#every three days i remember this movie is real and get confused

[lilianne-tarot]

PICK A CARD: WHO ARE YOU GONNA DATE NEXT? ᯓ★

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I. II. III.

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How to Pick Your Pile: Take a deep breath, clear your mind, and look at the images below. Which one pulls you in the most? Trust your gut! Once you choose the image, The number below your chosen image is your pile. If more than one catches your eye, that just means there’s extra tea for you, go ahead and read both!

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⋆✴︎˚⋆ Pile I

OH- OHHHHHHHHH (I HAD to do this🤓) The moment I flipped these cards, I had to take a deep breath because WOW this spread is screaming romance, romance, ROMANCEThe energy here? Soft, dreamy, emotionally available, and actually willing to communicate their feelings like a functioning adult. (Shocking, I know.) This is the kind of person who has main character energy, but not in an obnoxious "look at me" way, more like a "low-key mysterious but actually an absolute sweetheart who accidentally makes people fall in love with them" type. They are also giving ‘hopeless romantic with a heart of gold’ vibes, but also kinda shy and dorky at times.

They’re deeply in touch with their emotions, thanks to all this Cups energy, which means they feel things deeply. We’re talking someone who sends you “thinking of you” texts just because, who remembers tiny details about you that even you forgot, and who probably makes killer playlists based on your mood. (OML😭) They might even be the type to write poetry or play an instrument. (If this person owns a guitar and has ever strummed it while looking out of a window dramatically, I will scream.) They’re also super romantic. They believe in love. Like, BELIEVE believe. They’re not out here for some casual nonsense; they’re here for the feels. If they’ve been hurt before, they’re still hopeful and open to love instead of being bitter. (We love emotional maturity.) Physically i am seeing doe-eyed, soft-smiling, artistic cutie vibes. BABE. BABE. This relationship is so soft, so wholesome, so emotionally fulfilling, if yall are people who had a relationship where you felt like you didn't even exist to the person then this NEXT relationship is totally different. You know how in movies there’s always that one couple who makes everyone else sick with how adorable they are? Yeah, that’s y’all (i’m really NOT jealous) . They’re also a partner in every sense of the word meaning they work with you, not against you. . If you’re struggling, they’re there to support you. If they’re struggling, you’ll actually know about it because they communicate. (A rare species, truly.) They’re most prolly a Water sign/ has strong water placements or just very emotionally intuitive. If you have someone with these placements around you, then this is your sign.  3 out of 4 cards are cups so i believe Y’all might bond over something artistic, music, painting, poetry, photography, film, something that requires emotions to create.They fall fast and hard, so if you’re used to people who are distant or confusing, this is gonna feel like a whole new world. This is the kind of love that feels like a warm hug after a long day, safe, sweet, and real. 

this person is a walking green flag. Soft but passionate. Romantic but stable. Playful but serious about love. This is the kind of relationship that feels safe and exhilarating at the same time, like home, but with butterflies. If you’ve been manifesting someone emotionally available, thoughtful, and ready to go all in for you…well, here they come. Oh, and one last thing, the fact that three out of four cards are Cups? That’s no accident. This person is MEANT to stir up your emotions and bring you into a deeper love experience. It’s not just about dating; it’s about feeling something real again.

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⋆✴︎˚⋆Pile II

First off, this person? Chaotic. But like, in the best way possible. The Fool and Page of Cups together are giving ✨ golden retriever energy ✨ with just a sprinkle of emotionally confused poet vibes. They’re the type to send you ten unhinged tiktok totally out of the blue with no explanation, and then disappear for three hours because they had an unexpected emotional breakdown. I had a friend like that who used to do this, and trust me these kind of people are strangely ADORABLE. They’re playful, optimistic, and have this lowkey naive, wide-eyed way of looking at life, but don’t be fooled, Strength is here, meaning they know how to handle their emotions. They just choose to exist in this dreamy, slightly reckless way.  I’m getting someone with a youthful look, no matter their actual age. Soft features, expressive eyes that basically scream “I have deep thoughts but I get distracted by cute dogs”, 

Okay, so, Page of Cups and 7 of Swords? Babe… this is giving situationship that could turn into a masterpiece or a disaster, depending on how you play it. There’s gonna be a lot of dreamy, flirty, almost cinematic moments where you’re both caught up in the fantasy of each other. But here’s the thing, with 7 of Swords meaning, there’s a hidden element to this person. Not necessarily in a bad way, but you might feel like they’re holding something back. Strength is telling me you might end up being the one keeping this relationship stable, because this person? Yeah, they’re fun, romantic, and spontaneous, but they need someone who grounds them. Otherwise, they’ll float off into whatever alternate reality they live in. You might find yourself teaching them how to actually deal with their feelings instead of turning everything into an inside joke or a quirky monologue.

This connection? It’s got potential. I was getting ‘JUST KISS ALREADY’ vibes from this spread so many times. But also, This person might have commitment issues at first, or they just don’t realize when they’ve caught feelings. This relationship will be fun, unexpected, and maybe a little messy at times. You’ll never be bored, but you might have to decide if you’re willing to wait for them to fully step up and be emotionally present. If you do? This could turn into one of those soulmate-tier love stories that start off as chaotic best friends and then evolve into something real. This person is gonna make you laugh so hard your stomach hurts, and you’re gonna make them feel like home. Just make sure they don’t get lost in the clouds before they realize what they have with you. 

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⋆✴︎˚⋆ Pile III

Picture someone who walks into a room and the air literally shifts, not in a dramatic, "I’m better than you" way, but in that "damn, why does this person feel like a wish come true?" kind of way. The Star as the headliner of this spread? BABY, this person is ethereal. 

They’ve been through their fair share of life lessons, some of them painful as hell, but instead of becoming bitter, they’ve transmuted all that pain into wisdom and grace. (Honestly, teach me your ways, mysterious heartthrob.) They’re a dreamer, but not the delusional kind. I have a strong feeling that pile 3 already know their person at the very least, they’re connected to your past in a really poetic way. The 6 of Cups is screaming, "This ain't no random fling, this is destiny, baby!" There’s a familiarity about them, like the feeling of revisiting your childhood home after years of being away. There’s also a chance that this person is deeply sentimental, they might keep old love letters, hoard little trinkets from meaningful moments, or be the type to remember the exact date you first texted them "lol" and took it as a sign from the universe. They’re romantic, but in a quiet, "let me show you, not just tell you" kinda way.

Physically? ELEGANT. LUXURIOUS. GOURGEOUS. 10/10. I also have the feeling that for some of you, this person might be quite rich as well. They could be successful or at least super stable and independent, but there’s something soft and sentimental about them like they love deeply but don’t fall easily. One thing i would say that they don't fall easily. 4 of the Pentacles is telling me that they guard their heart like a bank vault. Not in a "toxic, emotionally unavailable" way, but in a "I don’t just give my energy to anyone, I need to be sure" kinda way. They might be financially stable or working towards major success, so they protect what they’ve built. At first, they might be reserved, taking their sweet time to open up, but once they do? BABY, THEY’RE ALL IN. Slow-burning but SO rewarding. This is the kind of love that feels like déjà vu, like you were meant to find each other.  And the thing is, you’re worth the risk to them. Your connection makes them feel safe enough to let go of their tight grip on control. This isn’t a surface-level situationship, this is intentional, slow-burning, "I want to build something real with you" love.

(Also, be ready for someone who spoils you subtly, not in a flashy, Gucci gifts every day kinda way, but in "I remembered you liked that indie artist, so I got us front-row tickets" kinda way. 🥹) BUT one more thing, also think They’re going to be verrryyy slow to say ‘I love you’—but when they do? Oh, it means something. This is the kind of person who will show you they love you 100 different ways before they ever say it out loud.

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Thank you so much for reading all the way through! I hope my reading resonated with you and that you had a lovely time going through it. If you enjoyed it, please like and reblog, it really means a lot! Let me know which pile you chose; I absolutely love hearing your thoughts and feedback on my readings! If my reading resonated you, you may consider buying my paid reading as it would really help me out financially♡

Note: tarot cards provide guidance and possible insights into what could happen based on current energies, thoughts, and actions. the cards can highlight potential paths or outcomes, but they do not fixedly predict the future. this is a general reading so take what resonates!

[charmedreincarnation]

MAYA, I MANIFESTED MY DREAM LIFE!!!!

Okay, I don't know if you remember me, but I participated in a lot of your challenges and the Pink’s challenge, and I found some success! I shifted to my wr and manifested some things, but I could never do it consistently, and it was really fucking annoying.

So, I took three months off and worked hard, using subliminals every day and going on affirmation rampages. I was doing lucid dreaming methods, SATs, meditations, yoga nidra, reading spiritual books literally my whole summer was dedicated to shifting and the void state. I was eat sleeping and breathing it because I could not continue to live the way I was even I can even consider that living …

So What did I do

I just followed your challenge because college was starting, and I couldn't go back to school without my dream life for the fourth time, fearing I might actually harm myself. So played the fields with this rampage (together in two different tabs).

During the Day

https://youtu.be/aLsn6ZK4RZ8?si=Dt_j7ChLjNsQ6tpV

https://youtu.be/gBD4Owz1GC0?si=icOkN1DoFsqP-adT

During the day, I would live in the end. I created albums for my desired realities, re-read my scripts, revised my void list because I genuinely believed I was going to succeed, watched supercell shifting videos on YouTube, and stared at my vision board, realizing it was going to be my life the next day, and more!

Overnight

https://youtu.be/JwV297pP9aw?si=Sxx-xlhE_owInoxH

https://youtu.be/DKB5I9y8SEg?si=PI-UaNw2m_VUWYy1

What I Manifested

- Master shifting abilities

- Master void state abilities

- Having my WR to be a perfect heaven

- Making this current reality a dream: desired looks, desired body, never gaining weight, revised wealth and family, dream friend group, a social media following, being worshipped and respected, being so beautiful by my own standards, dream home (I have a mountain range that goes through my backyard and a farm on my land, it’s enormous), revised city, only attracting wealthy, tall, attractive men, pretty privilege, 145 IQ, going to an Ivy League, getting rid of my anxiety and depression, getting rid of my health issues, no toxic family, so much money, and revised my name to Bella because I love Bella Hadid (my old name was Audrey), and so much more.

I know it sounds nothing too crazy compared to other people who manifest powers and trillions of dollars, but I can shift anytime I want. I’m going to my singing desired reality and high school musical Dr soon and I am so excited I have hundreds of places to explore. My life here finally has stability, and I’m so happy. Not waking up with stress, nausea, and diarrhea is a blessing. My house is clean, my family members aren’t fighting and calling me names, my siblings and I are close. I audibly gasp anytime I see myself in the mirror. My phone is always blowing up with people asking me for plans when it used to be dry as hell, and people forgot I even existed. Everywhere I go, people tell me I should model, want to pay for what I’m buying, are so kind, open doors for me, want to help me for no reason, give me discounts, ask me on dates… I’m so happy and confused. I don’t know how to feel. I am genuinely so loved and respected, and on top of that, I get to explore the universe of my favorite shows and movies.

I’m so glad I never gave up, even though these three months were hard and my life had gotten worse, I am finally free, my hard work paid off, and I hope everyone else will do the same. We truly are God! I was afraid this community was some big joke and big bloggers were creative writers or just laughing at delusional people like me, but I can confirm it’s very, very real.

My love I am so proud of you ! And yes I vaguely remember you and your first shift you messaged me about :)!

I am happy your hard work paid off as well. I remember when everything seemed so meaningless and delusional as well and I also thought shifting was some big joke to target mentally ill teens, but the reality is we truly are all god and no amount of doubt and struggle will ever change that truth. I hope you enjoy your dream life, and I am happy I could help 💖

[jakescapes]

𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚛 𝚋𝚎𝚝𝚠𝚎𝚎𝚗 𝚞𝚜.

pairing: jake x reader (f)

synopsis: You were just a kid when the war took him from you. Your best friend, your first love, the boy who promised he’d never leave. He wrote you letters from boot camp, from the trenches, from a world falling apart. But then, the letters stopped. You didn’t know if he was lost, or if you were. And when the war finally ended, you stood at the docks, heart racing, searching every face… hoping he still remembered how to find you.

genre: angst, smut, fluff

warnings: mentions of death, trauma, fighting in war, reader and jake don't see each other for a long time, mentions of masturbation, explicit smut, mdni!! (lmk if there's more)

author's note: just note that jake's and reader's pov changes pretty frequently later on in the story so don't get confused, kinda proofread, also i dont know anything abt military/army stuff i just tried to wing it, and the ending is kinda rushed but i hope it's not too bad, hope you enjoy!

wc: 18k+

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People say the world changed the moment the war began, but for you, the world only changed the day he got drafted.

The year was 1942, and the air smelled like warm bread, motor oil, and the bloom of spring. The world felt large, but not too large, not when you lived in a small town tucked between golden fields and slow rivers, where everything you needed fit into the corner diner, the library, and a boy named Jake.

Jake was the kind of boy who would hold your books even if you didn’t ask, who’d get flustered when your hands brushed, and who always insisted on walking you home even when you lived two blocks away. You’d grown up together, sandlot summers and homecoming dances, and somewhere between old treehouses and secret glances during homeroom, he’d become yours.

No one could separate you two.

Until the draft letter came.

He found out on a rainy Tuesday, a cruelly normal day. You’d just kissed goodbye after school, your cheeks flushed from the wind and love, when he saw the letter in the mailbox, his name on the front in unforgiving type. Jake didn’t speak for a long time, just held it like it was made of fire.

“They can’t take me away from you,” he finally whispered, clutching your hand like it was the last real thing he’d ever feel.

But they did.

You could feel the edge of something. Maybe it was in the way the air tasted too still, or the way he looked at you like he was memorizing your face. You wanted to believe you had more time.

“I leave in two weeks,” he said, barely audible.

The world tilted.

Two weeks. Fourteen days. Three hundred and thirty six hours.

It wasn’t enough.

You’d spent your whole life together, school dances, ice cream after exams, sneaking into drive in movies. He’d never been away for more than a weekend. You used to joke he was clingier than your little sister’s cat, and he’d grin and say, “Can you blame me?”

But now he was being ripped away.

You grabbed his hands, soaked and trembling, and pulled him to your chest. He buried his face into your shoulder like he was scared he’d fall apart if he let go. You didn’t cry, not yet. Not until that night, when you read the letter over and over until the words blurred.

He was yours. But now, the war wanted him too.

-

It was the kind of morning that would haunt you for the rest of your life, the kind that would burn itself into your memory so deep, it felt like you were still living it, even years later. The air was cold, but you didn’t even feel it. Your whole body was numb, frozen in the moment.

You stood at the edge of the dock, the sound of the waves crashing beneath you, but all you could hear was the pounding of your heart in your ears. The ship loomed before you, getting bigger with every second. The ticking of time felt like a countdown, and with every minute that passed, you could feel the distance growing between you.

Jake’s hand trembled in yours, and when he looked at you, his eyes were red, his face wet with the tears he’d been trying to hide. But you could see them now. You both could. You had no more strength to keep the tears inside, and neither did he.

“I’ll write,” he whispered, his voice cracking, but his words didn’t bring you any comfort. You could barely catch your breath as the tears welled up in your eyes. You wanted to believe him. You needed to.

“I know,” you choked out, but it was like the words came from someone else, someone who didn’t know what it was like to love him, someone who couldn’t imagine how empty your life would be without him.

He pulled you closer, his arms tight around you, and you buried your face in his chest, desperate to breathe him in, to feel him close, just one more time. “I’ll come back,” he said, but his voice cracked, and you could feel the doubt in the words. He wasn’t sure. Neither of you was sure.

Your hands gripped him harder, as though you could make him stay, as though you could stop this moment from slipping away. You looked up at him, your eyes swollen, your heart breaking in ways you couldn’t put into words.

But he pulled away slowly, his hand lingering in yours for a second longer, as though you both knew this was the last time you’d ever feel him so close. The first bell rang, sharp and final.

“No...” you gasped, shaking your head, not ready to let go. You couldn’t.

Jake swallowed hard, tears rolling down his cheeks. “I have to go,” he whispered. His voice was so broken, it felt like it was shattering with the words. “I don’t want to, but I have to.”

You tried to speak, but your voice caught in your throat, and before you knew it, you were crying harder than you ever had in your life. You clung to him, as though you could keep him here, just for a little longer. He kissed your forehead, soft and final, his lips trembling against your skin, and it felt like the last time you’d ever be able to hold him.

“I love you,” he said, his voice barely audible through his sobs.

“I love you too,” you whispered, your words swallowed by the weight of your grief.

