The way you used to play with his hair with his head in your lap, trading small moments of intimacy after a long day.

It hurts. It aches and it stings and it burns.

He has to get out of here. He has to leave. Now.

Not caring if he’s making a scene, Heeseung stands from the barstool. The only reason he tries to be somewhat discreet is to avoid the heat of your gaze.

All the way to the door on the opposite side of the room, he doesn’t turn back. Not once. On the other side of the door, he lets his body go limp against the solid surface beneath his spine, just for a moment. He exhales a long held breath.

But the air is still stifling, even as he loosens the tie at his neck. Straightening back to his full height, he turns down a short hallway until he arrives at the small outdoor balcony he noticed earlier.

The air outside is cold, at least. Fresh.

On the horizon, the sun spends its last few moments of the day painting the sky in gorgeous, golden hues. Heeseung squints, but he doesn’t look away. Hands wrapped around the bannister that lines the balcony, he sags into himself.

Shoulders hunched, he forces a long inhale into his lungs. And then he releases it. His breath is a pattern he can cling to, something steady that tethers him back to reality. Something to focus on that isn’t the war in his mind.

But peacetime is only an illusion. After a handful of quiet minutes, he hears the door open behind him.

“Oh,” you startle. He knows it’s you, even from just one syllable. “Sorry, I didn’t realize someone was out here already. I’ll just…” Your words trail off into silence, but Heeseung doesn’t hear retreating footsteps, doesn’t hear the door close again. After another stilted moment, what he hears is, “Heeseung?”

Your voice is small. As if you can apologize just by being gentle. As if he’s a wounded animal you don’t want to startle.

And Heeseung, despite himself, does feel a bit like a kitten left out in the rain when he finds it in himself to turn and face you.

The only word he says is your name. His tone is steady, even. More so than he thought he was capable of. But he’s looking at you now too, and his eyes have never been good at hiding secrets.

“I…” You trail off again. You’re at a loss too. “How are you?”

“Don’t do that,” Heeseung shakes his head.

“I’m sorry,” you retreat immediately. But Heeseung remembers when you used to argue, when you used to fight back. When you valued the strength of your relationship over his wounded pride.

“Don’t be,” Heeseung shakes his head again. “You made your choice, so stick to it. You don’t get to…” He screws his eyes shut for a moment, fist clenching at his side. Opening his eyes again, he matches your gaze. “You don’t get to leave me and then apologize for it.”

Your breath hitches, but you don’t miss a beat. “I meant for intruding,” you tell him. “I was apologizing for disturbing you.”

But you remember how he used to love making space for you in his life. How his plans were your plans and his time alone on a balcony would only be made better if you were there, too.

And you still remember the day you were inspired by a strong bout of spring fever, how you dedicated an entire afternoon to deep cleaning.

You still remember the small, velvet box you found.

You didn’t open it, but you didn’t have to. The small, nondescript container scared you enough. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to marry Heeseung. You already had Pinterest boards full of white dresses and three-tier cakes and stunning venues. Suits that you thought would bring out his best features.

But you’d also just gotten the news of your promotion. Across the country. You didn’t know how to tell him, and you had less of an idea how to leave him.

But you knew you had to. He would follow you, if you let him. You were sure of it. But he was enrolled in the best university for his program, and you watched him fight tooth and nail to earn his spot there.

Heeseung was a bright light, a beacon of good things, and if you were honest with yourself, you felt like his commitment to you was something that only weighed him down.

He was an adult, too. A young one, yes, but a full, grown person all the same. Perfectly capable of making his own decisions, but you took that from him anyway.

And now, three years later, you can still read him like an open book. There’s hurt in his gaze, pain that lingers even now. There’s resentment, too, and you can’t blame him for it.

I still love you, you want to tell him. Because it’s true. Because you do. Because you can see it in his eyes, too.

But you’ve always been better at holding your tongue than him.

Instead, you turn on your heel, planning to exit the way you came.

Fingers around the door handle, the sound of your name stops you.

It sounds like he’s begging, like he’s pleading, and you can’t bear to turn and see the results of your devastation as surely as you hear them.

Instead, you remain motionless. You squeeze your eyes shut as tightly as you can.

And then, so faintly it’s almost lost to the wind, he says, “Stay. Please.”

.....

thanks for reading! send me a drabble prompt here if you'd like!

[pascaloverx]

HAUNTED

Summary: You awaken from a two-year coma to find that Detective Lois has been eagerly awaiting your recovery, believing you might have witnessed something crucial to catching a serial killer. What you didn’t expect is to learn that she suspects your doctor of being the murderer—and even more shockingly, it appears that you are married to him. Now, you must uncover your lost memories and find out who Charlie Mayhew truly is to you.

Author's Note: Yes, I'm writing another fanfic featuring Nicholas Alexander Chavez’s character from Grotesquerie. The characters belong to the universe created by Ryan Murphy in the series Grotesquerie (2024). This fanfic will include violence, strong language, and adult content. It will portray the character Charlie Mayhew as a doctor. I hope you enjoy the fanfic, but there's nothing certain about its future. If you like this fanfic, please interact, leave comments. This author will be grateful for any interaction. Minors should not interact with this chapter, be warned.

Warning: The chapter may be somewhat confusing, but keep in mind that much of it takes place in the reader's mind, and every time a word appears in bold, it signifies a shift in her mental landscape. Enjoy your reading! Engage with the story if you’d like more chapters.

FOUR

© credits for the owners of the pictures used. they don't belong to me. credit is not mine for the pictures.

FIVE (+18)

In your mind, everything was a blur. You had no memory of getting up, leaving the precinct, or returning home, yet here you were—dressed differently, standing before your husband. Or at least, you hoped it was him.

"Do you approve of my attire?" Charlie inquires, shifting slightly to emphasize the priest’s garments draped over his frame. His tone is light, teasing, yet something about the sight unsettles you.

"How did I get here, my dear?" you ask softly, closing the door behind you. Confusion lingers in your voice, but instinct pulls you forward. You rush into his arms, and he embraces you tightly, lifting you off the ground as though to anchor you. The warmth of his touch, the strength in his hold, should have been reassuring—but instead, it only deepens the disarray in your mind.

"I assumed you’d still be cross about our argument," Charlie murmurs, pressing a lingering kiss to your cheek before setting you down.

"What argument?" you ask, your breath hitching. A sharp pulse of unease shoots through you. How could he be concerned with a past quarrel when the world around you no longer made sense?

"You’re acting strangely, mi amor," Charlie murmurs, his fingers tracing your cheek with delicate reverence. "But if you insist on revisiting our argument, I’ll remind you." His tone is reluctant, as though he'd rather not speak of it. Yet, the last thing you recall is the two of you making amends in bed—so how could there have been a fight at all?

"You and I argued about having a child," he begins, and suddenly, a flash flickers through your mind—you, hurling a plate at him in a fit of rage.

"As you know, we’ve been trying for years," Charlie continues, stepping closer, wrapping his arms around you from behind. "But doing things the traditional way hasn’t worked for us."

"I can’t carry a child," you whisper, memories flooding back—the countless hospital visits, the treatments, the sleepless nights, the relentless arguments. It all crashes down on you like a torrential flood.

"We can’t," Charlie corrects, holding you tighter, as if anchoring you to him. "And you know I don’t like it when you blame yourself."

"Is that why we killed that pregnant woman?" you ask, voice laced with a morbid curiosity that barely disguises the horror curling in your stomach. A sudden, visceral memory surges forth—a surgery, the metallic scent of blood, your hands cradling a crying newborn, the lifeless body of a pregnant woman lying beside you.

Then, as if waking from a dream, you find yourself in a dimly lit warehouse. The air is thick with the scent of damp earth and something more sinister. Charlie stands before you, dressed in his usual white coat, while you—clad in a flowing white gown, eerily reminiscent of a wedding dress—stand motionless. Blood stains the fabric, stark against the pale material. At your feet lies a massive wooden crate.

"I know this isn’t the answer you wanted," Charlie says, shoveling another heap of dirt over the buried box, his expression unreadable. "But trust me, it could be worse."

"How could anything be worse than discovering I’m a murderer?" you whisper, a sob clawing its way up your throat. You hadn’t even noticed you were crying until Charlie offers you a handkerchief.

"Don’t cry," he soothes, dropping the shovel and striding toward you. "It wasn’t your fault."

His arms envelop you, warm and unyielding, and you sink into his embrace, pressing your face against his chest. But then something shifts. You tilt your head up, gazing into his eyes before crashing your lips against his, kissing him with a feverish hunger that borders on madness. Your hands slide down, gripping his backside, forcing a low groan from his throat.

"Would you believe we had to kill someone just to spice things up?" Charlie murmurs, his voice thick with amusement and desire.

Before you can answer, he lifts you effortlessly and presses you onto the bed—your bed, as if the two of you had been transported there in an instant. His hands move with practiced ease, removing your clothing, his lips trailing heat along your skin, leaving you breathless. Without you realizing, his touch becomes more insistent, drawing soft gasps from your lips as he explores you

"And the baby, mi esposo?" you ask between shuddering breaths, feeling your husband’s hands work their way over your body. In your mind, the murders seemed connected to the child, yet Charlie had spoken of killing as if it were nothing more than a means to heighten your passion—an unsettling thought. Charlie continued to stimulate your pussy, as he removes his belt, binding your hands above your head with his belt.

"You always told me that taking a life made you burn with desire, but I never imagined the thought of a child would do the same," he murmurs, pulling you closer. "Don't worry, mi amor. If you're a good girl, I'll give you as many children as you wish," he promises, his voice dripping with confidence as he pulls his pants down and then frees his cock from his underwear.

In moments as you process what is happening, Charlie moves forward, scratching your ass while thrusting his cock into your pussy. You want to say something that will make him answer the damn question but with each thrust of his, your body trembles with pleasure as if it has been so long since he touched you. His fingers tightening around your waist while he tried to guide you with the movements so that you were in tune while he stuck his cock in you as if he wanted to make his home in your pussy. You feel your orgasm building as you try to hold on to your husband as much as you can with your hands pinned under your head. Charlie cums inside you almost immediately after he feels you come undone in his arms.

"Now, can we talk about the baby?" you ask, determined to understand the true reason behind the murders. Charlie is still catching his breath, his hand lazily sliding down your body before gripping your waist possessively.

"Mi amor," he murmurs indulgently. "There is no baby. Remember? We chose not to ruin our careers with children." He presses a soft kiss to your lips, as if nothing were amiss. You frown. Something is wrong. Something has always been wrong.

"What does ‘priest’ mean to you, Charlie?" you ask, the pieces of your fractured reality shifting, refusing to fit together. He smirks, as if recalling a fond memory. "We met at the Catholic seminary. I thought I wanted to be a priest. You were a nun whose devotion was tested." His lips trail along your neck, the kisses slow, almost reverent. "We were caught sinning in the house of God." A shiver runs down your spine.

"A few months later, I finished the medical degree I had abandoned before joining the seminary, and you discovered your true talent as a painter." His hands roam your body with a familiar sense of ownership as he speaks, as if everything makes perfect sense. Your mind spins, trying to stitch together the scattered fragments of your memories.

"So… we didn’t kill someone to take their baby?" Your voice wavers between trying to process his words and resisting the way his touch clouds your thoughts.

Charlie chuckles darkly, his breath warm against your ear. "Of course not. We did it because I needed a test subject for my surgical techniques." His fingers grip your chin, tilting your face toward him. "And you," he whispers against your lips, his eyes gleaming with something wicked, "get wet when you watch me work."

Disgust crashes into you like a violent wave, cutting through the haze of his presence. With a surge of clarity, you shove him off you. Charlie stumbles, hitting the floor with a dull thud. But before you can even process what you’ve done, before you can see if he’s hurt, everything around you shifts. You are no longer in your bedroom. You are in a church.

"Come closer," Charlie commands, dressed as a priest, his voice echoing softly through the vast church. He descends from the altar, where religious artifacts and flickering candles cast eerie shadows, and walks slowly down the aisle toward you. At the sight of him—whole, unharmed—you begin to cry, even though you know none of this is real.

"Mi amor," you whisper, throwing yourself into his arms, clutching him in a desperate embrace.

"Ask forgiveness for your sins, and God, our almighty Lord, will grant you mercy," he murmurs, still holding you close. His fingers glide through your hair with tender affection before he presses a soft kiss to the crown of your head.

"What am I to seek forgiveness for?" you ask, pulling back slightly to meet his gaze. His priestly robes suit him unsettlingly well.

"Kneel first," Charlie instructs, his tone gentle yet firm. "Like the good, God-fearing wife you are." Something deep inside you hesitates, but you obey, lowering yourself before him.

"Ask forgiveness for joining me in this performance," he says, looking down at you as he places a rosary in your hands. "For delving too deeply."

"I ask God's forgiveness for such a sin," you say almost instantly, though the hard church floor is already making your knees ache.

"Now," he continues, his voice even, unwavering, "ask forgiveness for killing those people in God's name—alongside your husband." His words make you falter. "My husband is you," you state, unsure if you are seeking confirmation or reminding yourself of reality.

"Yes," Charlie replies, his voice carrying a haunting sweetness. "And together, we have sinned." He smiles in that way that is both angelic and utterly wicked.

"You wanted to believe in something, and I gave you purpose," he says. "Together, we sought to cleanse the world, removing those whose hearts were impure, creating our own faith." Charlie kneels before you now, his movements slow and deliberate.

"You lead this cult?" you ask, hesitantly reaching out to touch his face. "We lead it, mi amor," he corrects, then pulls you into a kiss—soft, slow, intoxicating. But the moment his lips leave yours, pain rips through you. A blade. Charlie buries a knife in your stomach, his grip firm, unwavering.

"Charlie… why?" Your voice trembles as your blood spills over his hands, pooling onto the cold church floor.

"There is always blood on our hands, mi amor," he whispers, brushing his lips against your cheek. "There are sacrifices we must make to purify the world." He drives the knife deeper, a lover's caress turned cruel. Darkness edges at your vision, but before it consumes you, you force yourself to ask:

"Before this reality fades… tell me—who is Detective Megan Duval to you? And was Detective Lois Tryon right about anything?" Somewhere, you feel yourself slipping away, feel the world shifting around you. Perhaps you will wake in your reality. But something tells you—this is the closest you have ever come to the truth.

"Megan is my ex," Charlie answers, his voice steady, almost affectionate. "She’s part of our cult because she still wants me back. She even tried to kill you once, but I stopped her. Lois? She’s a drunk desperate to use the murder case to make a name for herself. She doesn’t care about you. She and Megan were partners—until Duval betrayed Tryon to save me from getting caught. Now, Lois is on the verge of losing her job. They think she’s drinking again." The pieces start to click into place.

"What were these visions I had?" you ask, your body weakening as the illusion of life drains from you. Charlie watches you with something resembling tenderness.

"Fragments of the truth," he tells you, his tone almost soothing. "Memories of what happened. Some distorted, some fabricated—because your mind is fighting to make sense of it all. You hit your head hard when you collapsed. But soon, mi amor, it will all become clear." With agonizing slowness, Charlie pulls the knife from your body and presses a final kiss to your forehead.

Then— you wake with a gasp, your throat burning. A nurse rushes to your bedside, hastily removing the tube from your throat. The harsh light stings your eyes. IV lines run into your arms. Medical monitors beep steadily around you. You are in a hospital bed.

"Mi amor," Charlie says as he steps into your hospital room, dressed in a sleek suit. His presence is steady, reassuring. He drops a backpack onto the floor before making his way toward your bed. The moment his arms wrap around you, warmth floods your body. His embrace is so familiar, so comforting.

"Is this real?" you ask, holding onto him tightly, unwilling to let go. The nurse’s voice cuts through the moment, instructing him to keep his distance so she can examine you, but neither of you acknowledge her.

"Of course it's real," Charlie reassures you, pressing a kiss to your cheek before capturing your lips in his. "You’ve been unconscious for weeks. I was afraid I’d lose you."

"I missed you," you whisper, clutching the back of his neck, pulling him closer. Charlie hums softly against your ear, murmuring that he missed you too before peppering kisses along your jaw, your cheeks, your lips. His touch is gentle yet possessive, his presence so consuming that, for a fleeting moment, everything else ceases to exist.

You could ruin this moment. You could throw accusations, demand answers, question everything lingering at the back of your mind. But right now, none of that matters. Right now, all you want is to hold onto your husband and pretend—for just a little while longer—that everything is as it should be. Only one certainty remains: Lois and the police must never suspect that we are guilty. That we are involved.