But it didn’t matter. The ship’s horn blared, and Jake pulled away, his hands shaking as he wiped at his face. He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself, but his shoulders shook with every step he took toward the ship. You watched him go, wanting to scream, wanting to run after him and pull him back, but your legs felt like stone, and all you could do was watch him disappear into the crowd.

The distance between you grew with every step he took, until there was nothing left but the sound of the waves crashing against the dock, and the quiet, aching emptiness in your chest.

And you realized, then, that nothing would ever be the same.

-

Jake stood on the deck of the ship, gripping the cold steel railing with white knuckles, as the distance between him and you grew. He hadn’t been able to look back, not once. His feet felt like they were cemented in place, and the weight of the promise he’d made to you, the promise to return, was almost too much to bear. But he had no choice. He had to go. The draft letter had come. His name had been called, and like the others, he had no say in the matter. The war needed him, and there was nothing left to do but obey.

But as the ship pulled away, Jake’s chest tightened with a suffocating pressure. His mind was still caught in that moment on the dock, the look in your eyes, the way you held him, as if letting go would be the end of everything. He could still feel your trembling hands in his, the heat of your tears on his skin, the way you clung to him like he was your lifeline. And, damn it, he had to leave you. He had no choice.

He turned away from the edge of the ship, trying to focus on the men around him, trying to hear their jokes and talk. They were trying to distract themselves from what lay ahead. But all Jake could think of was your face, the way you had whispered your love as if it was a promise you weren’t sure you could keep. You hadn’t believed him when he said he would come back. And he couldn’t blame you.

Jake rubbed his face with both hands, trying to steady the tremor in his fingers. The first few hours on the ship were a blur of cold air, loud voices, and the constant rocking of the boat. But as night fell, the noise dimmed, and Jake found himself alone with his thoughts.

His mind kept returning to you, the way you’d kissed him goodbye, the way you’d held onto him like he was your whole world. You had always been his world, too. You guys spent your lives together, grew up side by side, and somewhere along the way, you’d fallen in love.

As he lay on his cot that night, staring up at the low, creaking ceiling, the weight of the empty space beside him felt unbearable. He closed his eyes, but all he could see was your face, eyes swollen from crying, lips trembling as you whispered your last “I love you.” And it tore him apart. He hadn’t wanted to leave you. Not like this. But what choice did he have?

He turned onto his side and buried his face in his pillow, as if that would drown out the noise in his head, the ache in his chest. His hands, which had been steady for so long, now shook uncontrollably as he thought of you. He wanted so badly to write you a letter, to tell you that he was going to try to come back, that he’d fight with everything he had to return to you. But how could he say that when part of him was unsure? How could he promise you something he wasn’t sure he could deliver?

-

The ship groaned as it met the dock, its hull grinding against the worn wooden beams like it, too, was exhausted from the journey. A sharp whistle cut through the early morning mist, jolting Jake upright. His boots hit the metal floor before his brain caught up.

“All right, boys! Off the boat!” someone barked from above deck.

Jake grabbed his duffel, heart pounding. The tension in the air was thick, almost tangible. Around him, men scrambled up the stairs, heavy footsteps echoing off steel walls. Some joked nervously, others were stone faced, eyes blank as if bracing for whatever came next. Jake pushed forward, chest tight, until sunlight hit his face, and then came everything else.

The dock swarmed with activity. Soldiers in pressed uniforms shouted orders over the roar of trucks and chattering voices. The scent of diesel, salt, and sweat mingled into something acrid and sharp. Jake scanned the crowd instinctively, as if he’d spot someone familiar, someone from home, but there were only strangers here. Uniforms and faces blurred together in a blur of khaki and fear.

A tall guy beside him exhaled deeply. “Well, this ain’t a vacation resort,” he muttered. He stuck out a hand. “Will. From Chicago.”

“Jake,” he replied, gripping his hand tightly.

Their small moment was interrupted by a voice blaring from a mounted speaker. “All new arrivals, fall in line to the left! Orientation in ten minutes!”

Jake followed the tide of soldiers through the bustle, past crates and barking sergeants, past others being loaded onto transport trucks. Dust coated his boots, his lips, his lungs. There was a crackling anxiety in the air, something too heavy to name.

The orientation tent was hotter than outside, crammed with sweaty bodies and nervous energy. A man with deep lines in his face and a chest full of medals stood in front of them, arms crossed. When he spoke, his voice cut through the air like a blade.

“Let me make one thing clear,” the officer said. “This is not camp. This is not school. This is war. Some of you think you’re invincible. That you’ll make it out untouched. I’m here to tell you—”

He paused, eyes hard. “You won’t.”

The room was dead silent.

“You will see things you won’t forget. You will lose people you care about. And the only way you’ll make it through is if you remember why you’re here. So dig deep. Find that reason. And hold onto it.”

Jake’s fists clenched at his sides. The weight of it all, where he was, what he’d signed up for, settled like a stone in his stomach.

The officer dismissed them with a gruff, "You’ve got ten minutes to find your cot and report back for uniform and weapons issue. Move."

Jake stepped out of the tent, blinking under the harsh sun. He felt sweat start to collect beneath the collar of his shirt. Around him, other men muttered to themselves or stared blankly ahead. He caught up with Will, the tall guy from Chicago.

"You ever shoot anything before?" Will asked, slinging his bag over one shoulder.

Jake shook his head. "A deer once. With my uncle. Didn’t feel good."

Will nodded slowly. "Yeah. That’s how you know you’re still human."

They found the row of cots assigned to their group, simple, metal framed things with rough sheets and a canvas bag of standard-issue gear at the foot. Jake sat on his thin mattress creaking beneath him, and glanced around the tent. The men beside him were all doing the same thing, taking in the space, the weight of what was ahead, and the deafening quiet of realizing there was no turning back.

That night, Jake lay flat on his back, staring up at the canvas roof of the tent. The stars outside were blotted out by clouds, but he knew they were there. Somewhere. Just like you.

-

Jake had expected the camp to be loud, but not like this. The clamor of boots pounding the dirt, men shouting orders, and the smell of sweat and metal assaulted his senses as soon as they disembarked. His stomach churned with nerves and dread, and he wondered if he’d ever feel like himself again.

This was it. The place where they’d strip away everything he was, everything he had ever known, and build something new. He wasn’t sure if he was ready for it, but it didn’t matter. The army had made it clear: he didn’t have a choice.

The first thing that hit him was the heat. It wasn’t just the dry, suffocating air that stuck to his skin; it was the intense weight of the place, the way it pressed down on him, making him feel smaller, weaker, like he was part of a machine rather than a person.

They were thrown into it immediately. No time for niceties or introductions. Just barked orders and forced routines. Push ups. Running. The air tasted like dust, and the sound of heavy feet slamming the ground echoed everywhere.

Jake didn’t have a problem with the physical stuff. He’d been athletic all his life, used to running through the heat, throwing footballs, climbing trees with you during his childhood, or running through fields with his friends. This wasn’t the same, though. This wasn’t fun. This wasn’t for the simple joy of it. This was punishment, and there was no one to help him through it.

He didn’t know anyone at first. There were the usual faces, boys from other towns, some tough, some quiet, some who didn’t care about being there. They all wore the same uniform, but Jake could already see the differences. Some had an edge to them, like they’d been through things he couldn’t even imagine, while others were scared, out of their depth, with no idea how to adjust.

Jake had never felt like an outsider, but here, at camp, everything was different. There was a group of boys from a big city who had a way of talking, laughing, and carrying themselves that made Jake feel like a country kid with no clue. They’d been to bars. They’d been in fights. They’d done things Jake could never even imagine. But there were other boys too, quiet, like him, who were just trying to get through it.

At first, they didn’t say much to each other. No one had the energy for conversation. The brutal drills, the relentless push of the officers, and the constant exhaustion left no room for anything else. But slowly, Jake began to make connections. He wasn’t sure if it was just because they were all in the same miserable situation or if something deeper was happening, but he found himself gravitating toward a couple of the quieter boys. One of them was Will, the same boy from the boat ride in. Over time, he became one of Jake’s closest friends, the kind of person who didn’t speak often but always noticed when Jake needed grounding. He didn’t ask questions. He just understood the look in his eyes. They didn’t need to talk about home, about the life they had to leave behind, about the people they missed, because they both felt it. The absence. The distance. And it weighed on them all in different ways.

But it wasn’t just the quiet ones who stood out. There were a couple of boys who acted like they had nothing to lose. They were loud, reckless, and constantly boasting. They cracked jokes during drills, refused to take things seriously, and seemed to get off on making the other boys uncomfortable. They’d find any excuse to pick a fight, to throw a punch, to remind everyone that they were tough. It was like they were trying to prove they were better than everyone else. Jake had never understood that kind of attitude. He wasn’t here to make a name for himself. He was here because it was what he had to do. And he was going to get through it, even if it was hard as hell.

Jake missed you more than he cared to admit. The loneliness was unbearable, and it only got worse as the days stretched on. The first few weeks were a haze of physical exhaustion and mental torment. Every day, Jake fought to keep his emotions buried, but they kept coming back. Memories of you, of the life he left behind, of the love that felt so far away. The other boys might’ve been able to pretend they were tough, but Jake wasn’t that kind of guy. He wasn’t pretending. Every day, he fought just to hold onto the part of him that was still his, even though it was slipping away.

-

The mornings always hit like a punch to the gut. The bugle’s blare pierced through the air just before dawn.

“Up! Let’s move, boys! You want to sleep, go home!” one of the sergeants bellowed.

Jake groaned, dragging himself upright. His legs were sore. Hell, everything was sore.

“You alive over there?” Will muttered from the next cot, already pulling on his boots.

“Barely,” Jake grunted. “I think my spine left sometime around yesterday’s third mile.”

Will let out a low laugh. “Guess that means we’re getting stronger, huh?”

“Or broken,” Jake said under his breath.

Outside, the cold hit his skin like slaps. Lines were already forming, boots crunching over the frozen dirt. Another day, another round of drills meant to kill the softness in them.

“Let’s go, recruits! Obstacle course in ten!” came the shout.

Jake jogged beside Will across the field, his pack bouncing painfully against his back. Mud splashed up his legs as he dropped into the first crawl under barbed wire. Machine gun fire cracked overhead, blanks, but loud enough to remind them what they were training for.

“Keep your head down, pretty boy!” someone yelled behind them.

Jake grit his teeth, pushing forward.

Later, during a break, Jake sat on a rock, sweat cooling on his back.

“You doing okay?” Will asked quietly, passing him a canteen.

Jake took it, nodding. “Just tired.”

Will looked at him sideways. “That’s not all.”

They grew quieter as training pressed on. The days became a blur, early wakeups, forced marches, weapons drills, crawling through mud, eating whatever food they were thrown, collapsing into their bunks bone tired.

At night, Jake would lie still, eyes wide open, whispering your name like a prayer.

-

Camp was always full of noise. Shouting, training, the sounds of heavy boots scraping across the dirt. But today, it was something different. The loud guys, the ones who always seemed to make everything a joke, had gathered near the barracks, their voices cutting through the air like knives.

Jake had his back turned, pretending to be busy with something else, but he couldn't ignore the crude laughter that rang out. He heard one of the guys, Tony, he thought his name was, talking about some girl back home, his voice too loud, too arrogant.

"Man, when I get back home, I’m gonna take her out, mess around a little," Tony’s voice rang out. "She’ll be begging me to come back for more after I’m done with her."

A few others laughed, chiming in with their own stories. Jake’s jaw clenched. His fists tightened involuntarily at his sides. He knew what kind of talk they were capable of, but hearing it now, after everything, after leaving you behind... it hit differently.

He kept his head down, trying to ignore them, to pretend it didn’t hurt. But the words cut deep. He could still hear your voice in his head, your soft whispers, your love. And this... this was the complete opposite.

His face flushed with anger, but he didn’t respond. He couldn’t.

Will, who’d been sitting nearby and keeping half an eye on the exchange, leaned over to Jake. His voice was low and urgent.

“Hey, just ignore him, alright? He’s just running his mouth. Don’t give him what he wants.”

Jake didn’t answer, but his jaw twitched. Will could see it. The way Jake’s hands shook slightly, the way he kept clenching and unclenching his fists like he was trying to hold something back. “Jake,” Will said again, more firmly. “Come on, man. Not worth it.”

But then the tension shifted. He could sense someone was looking at him, and when he glanced up, it was one of the other guys, Rick, the one who liked to stir things up. Rick had caught him staring, and his lips curled into a smirk, like a predator who’d just found its prey.

"What’s your problem, pretty boy?" Rick taunted, his voice dripping with mockery. "What, you don’t like hearing about how your girl’s probably waiting for you back home, huh? You think she’s gonna stay loyal while you’re off here playing soldier?"

Jake's fingers twitched. His heart pounded harder in his chest. He didn’t answer, but Rick kept going, egging him on.

Will straightened, already stepping forward, hand outstretched. “Alright, Rick. Back off. Don’t be a dick.”

But Rick ignored him. “What’s the matter? What you looking at me like that for?”

Jake's anger burned hotter, but he stayed silent, knowing if he said anything, it would only give him more fuel. But then he did something that crossed the line.

Jake kept a photo of you in his chest pocket, always. Folded once, then twice, tucked between his dog tags and his skin. Rick’s gaze dropped, just long enough to see the corner of it peeking out. Before Jake could react, Rick darted forward and snatched it.

“Rick, stop!” Will snapped, already reaching for the photo, but Rick had it in his hands now, holding it up like it was some prize.

"Ohhhh," Rick drawled, as his eyes locked on the photo. "Looks like we got ourselves a sweetheart over here." He waved it in front of Jake’s face, teasing him like it was some kind of joke.

Jake's heart stopped for a moment. He tried to snatch the photo out of Rick's hand, but Rick was faster, pulling it away and laughing as he waved it around like a trophy.

"You’re real sentimental, huh? You really think she’s still thinking about you? I bet she’s out there with another guy right now, probably giving him the same shit you were getting." Rick’s voice lowered, full of venom. "She’s probably fucking him right now while you’re stuck out here, pretending to be a man."

That was it. The words hit Jake like a punch to the gut. The image of you, of your kindness, of everything you meant to him... and now this piece of trash was talking about you like you were just some other girl?

Jake didn’t think. His fist shot out before he could stop it. 

Will shouted, “Jake, wait!” But it was too late.

Jake felt the satisfying thud of his knuckles connecting with Rick’s jaw, the sickening crack that followed, and then the satisfying silence that followed as Rick staggered back.

But it didn’t last long. Rick stumbled but recovered quickly, wiping his mouth and glaring at Jake like he was a threat.

"You fucking coward," Rick spat, his voice twisted in pain and rage. "You wanna fight, huh? Fine."

Before Jake could even brace himself, Rick lunged, swinging hard and catching Jake across the cheek with a blow that made his head snap sideways.

“Stop it!” Will shoved himself between them, trying to keep them apart. 

But it was like throwing yourself into a fire. The two of them were already in it, fists flying, shoulders slamming, boots scraping violently against the dirt. Jake’s anger carried him, fists moving on instinct, every punch fueled by the pain of being away from you, of hearing someone disrespect what he’d held onto for dear life.

“Jake, don’t—!” Will was trying to pull him back, even taking a few hits himself in the mess of flailing arms. “You’ll get thrown in for this!”

The rest of the boys egged them on, yelling and laughing, forming a loose, chaotic circle. Some were shouting for Rick, others for Jake, but none of them were actually trying to stop it.

Then: “Enough!”

A soldier’s voice, sharp and thunderous, cut through the noise.

Two officers stormed in. One grabbed Jake by the collar and yanked him back with force. Another shoved Rick down against a wall. The fight was over, just like that, left hanging in the air like smoke.

Rick was clutching his face, blood dripping from his busted lip. “That asshole started it,” he growled, voice full of spite as he pointed at Jake.

Will stepped forward, eyes burning. “Bullshit. He crossed the line. Jake didn’t start anything.”

But the officers weren’t listening. One of them turned on Jake with a cold glare. “I don’t care what he did. You threw the first punch. That’s on you.”

Jake didn’t say a word. He didn’t care. Not about the punishment. Not about the bruise already forming on his jaw. All he cared about was you, and protecting the one good thing he had left.

“Send him to the hole,” one of the soldiers snapped. “Solitary confinement. Let him cool off.”

Jake barely registered the walk there. Will tried to say something to him as they dragged him off, but Jake just gave him a faint shake of the head.

Jake was hauled off to a small, empty room, the door slamming shut behind him with a deafening finality. The darkness of the room felt like it pressed down on him, but he wasn’t scared. He wasn’t going to regret it.