TO BE CONTINUED...

[in-hos-wife]

A lost Puppy in love

Gi-hun x best friend! reader

Summery: Y/n is deeply in love with his best friend Gi-hun, but Gi-hun can't figure out why they are following them everywhere

Word count: 901

You and Gi-hun have been friends since your second year of high school but you developed feelings for him in your last year of high school. You didn’t want to believe it, you liked a you liked your best friend. So you never told him how you felt, and then you guys went your separate ways. When you two did see each other you were inseparable but then he got married he didn’t have as much time anymore but you guys made it work, hanging out every now and then. A few years later he had his daughter you guys went from hanging out once to twice a month to once every three months but you didn’t complain he’s a dad now that was till his daughter was ten and he go divorced, you still didn’t see him that much but when you did you guys hung out together he got into gambling and start asking you for money you’d give it to him when he asked sometimes he didn’t, if you heard him and his mom were struggling you’d give him cash. He’d always say he’d pay you back but you always told him not to you just wanted to make sure they could live

Then two years ago he showed up to your door with a bag you invite him in while you guys are talking he hands you the bag, you look inside and it’s cash “what is this gi-hun?” He stayed silent for a moment than he speaks “the money i owe you” you look at him for a moment you told him he didn’t have to pay you back, but you knew how stubborn he is so you take it and hug him and he hugs you back. After that you to started hanging out once a week you don’t know why but he’s changed he’s not as childish he looks like he has a weight on his shoulders. Everytime you ask him what happened he ignores it or changes the topic so you didn’t fight it. You thought that even if he won’t tell you staying by his side will hopefully help whatever he’s going though, so for the past two years anytime he needed you, you were there you were always around recently even if he didn’t call your there daily like how it was in high school this confused him. He doesn’t understand why you wanna be near him so much, following him like a lost puppy, and his not wrong your a puppy in love again with a man you believe you’d never have but you might have a chance if he could ever see you that way

Now you guys are going to his motel the walk is quite you want so badly to hold his you let you pinky touch his then you move your hand away and try’s to start a conversation and it works you guys start talking. After you got to his motel your sitting in his room, your watching him pace back and forth in front of he’s security cameras footage he look’s the camera and sits down, you decide to talk to him see what he’s got going on in his head a thought of telling him how you feel but you push that down you then go to sit next to him to sit and smile “you ok? You look worried about something” you look at him “I’m fine just wondering things don’t worry about me” when he’s says that you know he’s lying “you don’t have to lie to me I care about you a lot more then you know and I want you to trust me even if it’s not right now” he look at you when you said that he sigh “I trust you but I can’t bring you into this I care about you and don’t want you getting hurt and I do trust you I trust you so much” you smile and lay your head on his shoulder it makes his heart flutter and that makes him confused.

After a few days he slowly realizes he has a thing for you and now that’s he’s watching you more he can tell you like him too and you have for awhile that’s why you were following him like a lost puppy. You where both sitting in your bedroom and you look over to him “wanna cuddle and play trivia like how we did when we were kids?” He nods and you guys start to cuddle while playing trivia, as you both play trivia you start jokingly hitting him as he chuckles you both look at eachother and you decide to give into your inner thoughts and kiss him it was quick and then you look at him “I’m sorry….i just really..I have feelings for you” he looks at you and your worried he’s gonna hate you and that he’s never gonna talk to you again, but then he puts his warm kinda soft hand on your face and smiles “you dork I like you too” *you both chuckle “wow we act like teenagers” you say smiling at him “you know I always wondered why you followed me like a lost puppy” he chuckles and lays you into his chest “then I guess I’m a lost puppy in love” you smile and kiss him then lay on his chest.

Tagged

@pixiepipedreams

[mychlapci]

DRatchrod mommy incest alternate bad ending

Im sorry to keep spamming this, last one for now

Something something where Drift tries to save Ratty’s life by impaling him with the Great Sword like how Cyclonus saved Tailgate. It works except Drift suffers from complications. Ratchet is immediately messaging all of their children, including Rodimus.

They all rush back to their home to spend time as a family. Rodimus feels weird and out of place, not really knowing anyone due to his long absence. He tries though, for the parents he hurt. Drift privately shares words with all of them but it’s Rodimus he asks to take care of them all, yes, that means even taking Ratchet as his Conjunx.

Rodimus almost breaks down. The irony of his biggest wish coming true and he’s not happy about it.

After the funeral, Rodimus moves back to Cybertron but gets his own place. None of them are ready to live together yet and Rodimus is willing to put in the work to bond with them. He’s not going to replace daddy, he says. He’s going to look after them since daddy can’t anymore.

Over time, his siblings now legally his sparklings do warm up to him. The real problem is Ratchet who isn’t ready to move on, not yet. He apologizes to Rodimus for not properly being his but Rodimus doesn’t accept it, saying Ratchet has nothing to apologize for. Over time, the two grow close again, enough that Ratchet asks him to move in and they can be proper conjunxes.

They do have a long and emotional sex marathon and they name the resulting sparkling after Drift.

OoOooh the one where Drift dies instead... now he's actually gone and Rodimus can't believe that he ever wished for this. not that he isn't happy to have Ratchet as his conjux again, but... no one else is happy. his siblings barely know him, Ratchet is grieving... and even when they finally start to interface, Ratchet occasionally says Drift's name during it...

but also, consider, Ratchet's much older, age will end up catching up to him eventually, and poor Rodimus now will have to marry their oldest offspring Drift... way to pour salt into the wound.

[moonshynecybin]

51. accidentally married & 67. character in peril for rosquez if you feel inclined.

this is giving like. fairy tale/historical romance type au (pulling justtttt a lil bit from hero and claudio in much ado about nothing…) where rosquez broke up horribly ten years ago ruining marc’s young reputation because vale believed him unfaithful bc of a scheme from uccio yada yada yada. and time passes and neither moves on bc that’s how they roll. BUT. then there’s this terrible awful bloody political turf war that the marquez family get embroiled in, that has alex and marc go into hiding at the behest of their parents. like truly take alex take yourself get out of the country and stay alive. and he has to protect alex, and there’s no allies at home. so marc can’t think of anything to do except run and hide in not italy. fantasy italy. you get me he’s seeking asylum with friends (gresini? distant allies of their family) there.

but they get mugged on the road!!! it’s not even politically motivated they’re just biblically unlucky… and all of their carefully sealed documents assuring people of their identity and their need for protection/asylum are GONE and they have no money and only like. a few of their best clothes that the bandits couldn’t carry and a one or two of their entourage (santi, jose) left and like. one lone horse that marc makes alex ride on while he walks beside them… and things are dire and alex is sick from the cold but they get to the nearest town and marc KNOWS where he is. feels it deep and thick and clawing in his chest as he walks through tavullia. and then he finds a flyer advertising that the local lord has decided to marry. and is looking for a spouse to produce an heir. and that there will be three masquerade balls open to the public in which he will choose his bride. and it’s vale. and marc is desperate and tempted and at the end of his rope looking for resources to save his family and all he has is a few of his fine clothes left. and he thinks hey. i’ve made him fall in love with me before

[schrijverr]

I Didn’t Mean to Say I Do, but I Do. I Do. 44

Chapter 44 out of 50

Secret marriage of convenience buddie slow burn AU, where Buck and Eddie have been married for years so Buck could adopt Chris and no one at the 118 knows.

In this chapter, Eddie doesn’t believe in signs, he is just working on saving people hit by the tsunami. However, a natural disaster forcing you back towards your family is as close to a sign as you can get.

On AO3.