His hand throbbed from the punch, his cheek swollen and bruised. But he didn’t care. No one was going to talk about you like that, no one.

And when the pain finally settled, the coldness of solitary confinement became his only companion. 

The hole was exactly what it sounded like, cold, dark, and hollow. No light came in except for the thin crack under the door, just enough to remind Jake he wasn’t blind, only buried. The air smelled like damp earth and metal, and the walls were so close it felt like they might close in and crush him if he breathed too hard.

He sat on the floor, knees pulled to his chest, one arm cradling his throbbing hand. His knuckles were split and raw, but the sting didn’t bother him. Not really. It was the silence that got to him, the kind that let his thoughts grow too loud.

He kept seeing your face.

Not the picture, the real thing. The way your brows would furrow when you were thinking too hard, the way your mouth tilted when you were trying not to smile. He remembered how you looked the last time he held you, forehead pressed to his chest, hands clutching at his uniform like they could stop time. God, he missed you.

Jake clenched his jaw, leaning his head back against the wall. He didn’t regret hitting Rick. He’d do it again—hell, harder—if it meant shutting him up. No one was allowed to talk about you like that. No one got to twist something so sacred into something ugly. You weren’t some girl. You were his girl. The only thing that still felt pure in a world that was turning to ash around him.

He pulled the now crumpled photo from his pocket. He’d managed to grab it off the ground just before they dragged him off. It was smudged, bent at the corners, but your smile was still there. Soft, honest. Like a light.

Jake swallowed hard. He ran his thumb gently over the edge of the paper, like he was afraid of hurting it any more than it already was.

This doesn’t break me, he thought to himself. 

Because you were the reason he was still trying. Through the yelling, the exhaustion, the fear. You were the thread pulling him forward. Not duty. Not pride. You.

He exhaled shakily, closing his eyes.

He could still feel your hands in his, your lips against his cheek, the sound of your voice when you whispered I love you like it was something fragile. And here, in the silence, in the cold, surrounded by shadows and concrete, Jake clung to that memory like it was the last real thing he had.

Because maybe it was.

- 

Training was getting more brutal.

Jake had expected it to be tough. He expected the early mornings and the yelling, the endless drills that left his muscles burning and his stomach aching. But what he hadn’t expected was how fast everything would start to feel mechanical. Wake up, march, run, shoot, repeat. No time to think. No room to feel. Just orders and obedience and the constant hum of tension in the air.

He learned quickly, though. Too quickly, maybe. His body adjusted before his mind did. His hands got steadier with a rifle, his shoulders stronger with the weight of a pack. He stopped flinching at the sound of gunfire. And when the sergeant barked commands, Jake moved without hesitation. Focused. Determined. Like every bullet he fired was another step closer to coming home.

Still, there were moments. Brief, quiet ones, where the monotony would break. Like during marksmanship training, when they’d all lie flat in the dirt, eyes locked on the targets downrange. Jake’s breathing would slow, his heartbeat syncing with the steady rise and fall of his chest. And for a second, it was just him, the trigger, and a single thought whispering through his mind:

Get back to her.

But not everyone took it that seriously.

There were guys who cracked jokes every chance they got, who didn’t take anything seriously unless it came with a threat of extra laps. And then there were the ones who watched the officers, especially the female ones, with a hunger in their eyes that made Jake sick.

That was how it started.

Jake sat on an overturned crate in the shade, a tin of lukewarm beans in his lap, half listening to the guys around him swap stories back home and bets on who’d drop out of training first. The midday sun beat down hard, and his uniform clung to him with sweat. He was exhausted, sore, but grateful for the momentary break. 

He didn’t notice her until he felt her hands.

Cool fingers slid over his shoulders, smoothing over the muscle like she was inspecting him. Her touch was slow, deliberate, too deliberate, and Jake stiffened instantly. The voices around him fell into a hush.

“Well, look at you,” came her voice, soft and close, brushing the shell of his ear. “Didn’t take you for the quiet type, Jake.”

His name, spoken like silk, made his jaw clench. He didn’t turn around, just stayed perfectly still as her hands ghosted down his arms.

“Lieutenant Calloway,” one of the guys greeted her with a grin, nudging another with his elbow. “You’re interrupting our best shot. You know he ranked top three in marksmanship this week?”

Calloway was one of the few women stationed near the front of training, a combat specialist with a reputation for being both ruthless and flirtatious, depending on who you asked. She carried herself like she owned every room she walked into, with a smirk that could cut and boots that clicked with authority. Rumor was, she’d taken down three grown men in hand to hand combat during a drill once. Still, her eyes often lingered where they shouldn’t, and lately, those eyes had been on Jake.

“Oh, I know,” she purred, still behind Jake, bending slightly so her breath touched the back of his neck. “I’ve been keeping an eye on him.”

The guys laughed. One of them whistled. “Damn, Jake’s pulling!” someone snorted.

Lieutenant Calloway finally moved into view, circling in front of him, her sharp uniform pressed tight against her frame, her lip gloss catching the sun. She leaned down just enough to be eye level with Jake, her gaze smoldering with something that made his stomach twist, not with desire, but discomfort.

“You’ve been awfully quiet lately,” she said, her voice lower now, more intimate. “Anything... distracting you?”

Jake’s eyes flicked away, a subtle, defensive move that only made the other guys lean in more.

“He’s got a girl,” someone said with a laugh, jabbing a thumb at the barely there corner of your photo sticking out of his pocket. ��Real pretty one too. Right, Jake?”

The lieutenant’s head tilted, and her expression darkened with curiosity. “Oh?” she said, dragging out the word. Her gaze dropped to the pocket. “Is that true?”

Jake didn’t answer right away, just reached down and tucked the photo back in gently, protectively.

“Yeah,” he muttered, finally. “It’s true.”

For a second, something unreadable passed over her face. Surprise. Annoyance. Maybe even something more. But then she smiled again, lazy and confident, and crouched slightly, her fingers brushing Jake’s knee.

“Well,” she said smoothly, “she’s not here, is she?”

The boys hooted and hollered, eating up the scene like it was their evening show.

Jake’s eyes snapped up to meet hers. Cold. Unmoving. He didn’t yell. Didn’t curse. Just gave her a quiet look that said more than words could.

She stood up slowly, lips curling with amusement. “You let me know if you change your mind,” she said, then turned on her heel and walked away, hips swaying as she left.

The second she was gone, the guys erupted.

“Bro, what are you doing?”

“You have to be the dumbest man alive.”

“She basically threw herself at you!”

Jake didn’t say anything. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and set the tin of beans aside. His shoulders were tense, his chest heavy. But his hand found its way to your photo again, pressing it flat like it grounded him.

They didn’t get it. They wouldn’t.

You were real.

And no matter how many people looked at him like he was crazy for saying no, he didn’t care.

After mess, he slipped away, brushing off the guys with a half hearted excuse, and wandered alone to the edge of camp. His boots crunched against the dry dirt path, the sun pressing hot against the back of his neck. That woman, Lieutenant Calloway, still lingered in his mind, not because of her touch or the way her breath had tickled his skin, but because it reminded him of how far from home he truly was. Nothing about her, or any of this, compared to you.

Then he saw the mail truck pulling in through the front gates, slower than usual, kicking up a tired cloud of dust behind it. The guys back near the tents hollered and sprinted over, hopeful as always. Jake didn’t move at first. Mail call had become more of a letdown than anything. Letters took ages to arrive. They had to pass through military censors, often rerouted or delayed by transport issues, especially if they were coming from overseas. A note sent in good faith could take three, sometimes even four weeks to arrive.

Still, something nudged him forward.

And then someone called his name.

He turned just as a corporal tossed a thin, slightly wrinkled envelope toward him. Jake caught it mid air. One look at the handwriting and his heart stopped.

Your name sat in the top left corner, familiar and soft, the ink slightly smudged but still entirely you. The curl in your letters was the same as always, just a little flourish that made his throat tighten. His hands trembled as he tore it open, careful not to rip the precious paper inside.

The letter was three pages long, folded neatly but creased like you’d smoothed it over a few times before slipping it into the envelope. The paper smelled faintly like lavender, or maybe that was just his memory playing tricks on him.

There was a faint lipstick mark near the bottom of the last page. Your shade, he’d recognize it anywhere. You’d kissed the letter before sealing it, and Jake’s breath caught when he noticed it. His thumb brushed over the mark like it was made of gold. 

The noise of the camp faded as he read.

Jake,

I don’t even know where to begin. Everything feels a little quieter without you. The diner’s been too still, and I swear even the stars look lonelier these days. I still walk past your house out of habit, half expecting to see you sitting on the porch with that dumb smile, waiting for me like you always did.

I miss you. I miss you so much it hurts in places I didn’t know could ache.

Jake swallowed hard, his fingers curling tighter around the page. He could almost hear your voice reading the words aloud, soft and sincere.

Things here are the same and not the same. The seasons are changing. I picked flowers yesterday and thought about how you used to tuck daisies into my hair. I still wear that little bracelet you gave me, you know the one that barely fits. I never take it off. It makes me feel close to you, even when you’re on the other side of the world.

Everyone says I should be strong, and I am. I really am. But I have days where I just want you to walk through the door and say this was all a mistake. I know you can’t. I know why you had to go. But that doesn’t make it easier.

Write me when you can. I’ll wait for however long it takes. Just knowing you’re out there, thinking of me too, is enough to get me through.

Be safe. Be smart. Come back to me.

I love you.

—Y/n.

Jake stared at the final line for what felt like forever.

“I love you.”

He read it over and over, the words blurring until his eyes stung. Something inside him cracked open. Not the loud kind of break, just quiet and slow, like melting ice. His chest ached, but not in the empty, lonely way it had before. This was different.

This was hope.

He pressed the letter to his lips, then folded it back into its envelope like it was something holy.

For the first time since he arrived, Jake felt something close to whole.

Each word wrapped around him like a blanket, a tether pulling him back to who he was before the war, before the draft letter, before the distance. It was you. Your voice, your rhythm, your little comments and worries and stubborn hope. He read it once, then again, slower the second time, and again after that.

And for the first time in days, he let himself exhale.

-

The days felt longer now.

Not just in the way time drags when you’re waiting for something, but in the way silence settles into the spaces someone used to fill. The town looked the same. Same dusty roads, same buzz of the diner’s neon sign, same breeze rustling through the wheat fields, but it all felt off. Like the world was continuing on without noticing the hole he left behind.

You still walked the path to school, passed the bench you two always sat on, and caught yourself turning your head at every tall figure in the distance. You knew it wasn’t Jake. It never was. But the hope didn’t care.

Sometimes, when the wind was just right, you swore you could hear his laugh echo across the street.

You kept in touch with his family. His mom had you over for tea on Sundays. She’d set out two cups every time, like muscle memory, then hesitate before putting one back. Neither of you talked about it.

His dad would give you these half smiles, like he wanted to say something comforting but couldn’t find the words. So you’d sit in the living room, watching old reruns on a grainy TV, and pretend for a little while that things were normal.

You still wrote to Jake every week.

You filled pages with silly stories from school, updates on your little sister, thoughts you didn’t say out loud. You told him you were okay, because you were trying to be, but you also told him the truth. That you missed him. That his absence wasn’t just a space, it was a weight.

And every day, you checked the mailbox. Every day, you opened it with shaking hands. And every day, for weeks, there was nothing.

Until there was.

It came on a Thursday. The sky was cloudy, and you were already halfway back to the house when you decided to check one more time. The envelope was smudged, creased from its journey, and your name was written in Jake’s handwriting, sharp, messy, unmistakably his.

You stood frozen on the porch, staring down at it like it might vanish if you blinked. Then your hands moved, tearing the seal open with more care than you thought you were capable of.

Inside was his letter. His words.

Hey you,

I got your letter. I must’ve read it ten times before I could even breathe. I can’t explain what it meant to me, having a piece of home, of you, in my hands. Everything here’s rough. The days blur. The nights are worse. But reading your words felt like someone lit a fire in a frozen room. It reminded me why I’m still standing.

Training is brutal. It’s early mornings and yelling and dirt that never really leaves your skin. My body’s sore in places I didn’t know could be sore. They drill us until we can barely think straight. Running laps, crawling through mud, learning how to shoot like machines. I’m getting better though. I ranked third in marksmanship last week. The other guys were joking I’ve got a sniper’s eye. It’s kinda funny. I kept thinking about how you always teased me for being good at carnival games. Guess that skill’s coming in handy.

Some of the guys here are decent. Some remind me of the boys back home. Quiet, serious, scared under the tough talk. But others, they’re different. Loud. Crude. Like they’ve buried whatever soft parts they had a long time ago.

Then there’s Will. He’s one of the good ones. We’ve become close over the past few weeks. He doesn’t talk much about home, but when he does, I can tell he’s carrying something heavy. I guess we all are.

Anyway, I just wanted to tell you that I’m not alone out here. There’s still good in this place, even if it doesn’t always feel like it. I hope you’re okay. I hope you’re eating well. I hope the stars still look the same at night, and that sometimes you think of me when you see them.

I think of you constantly. I miss you more than words can stretch.

I love you.

Always,

Jake

You pressed your hand to your mouth, breath catching in your throat. Tears welled in your eyes, but you let them fall.

Because this… this was everything.

He was alive. He missed you. And he was still yours.

That night, you laid in bed. It was late.

The kind of late where the world outside your window felt hushed, paused somewhere between midnight and morning. The moon hung heavy in the sky, casting pale light across your room in silver streaks. The sheets tangled around your legs like vines as you lay on your side, wide awake, staring at the place on the pillow Jake used to rest his head when he would visit your room.

You reached out, almost instinctively, your fingers brushing the empty space.

God, you missed him.

It was more than just the way he looked or sounded, it was the way he made you feel. Safe. Warm. Like the chaos of the world quieted when he wrapped his arms around you and whispered nonsense into your hair. The scent of him still lingered faintly on the old sweatshirt you wore, though it had faded weeks ago.

You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to recall the exact feeling of his fingertips tracing your spine. The warmth of his breath on your neck. The way his voice dipped low when he said your name like it was something sacred.

Your body responded before you could stop it, heat blooming slowly beneath your skin, low in your belly, in that place where only he knew how to touch you right. You exhaled shakily, the ache of distance crawling into your chest.

It wasn’t just physical. It wasn’t just want, it was need. A hunger for closeness. For his voice in your ear, murmuring soft promises. For his hands on your waist, grounding you. For the press of his lips against yours, slow and reverent like he had nowhere else to be.

Your thighs shifted under the covers, the ache growing deeper now. A dull, desperate kind of longing that pulsed through you like a secret.

You bit your bottom lip.

It was moments like this, alone, in the dark, with only memories and echoes, that made the distance feel like a thousand miles too far.

You clutched the pillow tighter, whispering his name like a prayer, like maybe the stars would carry it to him somehow. Maybe he was lying in his cot halfway across the world, thinking of you too. Maybe his hands ached to hold you just as badly.

You squeezed your thighs close together.

“I miss you,” you whispered, voice catching in your throat.

And in the silence, your heart thudded softly beneath your ribs, slow, steady, full of him.

- 

The sky was thick with smoke.

Jake ducked low behind a crumbled stone wall, his helmet knocked sideways, his chest heaving like it couldn’t figure out whether to breathe or break. Dirt and blood streaked down his arms. His rifle trembled in his grip, his knuckles pale around the metal.

Gunfire cracked like thunder, sharp, relentless, too close.

“Move up! MOVE!” someone screamed, but the voice was distant, like it came through a tunnel.

Jake didn’t move.

His boots were stuck in mud and fear, his ears ringing from the explosion that had just gone off less than a few yards away. When he turned his head, he saw the body of Mark lying still, his eyes open, but vacant. Just a second ago, he was laughing at a dumb joke someone made. Now… now he wasn’t laughing.

Jake blinked.

He wasn’t supposed to freeze. He wasn’t supposed to feel this paralyzed. He was trained for this. They’d drilled it into him for months, how to fire, how to move, how to think like a soldier. But nothing, nothing, prepared him for the way it felt to watch someone die with your name still on their lips.

He scrambled forward, heart pounding against his ribs like it wanted out. Dust and ash flew into his mouth as he threw himself behind a truck riddled with bullet holes. Across the clearing, he caught sight of Will, his face covered in blood, one arm hanging useless, but alive. Barely.

“JAKE!” Will bellowed. “GO! GO!”

He ran.

Bullets zipped past him like angry bees, ripping through bark and canvas and bone. He slipped once, fell into a ditch, his hands digging into gravel and soaked earth as he scrambled back to his feet. His lungs burned. His vision blurred.

Focus. Keep moving. Don’t think. Don’t feel.