Ships: Buddie

Warnings: injury, minor character death mention

~~~

Chapter 44: Looking for a Sign

A tsunami. Eddie honestly isn’t sure why he didn’t expect that when he came into work today with the craziness that is LA, but then again, no one expects a natural disaster a year after the last one. If he has to guess, the only person that expected this is his mom, who expects LA to be the most dangerous place on earth every day of the week.

Eddie is so glad they managed to mollify her with a promise of a few weeks stay in El Paso by Chris over the break, because he doesn’t think he would have survived this last period if she’d been berating him every second.

He’s only just finding his footing again, becoming more confident. He’s not out, far from it, but he’s gotten comfortable thinking of himself as gay.

Work has helped – as has Bosko of course, but work is different – because it’s the same. Neither he nor Buck mentioned their troubles at home, well, Eddie’s troubles, so the others don’t ask questions or send him worried looks. They just treat him like Eddie, like he’s still the same. He needs that.

Right now, though, work is not like usual. A natural disaster is always an all hands on deck situation and this is no different.

It’s unreal to look over the carnage and Eddie is starting to be real glad they live on the other side of town. Chris was a little bummed out in the car on Friday when he brought him home, because they were going to stay in this weekend. Then Eddie felt slightly bad, almost traded his shift to be free today too, but now he’s only relieved that the two of them are far away from here.

They’re in the boats and all they’re passing are dead bodies to tag, which is always unpleasant work. However, the living ones they’re going to encounter are bound to be worse. Disasters like these always leave gruesome wounds.

Indeed, the first call they answer is pretty bad with soon to be official step-father and son stuck together by a pole through the both of them. They get the son out, but the husband to be is a harder call.

Tensions are high as Bobby dives into the water while the rest of them work to keep Chuck alive as a second surge hits the boat and water starts to come in. Underwater CPR is not an experience Eddie would like to relive.

However, they get him alive into transport, which is more than Eddie thought they’d get when they first came upon the scene. Hen and Chim go with him, so it’s out of his hands, because he follows Bobby to the pier to serve as back up.

The back up in question, is necessary at a Ferris wheel with a bunch of people stuck on it without enough transport and hands to get them away, before it comes down.

“Hey, we could use a hand up here,” a very familiar voice suddenly calls down.

Eddie’s head snaps up and he exclaims: “Bosko?”

Indeed, it is Bosko, who looks surprised for a second. She’s completely soaked and not in natural disaster gear, but she grins down at Eddie. “Diaz, hey! You’re late.”

“Oh fuck off,” he calls back, scanning for injuries. She looks okay and she’s not completely devastated or whatever. However, she is definitely putting on a professional front and Eddie can’t spot any more firefighter blue anywhere.

“You know her?” Bobby asks.

“Yeah, that’s Bosko. She works at the 136, she was my partner while I was there,” Eddie says, already getting ready to climb out of the boat and onto the Ferris wheel. “We work well together, should I go help her?” he asks, though he’s not really asking for permission.

“Alright,” Bobby gives it anyway, “grab an extra harness, rope, pulleys, figure eight plates. I’ll coordinate evac and transport some down here.”

“Sounds like a plan, Cap,” Eddie grins, before doing what he was already going to do and climbing up to where Bosko is.

When he gets there, the man in the cart with Bosko seems to be okay, albeit terrified out of his mind, and the Ferris wheel is shaking. Trying to lighten the air a little, he comments: “That’s not part of the ride,” asking for more information at the same time.

“No, the spokes are coming off the hub. This thing’s been trashed,” Bosko says, focusing on the patient and not looking at Eddie. Her face is scratched up.

“What about you?” he asks. “Are you hurt?”

“No,” she answers curtly, before nodding at the man. “And neither is he.”

“I’m not going anywhere, not until the water is gone,” the man insists.

“Sir, if you don’t come with us, this whole thing will be gone,” Bosko says rather harshly.

Eddie has never seen her mad like that and the weird reality that he’s going to have to be the calm one between them settles in. He also turns to the man and says: “Don’t worry, buddy. I’m gonna get you down safely. I’m just gonna put this harness around you, okay?”

“Okay, okay,” the man nods, still terrified.

“Alright,” Eddie nods, going to help the man while questioning Bosko. “You guys were on the pier when it hit? Where is everyone?”

“Robin’s out sick today and Daisy was man behind. The others… we got separated to all spin cycle. I haven’t seen any of them. Station’s probably hit too,” she replies, mouth pursed as if angry, though Eddie can see it’s just her brave face.

“We’ll run into them at some point,” Eddie assures her. “Cap will let you join our rescue team, we can search for them while we help others.”

The line on her face turns into a small smile and she thanks him, before the two of them lower the terrified man down. With him safely down, they turn to the next cart. Bosko now manages to joke more, saying: “You didn’t want to go climbing with me tomorrow, let’s see how you do now, huh.”

“I didn’t turn you down because I can’t climb. I was half thinking to surprise Chris then, since he was kind of down yesterday, but that clearly isn’t going to happen,” he says, nodding at the carnage around them. “Besides, you’re friends with way too many of your exes, it’s weird.”

“It’s lesbian culture,” she corrects.

“Still weird,” Eddie complains, before showing her that he can climb just fine.

Their next patient is more what you expect when you hear natural disaster. The man’s a possible spinal and if they don’t get a hail Mary, he has a small chance or recovery, if not survival. It isn’t looking great for Max.

However, just because it’s not looking great, doesn’t mean they’re going to give up on him. So, they all work together to get a headboard and neck brace up there, so they can stabilize his neck, while they keep the two occupants distracted by asking what they’d been doing at the pier. Your divorce papers getting interrupted by a tsunami is certainly a story to tell.

It seems the guy was looking for a sign, a sign to try and save their marriage. Buck believes in signs like this. Eddie wonders if he’d see being on this call as a sign, then wonders if he should see it as a sign too.

He shakes off the thought, he doesn’t want to think about it. He doesn’t believe in signs and he’s not going to start now. It can work out between him and Buck, they can still be friends, maybe even stay married. This doesn’t need to be the end, Eddie just has to figure out how to make it right between them. With slight amusement he makes a mental note not to take Buck to the pier when he finally figures it out.

Still, despite not believing in signs, he is relieved when the chopper comes and Max moves his fingers.

It’s just because he’s glad the guy has a better chance to live, he tells himself, trying to ignore the bit of devastation he feels in his chest when Max signs the divorce papers anyway. He called them a beautiful disaster.

Eddie can’t help but apply it to himself. His years with Buck have been the best of his life by far, but, as they said when explaining why they didn’t divorce, things just kept happening. Maybe they are a disaster too?

He likes to think he’s wrong about that, but the thought haunts him as they watch the chopper take Max away.

They lower the woman down, then he and Bosko start to get ready for their climb down. Before they start, they hear Bobby call out: “Incoming! Debris!”

Both their heads snap out towards the water, indeed seeing a slew of debris coming their way, carried by the receding tide. Eddie looks at Bosko and quirks a brow: “Okay, so maybe you climb better, but how’s your diving?”

“What? You suddenly an artistic diver?” Bosko retorts with amusement, as she also stops getting ready to climb down.

“Nah,” he laughs, before jumping.

Bosko is right behind him, the two of them getting pulled onto the ship by Bobby before the debris hits. Behind them, the Ferris wheel that they were just on collapses and Eddie tries to take that as a sign that whatever happened on there doesn’t matter.

When they get back, the receded water means that they can now wade through the water on foot, which is good news, since the trucks are still stuck on the other side of town, unable to get through to them, and boats are in short supply.

“Hen and Chimney are readying some turnout backpacks until we’re mobile again,” Bobby explains to the both of them, seamlessly incorporating Bosko into their team like Eddie predicted. Then he stops and turns to her. “Bosko, your crew from your house are all alive and accounted for, except for Captain Cooper. He’s still MIA. I’m sorry.”

Eddie knows how much Ronnie means to her and he can see it in her eyes that the relief immediately gets overshadowed by grief. MIA in a situation like this is never good. Still, Bosko tries to swallow down the pain, masking with professionalism. “Well, if it’s all the same to you, Captain, I’m gonna stick around and look for him.”

However, Bobby is annoyingly perceptive sometimes, so he doesn’t agree to that immediately, instead asking: “Why are you holding yourself like that?”

“It’s nothing, bruised rib,” Bosko says, playing it off, but Eddie knows her better than that. He’s seen her get punched in the face and react the exact same way.