But he did. He felt everything.

Every scream, every blast, every inch of fear that slithered down his spine like cold water. His stomach churned, bile rising in his throat as he caught glimpses of fallen bodies, people he knew. People he didn’t. Blood pooled like rainwater.

He wanted to scream. To cry. To run. But he didn’t.

He fired when he had to. He dragged a boy to cover, barely fifteen, sobbing and clutching his leg. He shouted for help. He crawled through dust and heat and deafening noise, because there was no other choice.

Jake slammed his back against a wall, breathing ragged. He didn’t know how much longer this fight would last. Minutes? Hours? Days?

But if he made it out—when he made it out, it would be for you.

...

The roar of battle had dulled into something distant, muted like an old radio, static and fading. Jake’s ears still rang. His fingers twitched occasionally, even though the fighting had stopped.

He sat on a cot in the field medic station, shirt torn at the shoulder and caked with dried blood, his own, mostly. A long graze cut across his ribs, stitched quickly and sloppily by a medic whose hands had seen too much today. His knee was bandaged too, sprained from diving into cover. Nothing fatal. Nothing serious. Not like the others.

The cot across from him was empty now.

Will had been taken away an hour ago, still breathing, thank God, but barely conscious. Some of the others hadn’t been so lucky. Names Jake had memorized in the span of weeks were now reduced to still forms wrapped in canvas and zipped up.

He pressed a hand over your new letter that came in this morning, soft and worn from rereading. He didn’t need to open it again. Every word was already burned into his memory:

Jake,

The leaves are starting to fall. Not in bursts, just a few here and there, orange and gold drifting past the window like they forgot where they were going. I think you'd like it today. The air's got that crisp edge you used to say made everything feel cleaner.

I went by the lake yesterday. Sat on the old dock with my feet dangling above the water like we used to. It was quiet. Still. I closed my eyes and tried to imagine your hand in mine. I remembered the way you used to rub circles into my palm with your thumb, like you were tracing something only you could see.

I talk to your mom sometimes. She makes me tea and tells me stories about you when you were little, like how you used to sleep with your shoes on in case someone called you to play. I laughed until I cried. Mostly cried, if I’m being honest.

The nights are the hardest. The world gets too quiet and my thoughts get too loud. I fall asleep with your letters next to my pillow. Sometimes I dream about you, sometimes I don’t. The nights I don’t feel the loneliest.

I miss the way you used to look at me like I was the whole sky. When there was no war, no distance, just you and me and everything we hadn't done yet.

I hope you’re okay. I hope you’re safe. I hope you’re warm. I hope you’re still you. 

You promised me you’d come back. Don’t make me wait too long.

I love you.

—Y/n

Jake closed his eyes and swallowed hard. That lump had returned to his throat again, stubborn and heavy. He reached for the pencil beside his cot, pulling a new sheet of paper from the medic’s table nearby. The tent buzzed with low voices, moans of pain, the shuffle of boots. But all Jake heard was you.

And so, he wrote.

Y/n,

I made it through another one. Barely. We lost a lot of good men today. Faces I used to eat beside, laugh with, sleep next to. But I’m still breathing, and I think that counts for something. A bullet skimmed my ribs and twisted my knee up, but I’ll heal. I’m one of the lucky ones.

They’re transferring me tomorrow. Another station. New faces, new dirt, new nightmares. But I’ll go. Because I have to.

You’d laugh if you saw the food they tried to give us here. It’s worse than anything I ever made you try back home. I miss your cooking. I’d kill for your burnt toast. I miss you, Y/n. More than I know how to say without sounding broken.

You keep me whole. Every word you write, every memory I’ve tucked into the folds of my mind, it keeps me fighting. Don’t stop writing. Please. And don’t stop waiting. 

Love you more.

—Jake

He folded the letter, pressed it gently against his lips before sealing it.

Then, leaning back on the cot, with the noise of the wounded swirling around him and the weight of war pressing down on his chest, Jake let himself close his eyes.

For a moment, he let himself dream of home. Of you

-

The rain came down hard that night, pounding on the tin rooftops of the barracks like it had a bone to pick. Jake sat on his cot, half wrapped in his blanket, boots still on, staring at the wall. Seven weeks. Seven full weeks and no letter.

He rubbed the back of his neck, jaw tight. Maybe the post just hadn’t come. Maybe the storm held things up. Maybe you were just busy, but he didn’t want to believe that. He couldn’t. He had written you three times since the last reply. Poured his heart into every word. Told you about the move, the injury that barely missed his ribs, the kid he helped drag out of a crater. And still… nothing back.

He didn’t know that somewhere, hundreds of miles away, your letter had arrived. That it had sat, neatly sealed, your name scrawled in the corner in a worn canvas mailbag.

He didn’t know that Corporal Henry, the quiet post officer with a crooked smile and a lisp, had volunteered to take the night route through the woods when the roads were blocked. He always made sure the mail got through, rain or shine, even if it meant sleeping in the jeep or sneaking past checkpoints. He took pride in it. Called himself "Cupid in combat boots."

Jake didn’t know that the truck never made it. That the convoy got hit on a narrow bend three miles from the base. That Henry was gone. Just gone. And with him, every envelope meant to tether a soldier back to the world that still held warmth and softness.

And Jake didn’t know that your letter, your four pages, your lipstick kiss, your hopeful heart, was buried in mud and soot somewhere in a shattered mail sack, never to reach him.

He sat there, jaw clenched, turning a pencil between his fingers.

"Still nothing?" John asked from the bunk across, a new recruit like Jake, still adjusting to the rhythm of camp life.

“Haven’t heard back in weeks,” Jake said softly. “Feels like I’m writing to a ghost.”

John was quiet for a moment. Then: “I know the feeling.”

Jake glanced at him.

“Lost touch with my sister,” he added. “Mail’s been messed up since we got here. Whole platoon’s grumbling.”

Jake’s fingers tightened around the paper. “She’s all I think about. I don’t even recognize myself anymore without her.”

“You’re not alone, Jake,” he said, voice low. “None of us are.”

It helped. A little.

But he still couldn’t help but wonder if you’d given up on him.

The knot in his chest hadn’t untied in weeks. He kept a stack of letters by his bed, corners curled from being opened and reread until the words blurred. Not one of them were new.

Another month passed.

Another month of checking the mail line every morning, his breath catching when the officer called names that weren’t his. Another month of carrying a letter opener in his pocket like a good luck charm, like maybe it’d finally be needed.

But it never was.

Jake had written to you endlessly. At first, he told you everything, what the food was like, the training drills, the way the other boys bickered over card games and who had the best aim. He wrote about John, how they’d become fast friends, how they’d both miss home. He even told you about the way the sunsets looked on the horizon here, hazy and red, bleeding into the sky like fire and smoke.

But now?

Now the letters were different. Shorter. Uneven. Scratched out and rewritten, sometimes crumpled and rewritten again.

They stopped talking about the world around him and started focusing on only one thing.

"Why haven’t I heard from you?"

"Please, Y/n, please write back."

"Did something happen? Did I say something wrong?"

"I’m losing my mind without you."

"I can’t do this if I don’t know you’re still there."

He stared at his latest letter, fingers trembling slightly as he folded it with aching care, the way you used to fold your notes back in school. He kissed the edge of the envelope, just in case. Just in case it reached you. Just in case you still remembered him.

The panic gnawed at his insides now, eating away what little calm he’d scraped together in the past few months. His bunk didn’t feel like a place to sleep anymore. It felt like a cage. Nights bled into mornings without rest. The air felt thinner.

He checked every face that came through camp, just in case they carried news. He began to feel like a ghost among the living, drifting, waiting, hoping. Hoping for ink. Hoping for your handwriting. Hoping for anything that meant you hadn’t vanished from his world without a word.

Jake still kept your photo in his pocket. Still kissed the lipstick print you’d left on your last letter. But the memory of your voice had started to fade. He hated himself for that.

And still, he wrote. And begged. And waited.

And waited.

-

It’s been three months, maybe four, and not a single letter. You still check the mailbox every day, hoping to see his handwriting, that familiar scrawl that would make your heart race. But every time, it’s the same: bills, junk mail, nothing from Jake.

And with every empty envelope, the silence grows heavier.

You can still hear his voice in the back of your mind, though it’s fading. The sound of his laugh, the way he’d say your name like it was something special. The way his eyes lit up when he smiled at you. All those little things are slipping away, no matter how hard you try to hold onto them.

You tried calling his parents, hoping they’d know something. But there was no answer. You left a message, but no one called back. It’s as if he’s just vanished, leaving you with nothing but uncertainty.

Everything feels off now. The world looks the same, but it’s different. The colors are duller, and the quiet seems louder. The diner still smells the same, coffee and greasy fryers, but it doesn’t taste right anymore. You can’t even remember the last time you laughed, the last time it felt real. It’s like the joy you used to find in the small things has been drained, and you’re left grasping at something that’s no longer there.

You still wear his jacket sometimes. It’s too big for you now, the sleeves long enough to cover your hands, the collar too high, but it still smells like him. When you pull it on, it’s the closest thing you can get to a hug from him. A reminder of what was. A piece of him you can still hold onto, even if it’s just fabric.

Every day, you keep writing. Hoping that somehow, someway, your letters are getting to him. You write about your days, about the small things you miss. You write about how everything feels so empty without him. But as the days go on, your letters change. They go from hopeful, to desperate.

"Please, Jake. Where are you?"

"I miss you. I miss your laugh, your voice, the way you always knew what to say."

"Just write me back. Please. Tell me you’re okay. I need to know you’re okay."

"I can’t do this without you. Don’t leave me hanging."

You don’t know where he is, don’t know what’s happening to him. And with every unanswered letter, that fear in your chest grows. You just couldn’t shake the fear that maybe… maybe something had happened. Maybe the war had taken him, too.

You look at the last letter you sent. You set it down carefully, as if it might somehow feel your pain if you handle it too roughly. Your fingers shake, and you can’t stop them. You press your palm against the paper, as if holding onto the hope that maybe, just maybe, he’ll read it and write back.

But it’s been weeks. It’s been months. And you wonder: will you ever hear from him again?

You stand by the window, staring out at the stars. They’re the same as they’ve always been, yet tonight, they feel farther away, as if they, too, are lost in the emptiness that fills your life without him.

-

One year.

It had been an entire year since you last heard from Jake. One year of silence. One year of waiting, hoping, begging the world to give him back. And now, everyone in town had started to look at you with that same tired sympathy, soft eyes, tilted heads, gentle voices like you were some fragile thing they were all waiting to see crack.

They didn’t say it outright. Not all of them. But it was in their voices, in their words, in the way they talked about him like he was a ghost.

“He was a good boy,” they’d say, past tense like a dagger.

“He loved you so much.”

“You were lucky to have him.”

And the worst one: “You’re so strong.”

Strong. As if pretending you weren’t still breaking every single day was strength. As if smiling when someone brought up his name wasn’t a full body effort. As if going through the motions, pretending to exist without him, counted as bravery.

They didn’t get it. None of them did.

Because Jake wasn’t dead.                                                                                                            He wasn’t. He couldn’t be.

You would know. You’d feel it. There’d be a shift in the universe, a hollow space inside you that would open up and never close again. But it wasn’t like that. Not yet. There was still something inside you that swore he was out there, somewhere, still breathing. Maybe writing you a letter right now. Maybe just lost. But not gone. Not really.

School was harder now. You sat in math class, staring blankly at the board, your pencil still. Jake used to help you with this stuff. He was great at it. You remembered your messy notebooks and him making stupid jokes about x being too dramatic for always needing to be found.

And then there were the art projects. He hated them. “I can’t draw a straight line, Y/n,” he’d groan, handing you his supplies with those puppy eyes. “Please, you’re the artistic genius here. Help me, and I’ll owe you my soul.”

You always caved.

You missed those days. The simplicity. The noise of his laugh in the hallway. The way he used to tap his pencil when he was thinking. The way he’d scribble your name in the margins of his notebook when he thought you weren’t looking.

You walked home slower now. You talked less. You smiled like it was a chore.

But every night, you still wrote letters. You didn’t care how foolish it made you seem. You wrote as if he’d answer. You folded them and tucked them into the little wooden box by your window. If he came back, they’d be waiting.

He promised he’d come back. You were still waiting.

-

Jake hadn’t gotten a letter in nearly a year.

At first, he made excuses. Maybe the mail was slow. Maybe the war effort was rerouting things. Maybe… maybe you were just busy. Life didn’t stop back home. He knew that. But as the weeks turned to months, the silence grew louder than the gunfire.

He stopped checking the post with that same flicker of hope. Now he barely looked. John still asked sometimes—“Maybe today?”—but Jake only shook his head, teeth clenched like that would keep the ache down. He didn’t have it in him to keep pretending anymore.

You were probably gone. Moved on. Found someone else. Someone safe. Someone who didn’t write from battlefields soaked in blood and slept on dirt floors next to dying boys.

He didn’t blame you. He couldn’t. You deserved warmth. You deserved flowers and steady hands, not shaking ones that still smelled like gunpowder.

But even now, despite the silence, the ache, the anger, Jake still thought about you. Constantly. He’d stare at the sky during night shifts, eyes tracking stars like they might carry your name. He’d trace the folded crease of your photo until the paper started to wear thin. And when he was crouched low in a trench, bullets screaming overhead and friends crying out beside him, the only thing that ever kept his heart from crumbling was you.

You. Always you.

You were his only calm. The only part of him not swallowed by this nightmare.

And at night, when the cold was too deep and his body trembled from something more than weather, his mind slipped. He’d dream of you, soft skin, warm breath, the way you’d press your nose against his cheek when you hugged him tight.

He’d bite his lip, trying to contain his whimpers as he stroked himself sloppily, wondering if that’s how you would probably do it. He’d whine quietly as he would speed up, dreaming of your body, and what laid in between your legs, wanting so badly to get just one look at it.

Sometimes he’d wake up breathless, heart racing, his body burning with want. It wasn’t just lust. It was desperation. The need to feel human again. To feel close to you, even if it was only in his head.

But when it happened, when he would finally finish and come back to himself, skin damp, breath shaky, he’d bury his face in his hands and curse. Not out loud. Just quiet, ashamed. Because he felt guilty for wanting that kind of closeness with someone who might not even be his anymore.

Still, the memory of your touch haunted him. And in the middle of war, that haunting was the only thing keeping him alive.

Even if you never wrote back, even if he never saw your face again... You were his world.

-

Jake had never really considered the fact that, after he got drafted, the war might actually end. Back then, it felt like being pulled into a storm you didn’t come back from. He didn’t think that far ahead, none of them did. There was no point in imagining a future when every day could be your last. You lived in minutes, in footsteps, in the space between orders.

But now, after more than two years of blood, dirt, and death… it was finally coming to an end.

The winds, though still sharp with the bite of lingering winter, carried with them a sense of possibility. Hope. The faint scent of spring began to trickle through the icy silence, whispering that the end was within reach. But with that hope came an overwhelming sense of dread. Because the cost of victory, the price of it, was something none of them were ready to face.

Jake stood at the edge of the makeshift trench, his eyes scanning the foggy horizon. His heart hammered in his chest, and the familiar weight of his rifle felt like both a lifeline and a burden. He was scared, more scared than he'd ever been, but not of dying. No. What scared him was the thought of not getting to say goodbye. Of not getting to feel your touch again, to hear your voice, to know that he'd fought this battle and come home for you.

"You okay, man?" John’s voice pulled him from his thoughts. He’d become a brother to Jake over the past months, and his calm presence always seemed to ground him.

Jake didn’t answer right away. Instead, he just nodded, offering him a tight smile. "Yeah. Just thinking."

John didn’t push him. Instead, he leaned against the sandbag, rifle in hand, eyes narrowing as he peered out into the distance. "This is it, huh?" he said softly. "The last push."

Jake’s throat tightened, but he didn’t trust his voice to say anything. So, he simply nodded again. The battle, the war, it all came down to this moment. If they won, if they made it through today, they could finally go home. But there were no guarantees. No promises. Only the brutal, unforgiving reality of war.

The sounds of the camp had shifted. Men were preparing, tightening gear, checking weapons, exchanging quiet words of encouragement. The silence that hung between the chaos was thick with anticipation. Every soldier knew this could be the end. But there were also the soldiers who knew, deep down, that this might not be the last battle they fought.

"We go out there, we give it everything," John said, clapping Jake on the shoulder. "We make sure we win. For everyone back home."

Jake swallowed hard, the weight of his words settling deep within him. For everyone back home. For you. He wasn’t going to die here. He couldn’t.

The sound of a whistle broke the tense silence. It was time.