“Let me take a look at that,” he says, stepping closer.

“I said it’s nothing,” Bosko insists with a foul look send his way.

He sticks his chin out challengingly. She called him out on his bullshit, he’s allowed, if not required, to return the favor. “Then there’s no harm in letting me take a look at it. The sooner you let me, the sooner you can go look for Ronnie. Unless it’s more than a bruised rib?”

“You’re an asshole,” she hisses.

“So, I’m right and it is more than a bruised rib.”

“I liked you better when your head was still so stuck in your own ass that didn’t even know you were a dick, you know that, Diaz?”

“Hey, no need to get aggressive,” Bobby steps between the perceived start of their fight.

“It’s alright, Cap,” Eddie assures him, as Bobby sends him a weird look. It’s not necessarily the kind of friendship the 118 has with each other and he knows it. He just sends a smile back, before turning to Bosko and says: “I had to be honest with you, now it’s your turn.”

She looks away for a second with her jaw squared stubbornly. For a moment, Eddie thinks she isn’t going to answer, then she grits out: “Fine, it’s broken. But I’m fine. I can go on.”

“You sure?” Eddie pulls a disbelieving face. “Must be hurting like a bitch.”

“Yeah, well, breathing isn't super fun,” Bosko says annoyed. “But I’m fine. You know I can take a punch.” “Well, it’s not up to him,” Bobby interrupts them again. “It’s up to me and I’m calling it. You’re out the field. USAR Command is setting up the VA hospital on Sawtelle.” He turns to Eddie. “I want you to stick with her just in case her desire to track down her Captain causes her to lose her way. I’m going to-”

“This is bullshit,” Bosko cuts him off. “You’re not my Captain. My Captain is out there somewhere and I’m not abandoning him to this disaster.”

Eddie winces at that. He knows Bobby isn’t too strict when it comes to decorum, but if she goes on like that, he’s going to have to discipline her. He’s been through that once, would not recommend it in the slightest.

However, before he can say something to soften her words for Bobby, they hear screaming coming from down the street. It’s people calling out for help.

Their little crew is the only ones in the vicinity, so Bobby lets out the big breath he’d just taken and holds up a finger to Bosko. “You’re coming with us on this, only because I don’t trust you enough to let you go by yourself and I might need Eddie’s extra set of hands. You’re going to stand there, help with the light stuff maybe, then you’re going directly to the VA hospital. Am I clear?”

He is most definitely not clear and Bosko would totally argue if there weren’t people screaming for help, but for now she just grits: “Crystal, sir.”

“Good,” Bobby nods after one intense look in her eyes, then he turns on his heel and marches to the people calling out, Bosko and Eddie right behind him.

While they walk behind him, Eddie hisses: “What the hell was that? Do you want to get suspended for insubordination?”

“Of course not, but he can’t stop me,” Bosko frowns back. “You know Ronnie is my friend, you wouldn’t let your friends be alone out here, would you?”

Eddie makes a complicated face, because he knows she’s right, but he also knows Bobby is right. It isn’t that easy. “You’re hurt,” he ends up saying. “Ronnie wouldn’t want you to hurt yourself to look for him.”

“Good thing he’s not here to say that then, so I guess we won’t know for sure, and I say he’d want me to look for him,” Bosko retorts. “What if it were Buck out there?”

“That’s a low blow,” Eddie says, not able to deny it, but still not liking it, sending a glance over to Bobby to make sure he hasn’t heard.

“But it’s true,” Bosko says. “Where is he today? He okay?”

“He’s home with Chris. Lazy day in probably and far away from all this,” Eddie says.

“Did you call them to tell them you’re okay?” Bosko asks and that’s a good point. He hasn’t spoken to Buck yet, not really, but a natural disaster is a good reason to break the habit. It could even be a first step towards coming home. Maybe this is his sign.

“I’ll call when I’m bringing you to the VA hospital.”

“Yeah, like I’m going to let you take me there,” Bosko mutters darkly.

Before Eddie can reply to that, they’ve made their way to a group of people. They’re all standing next to a fire engine or helping people down from it. Upon closer inspection, Eddie realizes it’s the fire engine of the 136. These people must have sheltered on it while the water raged around them.

Once they’re close enough, Bobby calls out: “LAFD, we’re here to help. What’s the problem? Is anyone hurt or stuck?”

“Plenty of people are hurt, but no one serious,” a woman says. “We need you to help us find this man. He saved us all. Pulled us up onto this truck when we drifted by, but he got swept away. He could be hurt.”

“Eddie here can check all of you over,” Bobby tells her gently. “What’s your name?”

“Marissa,” she answers.

“Well, Marissa, we can’t make any promises about finding your rescuer, but if you give us a description, we’ll make sure to keep an eye out for him,” Bobby says

“He’s tall, very tall, and white,” Marissa says. “Some of the debris must have hit him in the face, because he has a bruise on his eye. He’s blond.”

“No, you’re saying it all wrong,” another woman says. “He’s a redhead.”

“No, he’s not,” Marissa insists. “He pulled me out early, I had a good look at him.”

“Well, then you’re blind,” a man is now interjecting himself into the conversation as well. “He is definitely Hispanic.”

Marissa pulls a face. “He’s so not Hispanic.”

“Yes, he is,” the man insists.

The other woman is now picking his side as well, saying: “Yeah, you don’t have to be dark skinned to be Hispanic. You should check your stereotypes.” She turns to Bobby and says: “He’s Hispanic, his kid called him papi. He’s a tall, light skinned, redhead.”

“His hair is more a dirty blond, brownish color,” someone else says.

“No, his hair clashed with his shirt, which was red, so he’s a redhead,” the other woman says as if it is fact.

The three firefighters watch them squabbling about the rescuer’s appearance for a few seconds with confused blinks. It’s truly fascinating how normal people can act even in the face of horrifying events. They see it every day, people who are stabbed and bleeding out, but talking about the weather or complaining that the neck brace is itchy while they might be paralyzed.

Bobby, however, doesn’t have time for it, silencing the crowd as he raises his voice: “Can anyone here give us one description? Or a name? You mentioned a kid, do you still have the kid?”

“I don’t know,” the woman who first mentioned the kid says. “He fell off the truck. It’s why he dove off it again. Didn’t hesitate for a second. It was when the tide receded.” She calls out. “Did anyone see his kid?”

“Yeah, we got him here,” a voice from the back of the crowd calls back. “He managed to grab onto a windowsill a street down.”

“Bring him here,” Bobby calls back.

Eddie is focusing on wrapping the man’s hand, since he still has a job to do. They can’t look for every person, but it’s good to have descriptions of people who are out here so they can get an overview of the total victim count. Maybe give some family out there some closure.

However, he looks up when he hears a sharp intake from Bobby. That’s never a good sound and it seems even worse when he sees Bobby. He’s become white and looks sickened at what is coming towards them through the parting crowd.

He looks to what Bobby might be seeing that is horrifying him this much. It’s a short woman carrying a kid, looking to be between seven or nine. Probably eight. The kid is wearing a yellow striped shirt and brown pants, on his head is a mop full of curls and a strap to hold his glasses in place…

Horror overtakes him too as the kid starts to look more and more familiar. Thoughtlessly he abandons the man’s wound as he gets up from his squat, ignoring the “Hey!” the man lets out.

He feels like he can’t breathe as the woman softly says: “He’s looking for his papi,” before she turns the kid towards them, indeed revealing a face Eddie would usually love to see, but not in these circumstances. Never in these circumstances.

“Christopher?”

Indeed it’s Chris, who blinks more water out of his eyes, before his eyes focus on Eddie. The moment he recognizes him, his face crumbles and he cries out: “Daddy!”

People all but jump out of his way as he rushes towards the woman, realization dawning on their faces of what that must mean for the relationship between him and their rescuer. Eddie’s mind isn’t even there yet, too focused on Chris.

Eddie snatches Chris out of the woman’s arms, hugging him close to his chest as he chokes: “Oh my god, Chris.”

“Daddy,” Chris cries, clutching Eddie as tightly as he can, sobbing into his shoulder much like he’d done in the hospital, now already about four months ago.

He runs his fingers all over Chris’s body, feeling for injuries, relieved when he doesn’t find any broken ribs or other broken bones. He forces Chris’s face away from his shoulder, cupping his cheek as he feels his skull and checks his pupils. “What were you doing out here, mijo?”

“We were going to the pier to celebrate my good grade. I was sad because you weren’t going to be here and papi wanted to cheer me up,” Chris sniffles. “Then the water was gone.”

Suddenly his brain comes back online from where it had dropped off this plane of existence in the face of worrying about Chris. About his son. The description Marissa gave them of their rescuer comes back to him…

‘He’s tall, very tall, and white. Some of the debris must have hit him in the face, because he has a bruise on his eye. He’s blond.’

Buck.

Oh god, Buck.

Eddie maneuvers Chris onto his hip with practiced ease, numb hands fumbling for his phone as he unlocks it and goes to his gallery. Without Buck there, he takes even less photos than he normally would, so his recent pictures all still have Buck in them.