The soldiers rushed into position, the rhythmic thud of boots on the frozen earth shaking the ground beneath them. The officers shouted commands, their voices lost in the chaos of the battlefield. Jake’s heart pounded in his ears as he joined the line, rifle raised and ready.

And then it was upon them. The deafening roar of gunfire, the cries of soldiers, the flash of explosions lighting up the sky. Jake felt the ground tremble as the battle unfolded before him, but he didn’t flinch. His eyes were fixed on the mission. On the goal. The only thing that mattered now was victory.

He pushed through the smoke and chaos, John by his side. They didn’t need to speak. They didn’t need to look at each other. Their movements were instinctive, trained to perfection. Enemy soldiers fell, and each shot, each pull of the trigger, brought them one step closer to home. To you.

But the battle wasn’t over yet. It raged on, wave after wave of relentless fire. The world around him was a blur of gunfire and screams. He kept his head down, focused, but every so often his mind would flash back to you, the way your laugh echoed in his ears, the warmth of your touch. Those thoughts, those memories, were the fuel he needed. The reason he kept going.

"Jake!" John’s voice cut through the noise, and Jake turned just in time to see his friend take a bullet to the shoulder, falling back with a grunt of pain. "John!" Jake shouted, diving to his side to help him up.

"I'm good," he grunted, waving him off, though his face was pale. "Keep going! We’re almost there!"

But Jake hesitated. He wanted to stay with him, to make sure he was okay. But the moment was fleeting, and he knew John wouldn’t want him to stop.

"Stay alive!" Jake shouted over the noise, his voice thick with urgency.

John just flashed him a tight, pained smile before pushing Jake away, urging him forward.

And Jake did just that. He pushed forward through the haze of gunfire, through the cries of the fallen. His rifle was steady in his hands, each shot bringing them closer to victory.

The final push came in a surge of adrenaline. The enemy forces were faltering, their resistance crumbling under the weight of the assault. And then, with one last explosion that seemed to shake the very earth beneath their feet, the battle was over.

Silence fell over the battlefield. Not the peaceful silence of peace, but the heavy silence of finality. The victory. The end. It was done.

Jake collapsed to his knees, chest heaving, his hands slick with sweat and dirt. His whole body trembled, not from fear, not anymore, but from the release of everything he’d held inside for so long. The adrenaline was fading, leaving behind only exhaustion and disbelief.

Was it real? Was it really over?

He looked around the field, what was left of it, and for a long, suspended moment, it didn’t feel possible. He half expected another wave, another bomb, another gunshot to crack through the air. But it didn’t come.

It was over.

The war, the blood, the terror, the nights spent writing to you under dim flashlight with shaking hands, it was all finally behind him. He could barely comprehend it. The idea that he might never have to kill again. That he might actually get on a boat, or a plane, or just something that didn’t smell like death and sweat, and head back across the ocean… back to you.

Home.

The word hit him harder than any bullet ever could.

He could go home.

Not tomorrow, maybe not next week—but someday soon. That promise, once just a desperate fantasy scribbled on the back of your letters, was now something real. Tangible.

All he could think about was seeing you again. Holding you. Hearing your voice. Burying his face in the crook of your neck and letting it all go.

But then— The realization hit.

Hard.

Would you even want to see him?

It had been years. Years since he last touched your hand, years since he looked into your eyes without a uniform between you. The letters stopped coming a long time ago, and even though he kept writing, every chance he got, every spare moment he never knew if you read them.  

What if you had someone else now? Someone who made you laugh, who wasn’t broken and angry and hardened by war?        Someone who wasn’t him?

Jake swallowed hard, the raw edge of doubt carving into the hope he’d just let himself feel.

Maybe you changed. Or worse, maybe you hadn’t. Maybe you were still the same beautiful, kind, soft hearted girl who loved him once, and he was the one who had changed beyond recognition.

What if you didn’t like the way he changed? What if you looked at him and saw only a stranger with too much weight in his eyes and too many ghosts in his chest?

What if everything he’d held onto through the war… had already let go of him?

The thought choked him.

For a long time, Jake just stood there, staring at the blood-soaked ground, his fists clenched, not from anger, but from fear.

Because after surviving hell, he wasn’t sure he could survive your silence.

"Jake!"

John’s voice pulled him out of the storm in his head, and Jake turned, barely registering the pain in his legs as he forced himself upright. John was limping toward him, bloodied but alive.

"We did it, man."

Jake could only nod. His throat was too tight to speak, his chest too full of everything. Of relief. Of ache. Of hope.

John stepped closer, his voice softer now. “We won.” He swallowed hard, glancing up at the hazy sky like he couldn’t believe it either. “We’re going home.”

Jake let the words sink in. Let them echo through the emptiness inside him that war had carved out.

We’re going home.

And for the first time in what felt like years, Jake let himself believe it.

-

The air felt different now.

It wasn’t just the weather, though spring had finally started to bleed its way into the cold, frostbitten mornings. It was something deeper. Something no one wanted to say too loud in case it jinxed it.

The war was ending.

Not tomorrow. Not next week. But soon.

There were whispers everywhere, officers in tents with folded maps, mess hall rumors passed between bites of canned beans, and wide eyed new recruits who looked like they might not have to die here after all. Even the veterans who'd long since given up on hope were starting to carry themselves a little lighter. Like they could finally feel the end crawling over the horizon.

Jake felt it, too.

And for the first time in a long while, he let himself imagine the other side of this, what it would be like to come home. What it would be like to walk streets that didn’t smell like gunpowder and ash. What it would be like to sleep in a bed that didn’t creak every time you flinched awake from a dream.

Jake sat against a sandbag wall, helmet in his lap, dirt caked beneath his fingernails and across the scar that still ran along his ribs. His uniform hung loose on him now, too many pounds lost in the months of fighting, but he was still here. Breathing. Standing. Somehow.

The sky was pale, washed out in the way early mornings always were. And for once, it wasn’t filled with smoke. 

John sat beside him, resting his chin on his knee. He looked tired, bone deep tired, but he was smiling for the first time in a long time.

“They say we’ll be heading out by the end of next month,” he said, nudging Jake lightly with his boot. “Home. Can you believe it?”

Home.

Jake tried to picture it. His street. His porch. The schoolyard. You.

The thought almost knocked the air out of him.

“Yeah,” Jake muttered, voice low, guarded. “Feels... unreal.”

“Hell, I don’t even know what I’m gonna do first,” John said. “Sleep in a real bed. See my mom. Eat bread that doesn’t taste like cardboard.” He glanced at Jake, eyes flickering with something more knowing. “You?”

Jake swallowed hard. His eyes drifted to the folded photo tucked deep into his breast pocket. “I don’t know,” Jake lied. “I guess I’ll figure it out when I get there.”

But he knew. He always knew.

He wanted to see you.

Even if you didn’t want to see him. Even if someone else had taken his place. Even if you'd moved on.

He still had to find you. Just to know. Just to see you one last time.

He didn’t know if you’d still be there when he returned. He didn’t know if you’d moved on, if you’d given up on him, if he even had a place in your world anymore. But that didn’t stop the dream.

Every time he saw a boat in the harbor, he pictured you on the other side of the ocean.

Every time he stared up at the stars, he wondered if you were under them too, thinking of him.

Every time he closed his eyes, he imagined what it would feel like to see your face again.

The guys joked around him, laughing louder now, talking about the suits they’d wear, the trains they’d ride. 

But Jake sat quiet, staring at the horizon. Because the war might’ve been ending, but something inside him still wasn’t sure what was waiting on the other side.

And yet, even through the doubt, there was a flicker of something fragile in his chest.

Hope.

-

The whole town buzzed like a shaken soda bottle, tight with anticipation, about to fizz over.

“Did you hear? They’re bringing the boys back this Friday, down by the docks.”

“They say the war’s really over now. Can you believe it? After all this time?”

Two years. Two entire years since Jake was drafted. Since you kissed him goodbye under a sky too blue for what it was carrying. Since he tucked your photo into his chest pocket and promised—promised—he’d come back to you.

The bunting had started going up, red, white, and blue strung across shop windows and porch railings like hope could be hung and measured. Women were dusting off their nicest dresses, young girls rehearsing their smiles, pretending they weren’t afraid of what they might see, or not see, on that dock.

People were planning barbecues, gathering in groups to make banners. The post office put up a sign that said Welcome Home, Heroes! in sloppy, heartfelt paint. The bakery was giving away free pies to returning soldiers.

And through it all, people kept asking you.

“Are you going to the boats, sweetheart?”

“Bet you’re counting the hours.”

“How are you holding up, honey?”

The questions scraped against your ribs. Because what were you supposed to say? That you hadn’t heard from him in years? That letters stopped coming with no explanation, like he just vanished into the fog of war? That even his family had no answers, and the military said nothing except vague words like “transfer” and “radio silence”?

No. You didn’t say any of that.

And now the war was ending. The boys were coming home. But no one could tell you if Jake would be among them.

So you stood on your porch the night before the boats arrived, wind pressing against your dress, and wondered…

Will you be on that dock, Jake? Will I see your face in the crowd, or just another empty space where you should’ve been?

You wanted to believe.

God, you needed to believe.

Because the thought of seeing him again, of running into his arms, of hearing his voice, of brushing your fingers over his jaw to make sure he was real, was the only thing keeping your heart beating steady.

And if he wasn’t there?

You didn’t have an answer for that.

...

You didn’t sleep the night before the boats came.

Not a second.

You laid in bed with the moonlight spilling through your curtains, the covers bunched at your feet and Jake’s letters spread around you like pages of a sacred book. You read them one by one, some so worn the ink had begun to fade, others smudged from tears both old and new. His handwriting, the loops of his y’s, the smudge of a fingerprint near one of the margins, felt like pieces of him you could still touch.

Every word felt like a heartbeat.

Every “I miss you” like an ache in your ribs.

When the first rays of dawn lit the sky, you were already dressed, hair pinned back, Jake’s jacket pulled over your shoulders like armor. His mom met you at the door, eyes rimmed red, hands shaking. She didn’t have to say anything. Neither of you did. 

Your parents were waiting just outside, your father pacing, your mother clutching a thermos of coffee she hadn’t taken a single sip of. The moment they saw you, your mother reached out and squeezed your hand, her eyes mirroring your own blend of hope and fear. You all walked together, a quiet, aching unit.

The walk to the docks was the longest one of your life.

When you got there, it was chaos, but the good kind. Families pressed together behind the roped off edges of the harbor, voices trembling with anticipation. Mothers clutching photographs to their chests. Little kids sitting on their fathers’ shoulders with tiny flags in their hands. The scent of saltwater and smoke and something sweet from the nearby bakery wrapped around the crowd.

And then the horns blew.

The ship appeared, slow and massive, metal groaning against the dock as it settled. The ramp lowered.

And the soldiers began to disembark.

You couldn’t breathe.

All around you, people were screaming names, sobbing with joy. Girls in bright dresses threw themselves into the arms of boys in uniform. Families collapsed together, laughter and tears indistinguishable. You watched a woman faint when her husband kissed her on the forehead, another boy swept his mother off her feet like a kid again.

But you stood frozen.

Scanning. Searching.

Your fingers gripped Jake’s mom’s arm so tightly she winced, but she didn’t tell you to stop. Her eyes were darting too. Desperate. Silent.

You searched for a sign, for the shape of his shoulders, the swing of his walk. He had to be here. He had to be.

Minutes passed like lifetimes.

And then...

Your eyes landed on him.

Across the dock, just past the others. Shoulders hunched, dirt still in the seams of his collar. A duffle bag hung loosely from his hand. His hair was longer, his jaw darker, his frame even leaner. But it was him. You knew him like you knew your own breath.

He looked up.

And everything else disappeared.

The bag slipped from his fingers with a soft thud. His eyes widened, mouth parting like he wasn’t sure if you were real, if this moment was real. And then he said your name. Barely above a whisper. Like it hurt to say it out loud.

“Y/n…?”

But he didn’t get the rest out.

Because your feet were already moving.

You ran. So fast you barely registered the wind catching your dress, the people you pushed past, the gasps of strangers as you flew through the crowd. You ran like you had something to prove to time itself.

By the time you reached him, tears were streaming down your face. You didn’t slow down. You didn’t say anything.

You just kissed him.

Hard. Desperately. Like he was air after drowning, like he was a fire in the middle of winter. His hands found your waist, your back, your hair, like he couldn’t touch enough of you fast enough. He kissed you back with everything he had left, lips trembling, breath catching, heart beating so wildly you could feel it against your chest.

You clung to him like you’d never let go, fingers twisting in the collar of his uniform, knuckles white. The world around you could’ve collapsed, and you wouldn’t have noticed. All that existed was the warmth of his mouth, the way he whispered your name between kisses like a prayer, like a vow. His nose brushed yours, cheeks damp with tears, and he pulled you even closer, burying his face into the crook of your neck for just a second, just to breathe you in.

“God,” he rasped, voice breaking. “You’re real. You’re actually here.”

You nodded, kissing the edge of his jaw, his temple, anywhere you could reach. “I thought I lost you,” you whispered, forehead pressed to his. “I thought you were—”

“I’m here,” he breathed. “I’m here. I’m here.”

And just like that, the world tilted back into place.

His parents came rushing in not long after, tears spilling freely as they engulfed him in hugs and kisses. His mother clutched his face, kissed his cheeks a dozen times, smoothed down his hair like she was trying to memorize him all over again. His father gripped his shoulder, strong and silent at first, until he wasn’t. Until the hug broke and the tears came.

You stood just behind them, still breathless, still stunned, your heart thudding in your chest like it hadn’t quite accepted reality yet. He was here. He was real.

But as you looked at him, really looked, you noticed the differences. He was still Jake, of course, but there was something in his eyes now that hadn't been there before. He was older, naturally. More built, solid from training and hardship. His posture was straighter, more controlled. His skin looked rougher, kissed by sun and wind and soot. There was stubble on his jaw, and a sharpness in his gaze. He didn’t wear that wide, innocent Jake smile you remembered so clearly. The boy you knew had grown into a man.

A man who had been through hell, and survived.

And something about that made your stomach twist. In awe. In sorrow. In love. You didn’t even realize you were staring until his mom leaned in close and whispered, “You deserve tonight with him. For never losing hope.” His father gave a soft nod to your parents, the unspoken blessing passing between them.

...

That night, you laid curled up in his bed, the same bed you used to sneak into just to talk or kiss under the covers when no one was looking. The sheets smelled like home. The soft ticking of the clock on his dresser, the faded poster on his wall, the books still stacked in the corner, everything was the same, and yet it wasn’t. You weren’t teenagers anymore. This wasn’t just another sleepover after a dance.

Your thoughts tumbled, unruly and loud. You thought about the way he’d kissed you like his life depended on it. The way his hands trembled. The silence in his eyes. You thought about the years you’d spent not knowing, the ache of unanswered letters, the fear. And now, he was just down the hall, finally safe.

You heard the bathroom door creak open.

He walked into the room, towel slung over his shoulders, hair damp and curling slightly at the ends. He wore only sweatpants, no shirt, and your breath caught.

“So nice to have some hot water,” he said casually, like this was any normal night.

Jake slipped under the covers beside you, his body warm from the shower, his scent clean but still familiar, still him. You shifted closer without thinking, your hands instinctively finding his chest, your head resting against his shoulder.

Jake shifted under you, his hands trembling as he ran them over your back, his fingertips digging into the soft fabric of your clothes, pulling you closer, closer, as if he couldn’t get enough of your presence. His lips didn’t leave yours for even a second, and every kiss was another piece of the world falling back into place. His mouth tasted like salt and the remnants of the battle, but it was still home. 

You pulled back slightly, breathless, your hands now running over the planes of his chest. Your fingers ghosted over the hard muscles beneath his skin, and you noticed the scars. They were there, small, faded marks from the battles he’d faced, the battles he’d fought for this moment. For you.

“You’re here,” you whispered, voice shaky, as if it was a dream you were scared of waking from. Your eyes trailed down his body, noticing how much had changed. His body was different, broader, stronger, his abs more defined, his skin rougher. The carefree, innocent boy you once knew was no more. He was a man now, hardened by experiences neither of you could have predicted. And even though that realization left a bittersweet taste on your tongue, you couldn’t deny the way it made your heart race.

“Jake…” You murmured his name like a prayer, as you pressed your lips to the small scar near his ribs. Your hands roamed back up his body, to the firm muscles of his shoulders, to the spots you knew by heart.

His hands gripped you tighter, his breath unsteady. “What are you doing?” he asked, voice low and thick with emotion.

“Just remembering you,” you said softly, your lips trailing over his skin, kissing the hard edges of the man he had become. “Just remembering what I’ve been waiting for.”

You heard his breath hitch, and the next thing you knew, Jake had flipped you gently onto your back, his weight pressing down on you but not suffocating. He kissed you again, this time slow and deliberate, like he had all the time in the world to make up for the months lost to silence. His hands slid under your shirt, dragging it over your head, his touch sending electric sparks across your skin.

But then, in the midst of the heat between you, he paused. His lips hovered over yours, his forehead pressing against yours, the rawness of his vulnerability hanging between you.

In the stillness, he asked, “So… why didn’t you ever write me back?” The weight of his question lingered in the air, a quiet plea that somehow felt more fragile than any explosion or battle wound.

You blinked. Slowly sat up. “What?”

Jake swallowed hard, his grip on your shoulders tightening. His voice cracked when he spoke next, raw and thick with emotion. “I wrote. I wrote so many letters. Every week. Every damn week. I sent them all to you, and nothing came back.” His eyes filled with tears, but this time, he didn’t try to hide them. “I thought you gave up on me. That you had moved on.”

Your heart shattered all over again, the pieces splintering, but this time, you had him in your arms. You had him back. And that was all that mattered. You cupped his face in your hands, your thumb tracing the line of his jaw. “Jake... no. You were the one I never gave up on. I wrote you. I never stopped. I thought I was the one who was forgotten.”

The confusion hit both of you at the same time, like a silent shockwave.

Jake’s expression slowly shifted, realization dawning behind his eyes. “No,” he whispered. “No, it wasn’t you.” He sat up, breath picking up. “I remember, some of the guys were saying the same thing. How their letters stopped coming. How they thought their families gave up. But they didn’t. Something must’ve happened. Something went wrong.”

Jake’s chest heaved as he struggled to breathe, and then, finally, he let the tears fall. He let himself break down, his body shaking as he held onto you, as if you were his anchor in the storm that had raged inside him for so long. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I thought you... I thought you hated me.”

You shook your head, pressing your forehead to his. “No. I could never hate you. I would’ve waited for you. A thousand years if I had to.” You paused, the weight of your words sinking in. “I love you, Jake. I never stopped.”

He kissed you then, a desperate kiss that spoke of everything that had been lost, everything that had been fought for. His lips were gentle at first, exploring, tasting, but then, it deepened. His body pressed into yours, his hands wandering over you like he couldn’t remember the last time he touched you, as if you were the lifeline he’d been grasping for in the dark. His tongue traced the edge of your lips, coaxing you into a deeper kiss.

You couldn’t help but moan softly, your hands tangling in his damp hair. The feel of him was overwhelming, grounding you, reminding you that the battle had been worth it, that he was worth it.

But then he pulled back just enough to catch his breath. His voice was hoarse, laden with emotion as he asked, “So, what now?”

You smiled softly, hands running over his broad shoulders, across his chest, feeling the weight of all that he had endured. “I may have an idea.” 

His breath caught as your hands slowly descended from his broad shoulders, grazing down the taut lines of his body until they hovered just above the waistband of his pants. Jake's gaze followed your every movement, his chest rising with a quick, sharp inhale. 

You let your hands hover just above his crotch area, your fingers barely brushing against his pants before you gripped him firmly, a low groan escaping Jake's lips. You flipped him over, straddling him, positioning yourself firmly on top. He watched you in awe as you slowly descended, moving lower and lower down his body. His teeth gripped his bottom lip as you slowly tugged at the hem of his pants. 

Jake's voice was hesitant, his brows furrowed. "Y/n, you don't have to," he said softly.

But you shook your head, kissing his v line. "No, I want to," you whispered, your eyes full of reassurance. "Let me do this for you."

You eased his pants down just enough for the slit in his underwear to be exposed. Fuck, he was hard now. You could see it and your mouth watered at the sight in front of you. You glanced up for a moment to meet Jake’s eyes. His chest rose and fell with each breath, his lips slightly parted, and his gaze was intense, full of desire.

Then you slid it out.

You felt a shiver run down your spine as you took in the sight of him, your heart pounding in your chest like a drum. You could feel the heat radiating from him, his desire palpable and intoxicating. You leaned in, your breath hot on his skin, and you could hear his breath hitch in response. You ran your tongue along the length of him, tasting the saltiness of his skin, feeling him twitch at the contact. You looked up at him again, your eyes meeting his, and you saw the raw, primal need reflected back at you. It sent a jolt of electricity through you, making your own desire burn hotter. You took him into your mouth, just the tip at first, feeling him fill you, tasting the sweetness of his pre cum. 

You could feel him, hard and throbbing, as you began to move, taking him deeper, feeling him hit the back of your throat. You could hear his ragged breaths, feel his hands fisting in your hair, and it spurred you on, making you want to take more of him, to give him more pleasure. You could feel your own desire building, your body aching for him, but you wanted to make this last, to draw out this moment of pure, intense pleasure for as long as possible.

The room filled with the sound of wet, sucking noises as you worked Jake's cock with your mouth, your tongue swirling around the sensitive head. You could feel him throbbing, his breath coming in ragged gasps, his hands fisting in your hair, guiding you, urging you on. You could feel the tension building in him, his body taut, his breath coming in short gasps. 

You knew he was close, and it made you want to push him over the edge, to feel him come undone in your mouth. But you also wanted to tease him, to draw out this moment of pure, intense pleasure. You slowed your pace, pulling back, running your tongue along the length of him, feeling him twitch and shudder at the contact. You could hear him groan, a sound of frustration and desire, and it made you smile, made you want to continue this dance of give and take, of pushing and pulling, until he couldn’t take it anymore.

You took him deep again, feeling him hit the back of your throat, and you hummed, a sound of pleasure that vibrated through him, making him groan louder. You could feel him getting harder, his breath coming in short gasps. You pulled back again, running your tongue along the sensitive underside of him, feeling him shudder.

Jake's grip on your hair tightened, his body tensing as he tried to hold back. You looked up at him, your eyes locked onto his, and you saw the struggle in his gaze. 'Y/n,' he groaned, a warning in his voice, but you just smiled, a wicked glint in your eye. You wanted to taste him, to feel him let go completely. You took him deep again, your fingers digging into his thighs for support. You could feel him pulsing, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He was close, so close. You hummed around him, the vibrations pushing him over the edge. 'Fuck!' he cried out, his body convulsing as he came in your mouth. You swallowed every drop, savoring the taste of him, a sense of satisfaction washing over you as you watched him come undone. You licked your lips, a smirk playing on your mouth as you looked up at him.

You stood up, your eyes never leaving Jake's, and slowly began to undress. Jake watched, his eyes darkening with desire, his breath hitching as you unzipped your skirt, letting it pool at your feet, stepping out of it, leaving you in nothing but your lacy underwear. Jake's eyes raked over your body, a low growl escaping his lips. He reached out, his fingers tracing the lace, making you shiver. He hooked his fingers into the sides of your underwear, slowly pulling them down, his knuckles brushing against your skin, sending jolts of electricity through you. You stepped out of them, completely bare before him. 

He reached down, positioning himself at your entrance, looking down at you with a mix of love and lust. “I've missed you so much,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. He pushed into you, slowly, gently, filling you completely. You bit your lip to stop yourself from crying out, his parents' room just down the hall a stark reminder of your need for silence. 

Jake moved slowly, his thrusts measured, controlled, his body tensing with the effort to stay quiet. You could feel every inch of him, your body stretching to accommodate him, the pleasure building with each slow thrust. You looked up at him, your eyes locked onto his, and you saw the same struggle reflected back at you. The tension in the room was palpable, the air thick with your shared desire, the soft sounds of your bodies coming together, the only noise in the room. 

Jake's pace quickened, his hips snapping forward as he struggled to keep quiet, his breath coming out in short, ragged whines. He was losing control, his grip on his restraint slipping, and it was the most exhilarating thing you'd ever seen. 

He leaned down, his mouth finding your breast, his teeth grazing your nipple, his tongue flicking out to soothe the sting. He was muffling his sounds, his moans vibrating against your skin, sending jolts of pleasure straight to your core. His thrusts became more urgent, more insistent, his body slamming into yours, the bed creaking softly under the force. You could feel the tension building in him, the way his body was coiling, ready to snap. 

You wrapped your legs around him, pulling him in deeper, encouraging him, wanting to feel him lose control completely. He growled, a low, guttural sound that sent a shiver down your spine, and you knew he was close once again. He moved faster, his hips a blur, his body slapping against yours, the sound of your wetness filling the room. “Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck,” he whimpered.

He was fucking you so hard, his body consumed by the need to come, and it was the most beautiful thing you'd ever seen. You could feel your own orgasm building, the pleasure coiling in your belly, ready to explode. You bit your lip, trying to stay quiet, but a soft moan escaped you as he hit that spot inside you, sending you spiraling over the edge. “Jake!” you cried out, your body convulsing, your nails digging into his back as you came undone. 

He followed soon after, his body tensing, his mouth finding yours, swallowing your cries as he came inside you, his body shuddering with the force of his release.

He collapsed on top of you, his body slick with sweat, his breath coming in ragged gasps. You could feel his heart pounding against your chest, a testament to the intensity of your shared passion. The room was filled with the sound of ragged breathing, the air thick with the scent of lovemaking, a silent testament to your reunion.

Jake, still trembling from the intensity of his orgasm, slowly pulled out of you, a soft groan escaping his lips. He leaned down, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead before rolling off of you, leaving you feeling empty and cold without his warmth. He stood up, his body still glistening with sweat, and you watched as he padded silently to the bathroom, his muscles flexing with each step. The sound of running water filled the room, and you could picture him wetting a few towels, his hands moving efficiently, his mind already planning his next move. 

He returned a few moments later, his eyes soft as he looked down at you, a small smile playing on his lips. He sat down on the bed, his body turned towards you, and he began to clean you gently, his touch soft and reverent. 

He ran the towel over your skin, his fingers following the path of the cloth, tracing the lines of your body, making you shiver. He cleaned himself next, his touch more brusque, more hurried, as if he couldn't wait to be done and back in your arms. Once he was finished, he tossed the towels onto the floor, his eyes never leaving yours. He leaned down, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your lips, a promise of more to come. 

“Goodnight,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. He stood up, pulling the covers over you, tucking you in like a precious treasure. He turned off the lights, casting the room into darkness, the only sound the soft hum of the air conditioner. He climbed into bed next to you, his body spooning yours, his arm wrapping around your waist, pulling you close. You could feel his breath on the back of your neck, his body warm and solid against yours. You closed your eyes, a sense of contentment washing over you, as you drifted off to sleep, wrapped in the safety of Jake's arms, ready to face whatever tomorrow might bring.

-

Life after Jake came back was quieter, but in a way that felt fragile, like the world was holding its breath around him.

You remember the first time you saw him step off that ship, you almost didn’t recognize him. His face was leaner, his eyes older. There was something in the way he carried himself, stiff, guarded, like he wasn’t sure how to be in a place where no one was trying to kill him. But when his gaze found yours across the platform, there was a flicker of the boy you used to know. Just a flicker. Enough.

Some nights were harder than others. He never talked much about what happened, not at first. But when you stayed over, curled up beside him in his bed, he didn’t always sleep. Sometimes he’d jolt awake, his chest heaving, sweat beading along his hairline. You didn’t ask what he saw in those dreams. You didn’t need to.

You just held him.

It was in those moments you realized that no matter how much time passed, Jake would never be the same boy you grew up with. The war had taken pieces of him. From the fight. From the blood. From the friends he lost. There were ghosts in his eyes now, things you could never chase away. But you didn’t try to.

Because slowly, piece by piece, he started to come back.

It was in the way he’d crack a crooked grin when you teased him about the way he still hated tomatoes. In the way his laugh started to sound less forced, more like the one you remembered echoing down the old dirt roads when you were kids. He began to tease you again, poking fun at your terrible card skills, stealing the last piece of pie when you weren’t looking.

And when he smiled—really smiled—you saw it.

The old Jake. The one who once chased you through fields in the summer heat. The one who carried your books home from school. The one who left part of his heart in the letters you kept folded in a box under your bed.

You didn’t love him in spite of what the war had done. You loved him because of it. Because he was still standing. Because beneath the scars and shadows, he was still Jake. Yours.

And it wasn’t perfect, it wasn’t easy, but it was enough.

Because sometimes, surviving was the bravest thing of all.

[hotchners-wifey]

Save Her

Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader, Platonic!BAU x Reader, Morgan!Sister Reader

Summary: Y/N has a past she's never told anyone about, she was involved in some heavy things when she lived in England with her Aunt and Uncle. Things she thought were murdered along with her best friend, things she thought went missing with her boyfriend. Things that followed her to Quantico, Virginia. Previous Chapter~ Next Chapter Chapter Warnings: hangovers and peer pressures

________________________________________ Four days before Y/N disappears ________________________________________

I woke up before everyone else and decided to grab some Aspirin and start cooking some Waffles, bacon and eggs for the girls knowing that when they wake up they'll be hungry and have a pounding headache. Right as I finished cooking I turned and spotted the them waking up to the smell of food. JJ got up first and walked to the kitchen, "I smell coffee." was the first thing she said. I chuckled and grabbed a mug out of the cabinet and filled up the mug. "Did you want any creamer?" She nodded and I walked to the fridge, "I got caramel and vanilla, which one do you want?" She looked up with her hands shielding her eyes from the lights, "Vanilla please." I nodded grabbing the creamer and noticed Penny and Emily were both sitting at the island as well. "Good morning you two, how did you guys sleep?" Emily just groaned and looked at the coffee in the pot, I nodded grabbing two more mugs and the creamer. "Well I take it you guys had a lot of fun last night." JJ groaned behind her coffee mug, "I never want to experience last night ever again." I laughed loudly causing all three of them to groan at the loud noise. "Sorry, but if you don't normally drink that much why did you?" They looked at me like I had three heads. "Because you were going out with us." Penny exclaimed with a slightly upset face, "And you were supposed to be getting plastered with us." Emily continued I smiled innocently, "Well if I had gotten plastered with you then who was going to drive us home?" JJ thought for a minute, "Normally when we go out to drink and have a night out the guys all take one vehicle in which either Spence or Hotch drives because they don't drink like that either." I shook my head and grabbed some plates, "Well how was I supposed to know that? I never go out with you guys remember?" JJ shrugged "Well it doesn't matter now. The real question is why you cooked food for us when we could've gotten room service?" I placed their plates of food in front of them and shrugged, "I felt like you guys could use a home cooked meal with a touch of motherly love. This is my mothers special breakfast that she would make us every Sunday morning before church." Penny's head shot up at that, "This is one of Mrs. Morgan's famous meals?" I nodded and smiled, "Yeah Mom taught me how to make everything I cook or bake. She was my personal chef when I was a kid, Dad never wanted Mom to teach Derek how to cook because he was a firm believer that Derek should have someone take care of him but she always secretly taught him when she taught me and my sisters." Emily and JJ were shocked to find out that Derek knows how to co. "Don't tell him I told you that, he'll kill me." Emily snorted, "Oh I'm definitely making a joke about this." I sighed in defeat, once Emily said she was going to do something there was no getting her to back down from it. We spent the day watching movies and eating snacks and eventually after the girls were feeling better we went to the mall and bought ourselves some new clothes, Penny bought some new trinkets for her desk and I found the cutest Doctor Who paper weight for Spencer. "Really?" Emily questions when she sees me approach them with the paper weight in my hands, "What? It's for Spence. You know how much he loves these little things." Penny laughed, "Of course you know that Y/N." I turned to look at her confused, "What's that supposed to mean Penny?" She laughed and shrugged. "I'm just saying you know a lot about what Spencer Reid likes, way more than we do." I nodded, "Yeah of course I do because I actually listen to him." JJ smiled, "Guys just let her buy the paper weight for Spence, Penny you buy things for Derek and Emily you buy things for your cat Sergio. The people and pets you love deserve gifts." I nodded along to her words, "Yeah let me buy things for the person I love-wait what?!" JJ burst out laughing and eventually Penny and Emily joined in while I stood there fuming that I got tricked like that. "Oh Y/N we already know you love Spencer, you didn't have to tell us that again."

[marvelobsessed134]

Friends help each other

Requested: No

Pairings: Tommy Lee x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Semi Dark!Obesssive!Tommy, innocent!reader, loss of virginity, coercion, manipulation (but make it hot), dub/con, I think that’s it.

A/n: Both you and Tommy are 19 in this and it’s set around the start of motley.

Summary: Your best friend invites you over to his house, but it’s not what you expected.