He clicks one blindly and turns the screen back to the other woman – he still hasn’t heard her name and he doesn’t care much either – as he desperately asks: “Is this- Is this him? Is this the man that pulled you out?”

“Y- Yeah, yeah, that’s him,” she stammers, slightly overwhelmed by his intensity.

No.

Just no.

A minute ago, Buck was far from this and at home. He was safe. Now he’s somewhere out here in this hellhole, probably alone, maybe even injured and definitely not back to full strength yet, no matter how far he’s come with his PT.

Buck was out here to cheer Chris up, because Eddie hasn’t been home. If he’d only gone home, then they would be there now. Safe. Now, he has a scared Chris in his arms and Buck is missing. He is missing. And Eddie might never get to see him again.

It’s suddenly a lot harder to breathe and his whole world falls apart around him. He is supposed to find a way to come home. He’s supposed to come home to Buck, he can’t be out here. He can’t be injured or worse. He hoped this disaster was a sign to come home, not a sign that he’s losing it all before he can even try to fix it.

Eddie has to find him. He has to find him right now. Bosko’s hypothetical from earlier is reality and Eddie knows now better than before that she was right. He will do anything to make sure Buck is okay. That he is found.

A hand on his shoulder startles him and he spins around to the source. It’s Bobby, giving him a concerned and sympathetic look, his own heartbreak and fear mirrored on the Captain’s face.

“It’s Buck,” he finally manages. “Buck is out there.”

“And we’ll find him,” Bobby assures him. “But you’re too close to this now, Eddie. We both know that. You’re compromised. Take Bosko to the VA hospital and help out there. You can’t be out on the field anymore either.”

~~

A/N:

TSUNAMI ARC! TSUNAMI ARC! I am so fucking thrilled to be here, I’ve been wanting to write an AU of that arc for so long now, so I’m gonna go hog wild! (Also place your bets now people, is Eddie gonna listen to Bobby)

[angelaness]

✧･ﾟ *growth spiral* ✧･ﾟ

(or: how i’m learning to stop lying to myself & start living in the mess)

Confessions of a Former wannabe Inspo Girly (Or: Why I’m Burning My Rulebook & Building a Messier, Meaner Growth Plan.

Let’s start with a confession:

I’ve been a fraud.

Two years ago, I ran this blog like a the it girls, or at least I thought I did. I reposted blogs that wrote about 5 AM wake-ups! 10-page journals! Hustle porn! I preached discipline like I had a PhD in perfection. Then I ghosted you. Why?

Burnout sucker-punched me.

Anxiety became my alarm clock. I’d scroll my own posts and sob, “Why can’t I be her anymore?” I’d screenshot motivational quotes like they were lifelines, then binge Netflix until my eyeballs screamed.

Sound familiar?

If you’ve ever:

- Felt like a hypocrite for preaching routines you don’t follow

- Chased dopamine hits from “inspo” instead of taking action

- Ghosted your own goals so hard you’d block yourself if you could

And if you don't believe me, here's proof of your 'how to be self-discipline' girly was feeling just a while back :

Marry me @bloomzone💍 🧎🏾‍♀️

If this is you.. First of all, yikes 🥲 #iwastheretoo. Secondly, welcome. Let’s get messy and raw.

THE REBOOT (OR: HOW I’M MURDERING MY INNER HYPE BOT)

No more 21-day fixes. No more performative glow-ups. I’m building #angelaness — a progress plan for cynics, crash-and-burners, and chronic self-saboteurs. Here’s the blueprint:

1. The “Micro-Grit” Rebellion

- Daily: Post ONE thing I did (even “cried, ate cereal for dinner, survived”).

- Weekly: Screenshot my Notes app rants (raw, unedited).

- Monthly: Film a 60-second clip answering: *“What lie did I sell myself this month?”

2. The Accountability Trapdoor

Skip a day? I owe you a “Fumble Playlist”

— 3 songs for my current vibe (Mitski meltdowns, Beyoncé bounce-backs, Phoebe Bridgers wallowing).

3. Discipline = Showing Up (Not “Succeeding”)

- Post a half-assed haiku? Counts. Ghost? Doesn’t.

-The “5-4-3-2-1” Reset: When paralyzed, do ONE thing from this list:

- 5 deep breaths

- 4-word mood check

- 3-minute dance party

- 2 replies to followers

- 1 tiny win

4. The No-Deletion Pact

I’m keeping my old posts up — not as cringe, but as receipts. Growth isn’t deleting your past; it’s cackling at it while moving forward.

WHY THIS WON’T BE ANOTHER FAILED REBOOT

Science Fact: Your brain clings to quick fixes (thanks, dopamine!). But I’m weaponizing neuroplasticity — rewiring my mind to crave consistency over chaos. How?

- Shame-Busting: Posting my lows defangs imposter syndrome.

- Loss Aversion Hack: If I skip 3 days, I donate $2 to flat Earth documentaries (yikes).

- Identity Shift: I’m not a “guru” — I’m a relapse researcher. Setbacks? Nah, this is just data.

CALL TO ARMS FOR THE STUCK, THE SELF-SABOTEURS, THE “I’LL START MONDAY” CREW

If you’re done with toxic positivity and ready to:

- Trade inspo porn for imperfect action

- Turn shame into a community meme

- Laugh at your own chaos while growing anyway

Your #angelaness Starter Kit:

- Comment one confession (anonymous = chill).

- Steal the “5-4-3-2-1” Reset and tag me in your chaos. I wanna know I'm not alone TT.

- Send a song for the Fumble Playlist when you feel like a fraud.

Let’s build a rebellion where progress isn’t pretty — it’s possible. No before-and-afters. No gatekeeping. Just messy humans saying, "Same. Now what?”

Growth isn’t a straight line — it’s a spiral. We keep circling back, but each time, we dig deeper. This is me clawing through the dirt.

[justbackgroundnoise]

thank you Emma Maltais for sharing the cutest photo of Marie-Philip Poulin and Laura Stacey aka everyone’s favourite hockey brides 🥹❤️

[mrlechattm-iii]

Fionna and Cake making me care abt a straight relationship is wild like do you know how far you have to reach into my soul to pull out a shred of care for straight couples?

[mister-ancunin]

modern-professors!viklix keeps banging around in my brain . send help

[crossbackpoke-check]

glad to see that d3 vid made it to you as well because ohmigosh... i've watched it like 6 times already and it's still just as wild and good as the first time. like the way they all had an answer?? imagining them sitting around having conversations about who they'd like to marry on the team - not to mention the way babies were mentioned more than once. these kids are/have been on tumblr and ao3, they know what's up lol

(also side note one of the guys who said mason, he said it was bc mason was a good cuddler which sent me too - so you guys have cuddled. regularly. like WOW.) not even gonna talk about the one who picked his brother though wanting someone to do your taxes is so real

rotating "hopeless romantic + old school" in my mind, like what does that even mean?? flowers and chocolates and kissing you goodnight at your dorm room? does he pull out a chair for you before you sit down? idk, it was such a sweet and genuine answer

tldr i love them all and can we get more teams doing this please? i've never paid attention to d3 in my life but suddenly i need to know more

- @bondedpairs

every time i watch the video i just start laughing so hard, it brings me so much joy and i cannot thank kasper moregraceful enough for bringing it into all of our lives 🥺 *

AND now i get to pitch that i think everybody should watch more college/local hockey to have that type of joy all the time!!! tickets are usually pretty decently priced, you get your narratives right in front of you (my notes app has some. thoughts) and you get the same emotional attachment and watch your guys develop throughout their careers!!! a lot of the time you can find really fun social media for college teams in particularly because of student media programs but if you are not already an ahl watcher: may i recommend stalking their youtube channels. lehigh valley phantoms spelling bee videos are one of my favorite things in the entire world and the milwaukee ads have a lot of fun content too!!

[asterdeer]

really been struggling with finding good mindless queer audiobooks to distract myself with lately. today i started not one but two different poorly written fantasy romances where the main characters bone within 24 hours of meeting each other (one of them was literally 5 minutes after meeting). allos are wild

[skhardwarevers1]

at any given moment crayon can and will say “I miss my wife” and just leave but you’ll never know which wife he’s talking about

[jackdaw-and-hattrick]

For some reason I had the horrible thought that Vlad, upon learning about the deal, tries to convince the parents™️ (pretty much just Maddie and Bruce) that the best option for everyone is to allow him to buy out legal responsibility over the deal from the Wayne’s via a loophole in the contract, via the reasoning,

“Hey, you don’t want this deal to fail, and since I’ve already been Danny’s backup guardian, and this would legally make me his next of kin, why not treat this like an adoption of sorts? You don’t have to worry about loosing everything, and YOU don’t worry about your precious Danno being tied to a stranger!”

Only for Bruce, who up until this point has been doing everything to get Jason out of this, sees these grown ass adults agreeing to marry off their son to this creepy ass man who Danny openly despises and who Bruce is definitely going to have to look into later and says,

“NOPE! Na ah! This deal is going through! My family has a right and we’re keeping it! You’ve officially lost Danny-privileges, he’s my son (in-law) now!”