You laughed over the loud rock and roll music that was playing from the stereo of Tommy’s car. The two of you had just got done eating at the diner when he invited you to hang out at his place. You love going to Tommy’s house, so of course you accepted! You hoped his mom was there so she could maybe teach you some more recipes. She was more like a mom to you than your real mom, she cared about you like your real mom didn’t.

Once he pulled in the driveway, you noticed the main car was gone. He noticed your look of confusion, “Mom and dad took Athena to Disneyland today. Sorry, forgot to mention it.”

“No, it’s fine.” You said before the two of you got out of the car and walked towards the house. Once inside, you couldn’t help but get this feeling. Sure, you’ve hung out plenty of times when his family wasn’t home, but this time felt…off. Maybe it’s the air, the house is warm and stuffy because the AC wasn’t needed when no one was home.

“Hey, Tommy can you turn on the air conditioner? It’s kind of hot in here.” You asked as you sat down on the couch at an uncomfortably slow pace.

“Sure.” He responded before adjusting the thermostat. “Let’s go to my room.”

For some reason, you didn’t want to go to his room. “Umm I kind of wanna stay out here. Maybe we can watch a movie?” You offered.

You could almost hear the low groan he let out but you didn’t quite reach your ears. “Nah, I wanna show you some new stuff I’m working on.” Yes, his new band Motley Crue that was supposed to be very successful. You could only hope. You’d honestly do anything for Tommy especially to make him happy and successful.

“Oh- okay.” You said before getting up off the couch and following him to his room. You walked in and sat on his bed watching as he locked the door. That’s weird, he never locks the door. He took his brown leather jacket off and threw it on the floor before sitting next to you on the bed. Close enough to where your thighs were touching.

“Hey.” He said in a soft voice.

“Hey.” You said back, “So, what have you been working on?”

“Actually,” he said shifting impossibly closer to you. Your heart rate picked up. And were suddenly so captivated by his features. His tan skin, long brown hair, brown eyes and a dopey smile that always gives you butterflies.

“Y/n, you remember when I met you that first day of sophomore year?” How could you forget? He bumped into you in the hallway made you fall, scraping your knee. He felt guilty so he took you out to lunch to make it up to you. Ever since then you’ve been best friends.

“Yes, of course. What about it?” You chuckled softly not knowing where he was going with this.

“And we’ve been friends for three years.” Tommy stated and you nodded in confirmation.

The brunette suddenly took your hand and placed it on the bulge in his pants. You gasped, trying to move your hand away but he was so much stronger than you, and kept your hand there.

“Tommy…what are you doing?” You asked.

“Do you feel that? Every time I look at you and you’re in one of those skirts like you are right now this happens to me. Care to help a guy out?”

“What? No! You’re…we’re…we can’t. Are you insane?” You asked. Though, part of you wanted it. You felt butterflies and a tingle in your core when he put your hand on his crotch.

“We’re friends right?” He asked a little more sternly this time.

“Of course-“

“Friends help each other. That’s what friends are for.” He cut you off. The drummer caressed your face, now having let go of your hand. His other hand snakes behind your lower back. “You understand, don’t you honey?”

You nodded. “Good girl.” He whispered before leaning in to kiss you. His lips were soft, warm, comforting. You kissed him back with such ease since you’ve already had a first kiss.

The kiss became more passionate and he slowly leaned forward, making you lean back before eventually falling to lay on the bed. Tommy stayed on top of you, kissing more rougher, his more primal side coming out. He began kissing down your neck, then your collarbone before slowly undoing the buttons on your shirt. You froze. “Um I don’t-“ “Shh, it’s okay, I’m not going to hurt you. Just let me see those beauties huh?” A cheeky smirk was plastered on your friends face as he continued to unbutton your shirt. Once it was completely unbuttoned, he forcefully pulled it off you when you didn’t move.

“Come on baby, don’t make this difficult for me.” He groaned and it shot straight to your core. Something about how demanding he was really did something to you. Made you see him in a different light. Of course you’ve always had a crush on Tommy, who wouldn’t? But now you’re having lustful feelings for him.

You arched your back so he could in lip your bra in which he muttered a “good girl.”

Tommy was happy that you were slowly giving into him. He’s wanted you for a long time now. He started fantasizing about you in all different kinds of ways. One of how you’d be such a sweet wife for him to come home to after a long day at the studio. One to call on tour. And you’d stay home for him like a good girl.

Once your bra was off he immediately went to grope and massage your breasts before pulling and erect nipple into his mouth. You gasped, never have felt this feeling before.

“What?” He asked.

“I-I’ve never felt this way before.”

“You’ve never touched yourself?”

You shook your head, and he caressed your chin, “You poor thing. So when you get turned on you just let that little pussy drip? Aww poor baby. Don’t worry Tommy’s here now.” His voice was soft and full of empathy it seemed, making you feel safe. You’ve always felt safe with him.

The brunette continued his assault on your nipples before kissing his way down your stomach causing goosebumps to arise.

Once he reached the waistband of your shorts, he unbuttoned them and tugged them off. He then got rid of your panties as well.

He sat back on his knees and admired you before taking off his shirt. You admired his slim body, trailing your eyes down all the way to his very large bulge. He smirked at your ogling before leaned down again and gently spreading your legs to see your soaked pussy.

You tried to close them but he forced them back open again. You watched as he licked his lips before diving in and licking a bold stripe against it. You squirmed, never feeling this feeling before and threw your head back, almost screaming at the feeling. Tommy flicked his tongue on your clit and you bit down on your bottom lip, fisting the sheets. “Mmm Tommy…” you whimpered.

“What is it, honey?” He asked and as he asked you he slipped a finger inside your tight, wet hole. Your mouth fell open in a gasp, you looked at him with wide doe eyes.

Tommy was living for how you were reacting to him. It’s all he’s ever wanted besides being in a band. “Come on, you can tell me.”

“It feels…so…good.” You mustered the words out. He smirked, “I know it does baby.”

The drummer pumped his finger in out of your slowly before adding a second, curling them and hitting that special spot you didn’t even know existed. As he did this he rubbed his thumb on your clit making you scream as you felt this overstimulating tingle that made your brain go fuzzy.

“Tommy I don’t know, this ah! It’s too much stop!” You cried.

“Don’t worry baby. It’s normal you’re about to come it’s okay, let it go. I’m right here sweet girl.” And you clenched around him as an overwhelming sensation overcame your senses.

You screamed in pleasure. “Good girl!” Tommy praised. He slowly pulled his fingers out after you came down from your high and licked them clean.

He then stood up to undo his belt and pulled his jeans and boxers down. Your eyes widened at his length. He was…big. And you never had sex before.

You sat up in a panic before trying to leave but he pushed you back down. “Stay.” He commanded you as if you were a dog. And it did something to you.

He lined himself up to your entrance before pushing in. You squealed, tears springing in your eyes. He pressed a kiss to your lips before wiping your tears away with his thumb.

“Tommy, it hurts.” You cried.

“Shh, I know baby.” He cooed. “Fuck your tight.” He moaned, rolling his eyes in the back of his head as he picked up the pace, thrusting in and out of you. The pain quickly faded into pleasure and you began moaning with him as well.

“Thatta girl.” Tommy cooed.

It wasn’t long before he came to his own orgasm, finishing inside you. He cleaned the two of you up before laying next to you, pulling you to rest your head on his chest. You could feel his heart beating fast.

Then something hit you, “Oh my god you..you..you finished inside me! I’m gonna get pregnant!”

“Shh, it’s okay. They have pill for stuff like that it’s okay. Besides it’s good practice for when we actually have kids.”

“Wait what?”’

[freeluigihesbae]

𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓼𝔂𝓷𝓮𝓬𝓭𝓸𝓬𝓱𝓮 - 𝓬𝓱𝓪𝓹𝓽𝓮𝓻 4

fic summary:

the synecdoche is the agency we've seen in the movies. it's an agency that's real.

the reader is arya nitwa, code named riposte, who is a cold and calculated, terribly vulnerable but expert eccidetniest for her own good. she's a top ranking agent with her own team

luigi mangione, code named kismet, is cheery and clever, making his own marks in the agency after he loses the things that meant the most to him and hiding a pool of wounds beneath his smile.

arya and luigi cross paths for a new mission, where arya is forced to trust luigi while he is forced to heal. what happens when a forbidden love and a complex tangle of emotions comes to lie before their eyes?

chapter summary: walls are breaking and love is in the making.

𝗍𝗐: 𝗇𝗈𝗇𝖾

Muffled noises from outside of Arya's door make her blink with struggle as she tries to place herself. She's confused, not understanding why she's in a fetal position with a blanket on top.

Wait, why is there a blanket on her?

Arya sits up with a jolt, grabbing the soft blue blanket that was just covering her body. She lets her fingers press and feel around it, as though it could tell her what exactly happened last night. Shaking her head, she picks up the hair-tie lying on her side and ties her hair in haste before getting up and seeing a small pink paper slipped between her door. Her brows furrow as she takes cautious steps to unlock the door. The paper slides onto the floor before she senses sp,e food nearby.

Wait, it's right outside her door.

There's a cart outside with covered bowls and plates. Utterly confused, Arya chooses to stand and process what she was sensing: her stomach did the work for this one as she appreciated the smells of orange, chocolate, eggs, and spices that made her stomach scream hunger. Turning to look at the paper in her hands, she opens its neat, methodical folds before reading the note.

Riposte,

I'm not sure if you remember whAt happened last night, but just to give a recap, you fell asleep with your face in my cheek. It sounds pretty weiRd but honestly, I'm worried you might panic so I'm letting you know that I was happy to be there for you. Maybe you didn't see it as help and maybe you're angry that I came and made you lash out, but it seems like something broke within you. I'm especially honored that You're trusting me with such painful secrets. I don't expect you to come for a lesson today because you probably didn't get sleep, but I'll be waiting for you in room 312 at 3pm today. I'll be there for 15-ish minutes before leaving. I used one of my gifts for the year to get some food delivered to your door. I'm not sure what you like so I asked the kitchen to prepare what I usually get in a dAy.

I hope you trust me more.

I trust you too.

Kismet.

Arya's memories start flooding back. Luigi walking in. Telling her story. Crying. Screaming. His arms around her. Her scared he'd touch her. Her falling asleep. She's incredulous, wondering how she was able to let herself stand and feel…okay with having been vulnerable.

For the first time in 12 years, Arya tries but fails to fight back the smile that grows on her face. It could be much bigger - she could let her teeth show - but she doesn't. Instead, an ever-so slight curve graces her face as she presses the note to her chest. Perhaps it's the words, the length, the way he spelled out ARYA in such a stupidly childish and laughable manner that made this so thoughtful, or how he ordered all his meals for the day in a single gift. Or maybe, it's because he used the gift in the first place.

Gifts were an additional bonus every agent had with their daily meals. Kitchen was open to get whatever, whenever, but you could only order and keep the food for yourself, with the exception of gifts. Every agent had three gifts for the year where they could choose and send food of their choice to any agent or employee in the Synecdoche. Arya never used hers because she never felt the need and knew it wasn't frequent for others to use it either. But Luigi had chosen to use his and that touched her in a way she hadn't felt for over a decade.

Loved.

Suddenly the idea of trust didn't seem so far from her grasp. She saw goodness that was selfless and pure.

No, it wasn't.

Arya's head started pulsing again as wretched thoughts filled her mind. She pulled the cart inside before slamming the door and sinking to the floor. Not again not again. She held her arms up to her forehead, pressing herself against the door behind her and shouting curses, trying to stop the noise in her head.

"He's playing you." She hears a voice speak with a low, mischievous tone.

"He's not he's just being nice." Arya finds herself talking out loud, saying words she never thought she could utter again in her life.

"He just wants to make sure you dance before throwing you to the ways-" Arya gets up and slams her arm on the door before realizing she made a dent. But she couldn't give a care.

This situations was difficult since the Luigi had offered her a day of rest. In most cases and any other time, she would've taken it without any hesitation or care. But after what happened last night, two choices became clear: she could take rest and wallow in the comfort of the despair that eat away at her every single day, or walk out the door. Push her legs which feel heavy to walk into a room where her inner steel will dent or the stone will find itself vulnerable with more cracks and exchange her hiding place for a small, merely negligible chance at being happy.

She wanted happiness. She was still young. She was still deserving of good things. Arya places her fist in the dent, mumbling words to stop the evil from growing and creeping upon her. They wouldn't stop, but their volume certainly decreased. She found herself checking the time with a craze.

2:45pm.

She overslept, but that wasn't her concern. Ever since Brass had assigned the task of meeting with Luigi yesterday, she wasn't obligated to meet with her team unless they paged her or vice versa. She grabs her pager, squeezing her eyes shut whenever the words in her mind get too loud. Opening them, she sees there are 0 messages. Perfect, she thinks to herself, before she's running around the room, talking to herself so that she can bounce irregularity against the methodical madness in her mind and get out of the door. She had to leave this room. She had to. If she didn't leave, she'd be caging herself in again.

She wanted to be free from herself. If one thinks about it, leaving her room was an allusion to her leaving the shell she created for all these years. It would be as though she slipped through one of the several hundred cracks that appeared after last night's situation.

She throws on a wrapped, long sleeve top with sweatpants. She didn't have to be in uniform which meant outfits were to her discretion. She throws on foundation and powder, wondering why society couldn't accept a bare face for once before realizing nobody really asked her to put the makeup which then leads her to take it all off before she's panicking and oh-

3:09pm.

"FUCK!" Arya screams in frustration running around her room frantically, not even understanding what else she was supposed to pick up. She throws on some socks and shoes, tying them lazily before grabbing her pager and running the door.

"I'm leaving you." She whispers to herself quietly and opens the door halfway before stopping.

The hairpin.

She grabs it, giving it a kiss and placing it in her hair, wincing at her own force before closing the door.

Free, for now.

~

Arya finds herself sprinting down the hallway, successfully having made it out of her room and down the elevator to the third floor, only to realize 312 was the most hidden room on the floor.

3:15pm.

She feels another cry bubble up that she silences while keeping a straight face, telling herself over and over again that she'll see him. She runs down to the end of the shamelessly long hallway before throwing the door open to see

no-one.

The lights are off, with the exception of a crack of sunlight illuminating the dust that is floating around in the room as if nobody ever came. Arya steps inside, looking around the corners to see if there was a bag or any belongings, hoping he stepped outside but it was to no avail. Arya's face goes blank. She lets the emotion from her eyes dissipate into the air, freezing as she slowly hears voices.

"Nobody loves you."

"Why would he come? Why would he touch you?"

Arya grabs her head, feeling insulted by her own desperation. What did she expect would happen? She feel the cracks heal themselves, slowly suffocating her as one-by-one, it gets harder to breathe.

"Arya?" Arya's eyes widen and she stands up before turning right around. She swallows down the shock as she realizes Luigi's face is just about two inches away from hers. Luigi is staring at her, eyes darting around to understand why she was hunched over seconds ago. Instinctively, his hands raise to grab her shoulders but he hesitates before stepping back and stuttering, scratching the back of his neck. Arya finds her eyes widening and trying to reach for him before retracting and locking her hands behind her back.

Her expression returns to being thin and neutral with the exception of her eyes shying away from his.

"I-I'm sorry I didn't want to do anything I just wanted to comfort you." Luigi speaks with hesitation in his voice, gripping the strap of his bag while swallowing hard, fearing he may have startled her. Arya quickly steals a look into his eyes before swallowing and look away from him. She wants to tell him she was scared. That she was hearing voices. That she was afraid she wasn't worthy of his touch. That she was also afraid of his touch.

She look back into his eyes which are already looking at her with softness and concern, She parts her lips to speak, wanting to let the words fall and rest in his palms. But, she has manners.

And trust issues.

But she quiets the commotion in her head before saying "I got scared when I didn't see you here." Arya's hands reach to her throat, feeling her breath constrict at her confession. It was like that contaminated oxygen, the only air she had and lived with this entire time, was getting sucked out of her body every time she replayed the phrase she just uttered.

Luigi's eyes soften even more, impossible more, Arya thinks, as he watches her hand tighten around her throat. His eyes widen again, heart beating faster and faster before realizing she might be panicking again. He can't stop himself, grabbing her arm and pulling it away from her neck. Arya bites her lips and winces, bending her head down to somehow distance herself from him stepping so close and holding her arm. His grip is firm but forgiving, allowing her the freedom to pull away if she so chooses.