Alfred: I am afraid I have some bad news. Earlier today, I received a notice that the arranged marriage between Master Bruce and Lady Madeline had not been voided like Master Thomas had once hoped. Bruce: Wait I was in a arriage marriage? Alfred ignored Bruce: There was an error in the process, and his engagement was passed to the next generation. Now that Mrs.Fenton's children are of age, one must wed into the Waynes, or the Waynes' assets are turned over to the Fentons. Bruce: WHAT?! Alfred: I understand that none of you would commit so I took the liberity of rolling a muilti-faced dice. Congratulations Master Jason, your fience, Mister Fetnon will arrive tomarrow. Jason :HUH!? BUT I'M LEGALLY DEAD! Alfred: Yes, which is why Mister Fenton accepted, believing he wouldn't have to commit. What a surprise this will be for him. Tim: Thanks for taking one for the team, Jay. Dick: Yeah, the rest of us nepo-babbies appreciate it. Damian: We shall forever remember this bravery and sacrifice.

[celestiamour]

‧₊˚✧ ❛[ me & my husband ]❜

ft. the salesman (gong ji-cheol) x f! reader — squid game

╰₊✧ you don’t need your husband to be perfect, you just want him to be honest┊3.3k words; part two (here)

contains: written before s2 came out!! probably ooc or inaccurate, angst with spots of fluff & a bittersweet ending? reader’s pov mostly, suspicions of cheating, lack of communication, mentioned age gap, random inaccurate lore for the salesman

➤ author's note: yeah, i saw the sudden uptick in notes on that gong yoo post i made and realized season 2 came out which i completely forgot about. i intend to watch it soon as possible and write fics for it as well as (probably) add new characters to my writing list, but for now, please be content with this!!

₊˚ʚ 💌₊˚✧ this fic was heavily inspired by “emotionally intoxicated” by aurasaurora!

gong ji-cheol is the poster image for the ideal husband. he’s always been like that from the moment you met him, and you can’t help but feel like you’re the luckiest woman in the world when he calls himself yours. he’s tall and handsome, someone who catches everyone’s eye despite his only being focused on you. he’s wealthy and hard-working, able to call a luxurious mansion your home, and willing to buy you anything your heart desires as long as you ask for it. he spoils you rotten with that money, gifting you expensive things even if you didn’t ask if it reminded him of you. he’s doting, always sure to smother you in affection with kisses and cuddles whenever together to make it known how much he adores you. the sex is great too, he makes you feel wanted and desirable without ever leaving you unsatisfied. 

most importantly though, you love him, and he loves you. the last two years of marriage have been so blissful, and there isn’t a single thing you would change.

at least that’s what you believe most of the time.

you like to think you know a lot about him, and in a way, you do. you know his favorite color, how he likes his coffee, what he usually orders at restaurants, the type of wine he prefers over beer, the exaggerated shocked fasces he likes to make, how his favorite chore is folding the laundry, how his least favorite is doing the dishes because he doesn’t like getting his hands dirty, the name of his childhood pet, what positions he likes to cuddle or fuck in, the names he’s thinking of giving to your child when they are finally born— there are so many little details you know about him, yet at times you feel like you don't know anything at all.

you don’t really know much about his childhood aside from a few random stories, he claims there’s nothing really notable and that it was as standard as can be. you don’t know who his parents were or what they were like because he said they died when he was young, but surely that’s an important loss which must have impacted him and made youth difficult in some way? you don’t know about his past partners if he even had any, but you doubt you were his first as he was yours with a face like his. you don’t know any of his secrets, like an embarrassing moment or something sinful he might have committed in the past. 

he knew all of these things about you and the little details of your life, so why don’t you know any of the most basic things regarding your own husband?

these periods of uncertainty are few and far, but once the icy tendrils of doubt creep in, it’s difficult to shake them off when you realize you only know these things through observations and not him actually telling you. it’s a miracle your stupidity allowed you to make it this far in falling head over heels for him, getting married, and carrying his child (not that you completely regret it, you still love him, but you wish you had given it more time).

they say there are no such things as stupid questions, yet the main question you have is exactly that as it’s something every wife should know even before the marriage. it would be impressive how long you’ve been clueless about this matter if it weren’t for how often and how skilled he is in managing to evade your curiosity and steer the conversation elsewhere. you didn’t want to press on it since he seems to shut it down every time the topic is brought up and you don’t want to fight over something you technically didn’t need to know, but it weighs on you and presses into your chest with the knowledge you were being kept in the dark. 

what did your husband do for a living, exactly?

his schedule is always unpredictably changing with little rhyme or reason and it confuses you. sometimes you’ll go an entire few days without seeing him, sensing him wake up in the morning before the sun is even up, feeling him kiss you on the cheek before getting ready, and not coming back until long after you fall asleep with no communication aside from a note on the table telling you he’ll be gone for the day along with a wad of cash for you to treat yourself while he’s gone. other times he’ll be chilling at home for an entire week, waking you up with aggressive cuddles (or morning sex), making you breakfast with the morning news on in the background, and taking you out to wherever you want to go on his card in his rare casual clothing and messy wavy hair rather than the typical fancy suits and hair styled with gel. 

as far as you’re concerned, he’s a businessman of sorts, although you don’t know what company he works for or what position he has in terms of hierarchy or how an occupation of that type allows such flexibility in hours or anything at all. 

“what if he’s having an affair?”

you paused for a second before continuing the motion of slicing the cheesecake with a fork and savoring the taste in your mouth. “that’s ridiculous,” you stated simply after swallowing. “he loves me very much, and it doesn’t explain his weird schedule either.”

today was spent with some friends you met back in high school, but honestly, you were only attending out of politeness and tradition since you honestly feel like you’ve disconnected from these girls long before the current. still, you treasure the memories shared in your more formative years and wouldn’t ever say no to them if they wanted to hang out like old times. ji-cheol doesn’t bother to hide his distaste for them, calling them a miserable lot who try to drag you down at every opportunity out of jealousy for your happiness. you laugh it off, but you know deep down he’s right and yet you’re still sitting here at the cafe with them with bright smiles like their words don’t cut deep. 

“maybe he’s dating the boss— a sexy office siren type— she gives him plenty of days off and he stays with her at her beach house at jeju island or something to keep her company, and then she gives him lots of money in exchange.”

“oh my god, could you imagine?”

“can you be realistic? it sounds like you’re just writing a plot for a new drama,” you giggled, not allowing the feeling of a twisting blade in your abdomen to show on your face or the venom to drip from your words at the mere thought of the man you loved being stolen away a faceless woman who was everything you wished you were more of: more beautiful, more wealthy, more experienced, more intelligent—

“you don’t know because he’s your first love or whatever— and you’re so lucky to have been able to marry him— but men are dogs, and i don’t see why he would be the exception.”

“but he treats me so well—”

“maybe he only treats you well because you’re pregnant— he probably just feels guilty. i mean, when i was pregnant and had my first, my husband wasn’t attracted to me anymore and demanded a divorce unless i lost the baby weight.” she shrugged like it was so simple, so common, like the notion of marriage wasn’t something so deeply important and could be thrown away so easily.

“we aren’t suggesting you get a divorce, but we’re just saying you should keep an eye on him— you know? a handsome guy like him was always bound to get a lot of attention…” her laugh was shrill and high-pitched, making goosebumps erupt on your skin.

“right… thanks guys…”

that night, you couldn’t stop twisting and turning on the large sectional couch with thoughts rushing through your head of your husband with some other woman. the jealousy from these fictional scenarios without evidence of existence plagued you. it made you want to vomit up the negative feelings and go back to the person you were a few hours ago without the images of him cheating planted in your mind, which didn’t go unnoticed by him and caused him to ask what was bothering you as it wouldn't be good for the baby.

you hesitated for a moment, “could you tell me about your exes?”

“why are you suddenly curious about that?” he chuckled, knowing damn well that it was because of those stupid snakes masquerading as people (it truly takes one to know one) running their mouths again, but still feigning obliviousness for your sake. 

“just wondering,” you muttered. “i mean, you’re the first person i’ve fallen in love with, but you’re a bit older than me so…”

“and i hope to be the only one too,” he smirked confidently, making you laugh as he plopped down on the ground and rested his head on the cushion next to yours. 

it was such a casual setting in such a vast space, bringing you back to the days in your little apartment inviting him over for chicken and beer before you knew about your immense wealth and got embarrassed over your cheap dates when he was so used to expensive restaurants. he found it very endearing though, knowing you liked him for him and not his money.

“well, if you’re so curious…” he trailed off, but you weren’t quite sure if it was because of hesitation or because he simply didn’t know where to start. you can’t remember the last time a conversation like this was held to learn more about him since it was usually about you, maybe back when you first started dating and briefly discussed his late parents.

he started with his crush when he was in middle school since that was his earliest recollection of feeling love, who didn’t really count as a girlfriend or love because nothing was established and because of their age, but she was his first kiss that he ran away from right after because of how nervous he was, and it was never addressed again. apparently it was his second girlfriend who taught him everything he knew before he met you, saying she basically “trained him like a dog” to create a gentleman out of an inexperienced boy who still wasn’t quite sure how to treat a woman like a queen. she was a bit mean though, and he didn’t realize he dodged a bullet until later after realizing she was unnecessarily cruel to him for no reason multiple times if he didn’t do things exactly her way.

you suppose you always knew your husband wasn’t always the suave charmer you know him to be, but the image of younger him being clueless on matters of romance made you burst out laughing because of how you could hardly picture it.

he reached over to pinch your cheek affectionately, “are you of all people really making fun of me when you were too scared to hold my hand for me to escort you out of my car?”

“oh my god, that was on our first date, i can’t be blamed! i was shaking like crazy on that day— you had to tell me that you didn’t bite.”

“i was actually thinking about calling off our date last minute because of an emergency at work,” he confessed, “but i’m glad i didn’t and met the love of my life instead.”

“aw, you flirt.” the memory made you smile and feel all giggly inside, all the fears you had about him possibly having an affair falling away, yet there were still some lingering at the back of your mind with the mention of his job. “what happened at work?”

“nothing that important,” he said instantly like clockwork. “just some boring business things.”

you didn’t push it, not wanting to ruin the mood, but once again, your curiosity was just itching to ask more questions about his work life even if it was truly as boring as he says. you wanted to know every mundane detail whether it was what his office looked like or what the annoying co-worker did on a daily basis, anything to satiate your need to know more about this mysterious man you had made life-long vows with.

it all came to a head one night while you were cooking dinner, you heard the doorbell ring a dozen times in quick succession and answered it to find an older man with fiery red hair that seemed to match his temper. when he addressed your husband by name and verified your relationship with him, he began spewing all kinds of insults about the blood he had on his hands by luring innocent people to their deaths and you felt your heart drop. you tried to reason with him that there must have been some sort of mistake, barely able to get your words out in a fit of confusion and surprise at the absurd accusation, but he wouldn’t hear you out and pointed a finger in your face, asking if you had any idea what gong ji-cheol was doing behind your back. 

at that very moment, he was suddenly seized by two anonymous men in all black, causing him to yell out in panic as they dragged him away and stuffed him in the back of a car before quickly driving off into the night without a trace. it all happened so fast, you just stood there with your mouth open in shock, wondering if you should call the police on what looked like an abduction. 

then your husband comes running up the steps with his locked briefcase in hand, shouting out your name, asking you if you’re okay, pulling you back inside the comfort of your shared home, and checking you all over to make sure you aren’t harmed in any way. when you ask about who that man was and what he was talking about, he simply told you he was some crazy customer who was dissatisfied with the company, was looking for someone to blame, and promised to tell you the details later. 

you didn’t tell him that you didn’t believe him, just pursed your lips and furrowed your brow for a second then let go of the topic like you always do, taking his coat off his shoulders with a peck on the lips asking how his day was. he reciprocated the kiss, said it was fine without anything special, and that he would shower before having dinner, something he didn’t really need to say since you already knew but stated anyway as per evening routine. 

as he headed up the stairs and disappeared from sight, you stared at the locked briefcase resting crookedly on the little entryway table and paused for a moment. if you did this, it would be a breach of privacy and a sign of growing distrust in your husband, but it could also answer all of the questions that never cease. 

your hands wouldn’t stop shaking involuntarily as you felt the cold black metal underneath your fingertips, marveling at the smooth material clean of any scratches or dents. fidgeting with the built-in combination lock, six number sequences started rushing through your mind as you started to hastily run through your options with a focus on dates. you were determined to only do this three times since you had no idea if an alarm would be set off or if it would close off permanently.

his birthday?

an electronic beep went off indicating you were incorrect, making you nervous.

your birthday?

wrong again, you only had one attempt left. you swallowed, shaking the accumulating sweat off your hands.

the date of your wedding?

you gasped as the locks suddenly flipped open and lightly knocked against the briefcase. it was undone, you could open it at any moment now and see it all.

and yet you still hesitated during this golden opportunity. was it the fact that the passcode to his most secret possession was the day you got married? was it guilt for going behind your husband’s back for answers instead of directly asking him? was it because you were afraid of what you would find if you discovered the red-haired man was telling the truth?

whatever it was, you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding and locked it again, leaving it looking untouched and went back to playing dinner.

there was a heavy tension present at the dinner table that night, the only conversation present being him interrogating you about what the red-haired man talked about word-for-word. not really interrogating since his tone of voice was still calm and gentle as he asked questions, but you could see him fidgeting with his fork and not leaving much room for any other topic until he was sure you told him everything. he then sighed and claimed the man was insane, a gambling addict who was too deep in debt to afford treatment and was trying to drag him into his misery after meeting at the subway station. 

“ji-cheol?”

he froze for a second, not used to hearing you use his real name rather than a pet name. “yes?”

“what do you do for a living, exactly?”

a pause, you watched him fidget with his chopsticks and shift the grains of rice around. “you know, business stuff— nothing you need to concern yourself about—“

“but i don’t know! that’s the thing!” you felt tears starting to well up behind your eyes, letting two years of frustration trickle through. “i know it doesn’t seem that important for me to know, but is it really so important that you leave me in the dark about it for the three years we’ve been lovers? and now some guy comes to our doorstep and tells me about how your job is playing games with people at the subway station to make them participate in death games?!” you took a deep breath, calming yourself down, “please, be honest with me, that’s all i want…”

“i-i…” that was the first time you’ve ever heard him stutter, and if the situation wasn’t so tense, you would be proud you finally got one-up on him. “i can’t say… it’s for your own safety and mine.”

“so he was right?”

he remained silent, trying to think of some way to counter what seong gi-hun had told you, but if you didn’t believe the elaborate lie he already told you and wanted to learn more, then he knew this was the end of the road. 

“i-i need some time to think…” you looked defeated and it broke his heart. “i’m going to my mom’s house tonight, i’ll be back tomorrow—“ you got up, not bothering to pack anything aside from your phone and your wallet.

he had prepared for you to start screaming and crying (not that he would blame you, i mean, who would willingly stay with a man who was complicit in mass murder), demanding a divorce and packing your things to shut the door for him never to be seen again with your unborn child. the strangely calm reaction was both a relief and extremely unsettling to him.

“i won’t be mad if you decide not to come back” he stated plainly, defeated in a state you’ve never seen him in before. “whatever choice you make, i’ll support you, just know i love you— more than anything else in this world.”

you stared at him blankly through the open doorway. perhaps your husband isn’t the perfect man you believed him to be, but he was as honest as he possibly could have been with you regarding the matter, and that’s enough. 

“i love you too, i’ll be back in the morning.” that’s how you feel at the moment, but you don’t know if you’ll feel the same way tomorrow morning when it sinks in.

[yamchabrobtw]

.