"Arya, we don't need to do this to-" "No matter what, Luigi, don't say no. Let me-" Arya interrupts Luigi, putting a finger up as he watches a frustration light up her eyes. "Let me find myself." Arya gulps, standing back before giving a quiet sorry. Luigi's confusion dissolves into a smile before he extends a hand, palm out just like the night before. Arya's face, previously steeled with self-loathe and confusion, melts into a ghost of a smile that she gives while staring into Luigi's eyes. He blinks, pushing his hand an inch closer to her, for which she slips her hand in quietly, before letting her lips curve up higher. Arya lets her eyes follow Luigi as they both step into the open room. It has mirror lining one wall while the other is wood, which makes Arya let out a sigh because something in this place isn't white.

"I was late which is why you didn't see me here. I'm sorry about that." Luigi stops walking, Arya following suit, before speaking. His hand is still holding hers, the two guiltily indulging in the softness of each other's skin. Arya listens intently, the small smile never leaving her face. "That's okay. I woke up 15 to 3pm so it took everything in me to sprint down here." Arya smiles wider and laughs before remembering the food. "Thank you for the gift, Luigi."

Luigi's eyebrows furrow before he lets out a chuckle. "The pleasure is mine after that conversation we had in the lounge room. I really needed someone besides my team members to talk to." He lets go of Arya's hand before placing it on her shoulder, imitating the barely-there pressure he exerted in the lounge that day. Her head slightly turns but goes back into place, unafraid.

"He'll leave at some point you bi-"

"Arya." She seems lost again, Luigi notes, before shaking her lightly. Arya looks up at him, a bit startled before giving a dry laugh.

"Sorry. Thinking." Arya waves her hand to brush her thoughts off.

"No problem." Luigi bends down to unzip his bag, making it nearly impossible for Arya to ignore his defined back, lending itself into an hourglass at his waist. Every imperceptible and perceptible shift in his actions creates an obvious change, highlighting how toned he was. Arya tries not to think too much of it, simply convincing herself that she was admiring his discipline.

He gets back up, carrying two water bottles and towels in his hand.

"I don't think we'll be needing this today, so don't worry yourself over the heap of school supplies I'm giving you." Luigi hands the items to Arya who inspects the items, before walking over and setting them down on a bench. She catches a glimpse of her eyes in the mirror and incredulously realizes that joy is a new, refreshing look on her.

"Thank you." Her back is turned to him when she says this, leading her to miss Luigi's stare. Her top is an open back, allowing him to see the skin beautifully gliding over the muscles that shift as she bends over and moves her arm. Every movement gives rise to said shifts. He tries, but he can't take his eyes off of her hazel and toned back. His eyes snap up in time, realizing what he's doing before he returns a soft you're welcome.

He steps over to the middle of the room before sitting down, ushering for Arya to come over. "Are you okay if we go by real names?" Arya walks over and crosses her legs while facing him. Doubt pangs in her stomach, half of her ready to playfully curse at him for giving her something to think about but she ignores the feelings inside of her. "Of course. I would've said something this entire time if I wasn't okay with it." She sees blush paint his cheeks. He's embarrassed to teach while she's finding it hard to try and learn. "I suppose I'm not the only nervous one here." Arya tilts her head innocently, looking at Luigi with a smile. It catches him off guard as he lets out a nervous laugh. He glances at Arya before answering. "That is true." He nods his head and raises an eyebrow. "Say, ever danced before?" Luigi asks with genuine curiosity.

Arya opens her mouth to answer. It's true because she has but not in the way he was thinking. She remembers on one and only one mission where she had to go undercover with Bastion. It was in a strip club…

It's going where you think it is.

Arya's mind was blown when she was told she had to go undercover as a literal stripper, but it was a bit easier since she was given the choice of song and dance. It was an easy task to rewatch the countless videos she chose, coming up with her own routine. There was no intimacy involved, rather, it was just her and the seduction she could muster up to exude from her twisting body. It's a memory that makes her laugh more than blush since she remembers having to whisper into Bastion's ear to play along and use him as bait to make their target jealous. Her legs had dipped over the stage, spotlight following her as she gave Bastion a lap dance. Bastion had half the mind to play along but the entire time, she could feel the absolute panic running through his system knowing he was the farthest thing from straight. She remembers having to lean into his ear and tell him to pretend like he was interested in fucking her, reminding him to think of Locutor in her place, which seemed to do the trick. Safe to say everyone but Locutor knew and Bastion got a bag of cackles thrown at him from Myriad and Gemini.

Arya realizes she's distracted before blurting out a "yes!"

Luigi raises his eyebrows before leaning in further, his interest piqued. "Really?" Luigi asks and Arya nods, realizing she doesn't want to hear the next question coming out of his mouth.

So she…answers it instead?

"I had to go undercover as a stripper." Arya slaps her hand over her mouth before Luigi's jaw drops, making her think his jawbone might detach. "What?" She swears a flicker of desire streaks across his eyes before getting replaced with shock. "Y-Yeah." Arya suddenly regrets everything and questions why she didn't lie.

Arya gulps. She hates to face it but some part of her was growing increasingly comfortable with Luigi, despite every distrusting instinct in her. Perhaps, part of her wanted to be vulnerable too.

Luigi wanted to ask her to dance for him, not realizing she'd tell him that stripping was her experience. He swallows hard. Should he ask? I mean, in this situation, it would actually be for educational purposes. The phrase wouldn't be used in vain so he tries his luck.

"W-Would you want to show me? You don't have to I swear it's just a matter of trying to let yourself be," Luigi visibly shakes before snapping his fingers, trying to find the right word. "Comfortable?" He royally fucks up and asks Arya like he's dying to see her routine (which he is but he can't actually reveal that can he?).

Arya blinks hard. At some point she'd have to get comfortable if she was going to conquer this mission. She could say no and move on, keeping close to her comfort but since this didn't involve any form of touching, it didn't seem like an unreasonable ask from his part. She remembers having to choregraph it and having no trouble performing on the stage, finding her own comfort and protecting her own dignity by her own means. Arya knows that as soon as someone having touch her and that too for an extended period of time is involved, she bows out.

"Sure." Arya turns to look around the room and there it is. A pole.

Something feels elementary about it. It's just a pole, a stick of steel that you dance around. Her mind flashes back to the countless times she had practiced the routine and suddenly, it doesn't seem so hard. She gets up before realizing she needs to change into tighter, more fluid clothing. Her top is fine but-

"I need to - uh - change?" Arya hesitates. Luigi is still reeling at the fact that she said yes, staring at her before fumbling and jumping to his feet. "I will be outside. Please just give me a nice, big holler." Luigi scurries out of the room, slapping himself the moment he steps outside to just calm the fuck down and relax. He was here to teach her, not fall in love. He bites his tongue, grounding himself.

Arya, meanwhile, slides her sweatpants off. It's habitual for her to wear her favorite high rise shorts, 3" inseam in a devastatingly navy blue shade, underneath any sweatpants she dons. She's got every color under the sun but she went with this color to compliment her baby blue top for today. She folds her sweatpants neatly, placing them on the bench. She struts over to the pole, letting her hands get habituated to the cool steel again, feelings the structure after almost a year. She had this mission a little over six months ago, but the routine was still fresh in her mind. She takes her shoes off, letting the socks cover her feet as she picks up a light jog. Her footsteps patter as she leans out of the door and Luigi is sitting down by the door.

"Hey. You can come in." Luigi, whose head was turned away from the door, whips around and smiles nervously. "You sure?" He's slowly getting up, feeling better once Arya nods. He watches her walk inside, taking note of the navy blue shorts she had on. He curses himself, unable to stop watching her fluid steps and carved body getting closer to the pole on the opposite side of the room. By habit, he places his hand on the door before freezing.

"Can I close the door? I can keep it open if you feel a-"

"Of course." Arya doesn't let him finish his question. He's being considerate, but the more doubt that gets seeded in her mind, the more it slows her down. Her mind is quiet as she watches Luigi pull out the controls for the speakers in the room. "Song?" Arya is hugging the pole, waiting for Luigi before remembering she can't dance without the song. She pauses before walking voer and scrolling through to search for the song. Luigi takes a few steps back before sitting on the floor again, in perfect vision of the pole.

"Arya, just remember that anytime you want to stop, just stop." Luigi is biting the inside of his lips, nervous she might have a breakdown. Arya looks over, smiling as she chooses the song and explains herself.

She sits down in front of him before talking.

"I don't mind doing this dance because I had learned and performed this myself. I choregraphed it start to end and since it doesn't really involve someone else touching me-" Arya is worried she's oversharing, but the focus Luigi places on her reassures her otherwise. "I'm okay with it. If someone else had to be involved, then I'd be in a different situation. I'm okay." Arya hesitates, but extends her hand, hoping he'd take it so he'd understand that she really was okay. Luigi looks, before holding her arm with care. She gives it a squeeze before getting up to hit play and running over to start.

Luigi holds his breath. He has no idea what to expect.

(song of choice: lana del rey - groupie love. i also found a pole routine that matches if you want to skip/follow along because i wrote this entire next section analyzing this person's routine- search up hedwig shackle's dirty diana performance for the 2021 elite provocateur elite!!)

Arya straightens out her body, chin tilted upwards ever-so slightly. She struts over, circling around before placing her right arm on the pole, spinning herself once. She runs her hands from her abdomen up to her chest in a painfully seductive motion.

Her right arm again grabs the pole, having it slightly twist before she pushes her hips up and back, letting her left arm trail from her thighs up to her lower back. Her hips push back up before her body twirls around, legs splitting open to swing to the right before letting her body is afloat in the air.

She delicately places her feet on the ground before continuing. It had only been a few second, but Luigi is already captivated, taking notice of her bones protruding near the dip from her stomach into her legs, all while appreciating the fluidity of her movement.

She sinks to the ground, right arm still grasping the pole as her left arm supports the weight, bending her left knee before opening her right leg up and to her side wide before repeating and folding over herself.

Her her backside faces Luigi as she gracefully draws a circle with the opposite leg to propel herself up and spin around again. Both arms grasp the pole now, as she eyes Luigi directly. Her left arm gives a slap on her skin before grasping the pole and twisting around to the front and expertly arching her back down so far, her face touches the ground.

Her stomach and legs come down to touch the floor for a fleeting second. In no time, she throws her head back and lifts herself up with a leg extending itself back and outwards before sitting on her hind legs, her body suavely gliding onto the floor as she pushes herself forward and up, yet again.

She twists around on her knees before her right arm is gripping the pole, right leg drawing a perfect circle as her body pushes back a few more inches with ease. Her left leg bends inward as her right extends, pulling her body up and across the distance between her torso and the steel, impossible strength keeping her in the air and moving through it. Her chest heaves and slides itself onto the pole before she's lunging and throwing her head back, moving her body around to stand and letting her neck fall back.

Her curves move with ease, showing off her toned, smooth muscles before dropping right onto her knees to kneel for a fraction of a second before balancing the opening of her legs on her back, curved to accommodate for the weight of her decision. She pulls her leg back, twisting around to now lay on her stomach behind the pole. Her ministrations and moves continue, drawing Luigi in every second at a time.

Luigi doesn't know what to think, but he does know he's going to lose his mind after this is all over. She moved like her entire body was sown with the finest silk, smooth and bending to the will of the music. The music seemed to wrap around her figure, pushing and pulling at her skin and limbs where it was appropriate. He watched her, fighting against the heat of her unknowing stares when they locked eyes. Her face contorted at just the right times, following the dips and sighs that were in the background of the song. Her back arched the perfect amount while her stability in the air kept drawing words away and away from his mind. She was a painting that could move, beautifully capturing the urgency of the second, sharply twisting around or throwing her head back before gently contouring her figure to the sensuality the music demanded of her.

The song ends with her halfway up the pole with her tipped back, neck and some of her chest exposed as her hair fell back, lightly swinging from her dance. Her eyes met with his before she twists around the steel to safely glide and land on the floor. Her knees bend, lower back arches and sticking out as she returns to a normal position, scooting closer to the pole to rest her head. She's out of breath having attempted this routine after a while which was worse since she was barely getting sleep nowadays.

"So," Arya watches a silently pondering Luigi, "what do you think Luigi? Can I do this?" Arya's shame creeps up as she folds her legs up and hugs herself, taking the support of the steel beside her. Luigi's eyes flicker up to look at her, trying to find the words that could even express half of the vulnerability, sensuality, and absolute magic he just watched.

Luigi pushes himself onto his feet, stopping the automatic playlists that were filling the room with noise again. He looks over at Arya, silently asking for permission and she nods before stretching her legs out and supporting herself with both hands behind her shoulders. Luigi walks over and reaches his arm out. Arya's eyebrows jump before she grabs his arm and stands up. He looks down into her eyes before talking.

"Arya, you have no idea how beautiful that was." His eyes are looking back and forth between both sides of her face before he turns his head to the side, seemingly trying to stop the words he wants to say next. But her performance was so intellectually and emotionally stimulating that he can't stop himself from rambling.

"You were so in tune with the music, like you embodied and danced its essence. God, have you ever seen yourself in the mirror?" He runs a hand through his hair before stepping back and turning around, groaning and bending down to express frustration at Arya's blank expression. He turns around and scoffs, seeing Arya's amused smile. "Arya that was- Arya I've never seen anyone dance like that. You became that song. You absolutely drank the seduction of the song and painted it in front of me and I-" Arya had slowly walked closer to him, hands crossed with a face of wonder. She's slowly listening to every word and inflection in his voice, paying attention to how his arms flexed or relaxed when he emphasized certain points. She couldn't take her eyes off of the passion she was seeing, hearing, feeling - feeling in her pulse. His words were like a poem she was destined to listen to.

Luigi was still rambling before turning to address Arya directly.

"All I need you to do is trust me." Luigi stares, pleading with her at this point. He wanted to feel her, twist and dip her, but more than that, he wanted her trust. He saw something breathtaking in her and knowing she might trust him with that felt like someone was handing him a diamond.

Arya stares, repeating his words in his head.

All I need to do his is trust him.

All I need to do his is trust him.

All I need to do his is trust him.

She chanted it in her mind, nodding unknowingly as she stepped closer, dually aware of the pushback her own conscience was giving her.

How can you trust him?

Why would he trust you?

How could you let him?

She looks into his eyes. His eyes were drenched in truth and desperation, a vulnerability he was showing in exchange for her to just say the words.

Yes, Luigi, I trust you.

That's all she had to say. He was waiting, letting his emotions paint his eyes. Displaying an inner curiosity and desire to care for her. It was beautiful. Raw. Colorful.

Musical, even, if she translated the butterflies she felt in her stomach into sounds. The voices were getting louder but in front of him, it seemed like nothing mattered.

In front of his honesty, not a single lie could stand in their way.

"It will be slow, Luigi, but-" Arya pauses, realizing she's promising something that would change everything about her.

"I will trust you." Arya breathes it out with confidence, swaying on her feet lightly as her heart beat out of her chest. Luigi's eyes brightened as he took a step closer and whispered, staring down into her eyes, neck strained.

"Arya," he spoke into her soul, trying to placate the residual concerns she had, "are you sure? I want you to be happy. I want you to feel like you can be yourself around me." Luigi tests the waters, resting a hand on her shoulder. She can feel his hand trembling but she looks at him with unwavering confidence, making no effort to push him away. His shoulders relax upon realization. "I want to be your friend. I want to be emotional with you. I want to break the single rule that has kept you trapped your entire life. Please." Arya's eyes fall, pained at how genuinely he uttered the words and tried to navigate her fragile, tearing walls. He wanted to break a rule. She remembers the phoenix hairpin she wore before her grandmother's words resounded in her ears.

Rules are only rules until you decide to break them. Follow wisely.

Luigi was trying to be careful in slipping through the growing cracks, trying not to let himself create a scar that would make the rock rebound and harden itself again. There was discipline in his love. Arya steps even closer, their faces inches away as they were before, staring. Arya shakily takes her hand and places his free arm upon her waist. His cold hands make her neck fall back, bringing her lips even closer to his. She looks up into his eyes, watching his pulse throw itself hastily in a patterned madness against his neck, seen through her peripheral vision.

Luigi's hand slowly moves up and around her back. His fingers splay across the dip in the middle, touching the exposed skin as they both bend in unison. He bends forward as Arya's neck angles and drops back, hair falling to touch the ground as her leg extends. Luigi removes his hand before grabbing her leg from behind her knee, balancing himself on one foot as her body is pliable. His other foot straightens out behind me before he pulls her back up, resting his hands on her hips and allowing his extended leg to fold and support him before he's standing straight and Arya's hands are clasped around his neck.

He wastes no time before slowly turning her around. She removes an arm from one side of his neck, before grabbing her own. She trails behind him, grabbing the front of his throat as the other arm slides down his chest excruciatingly slow. The same arm of his grabs ahold of her fingers, drawing her body forward for which he pulls back. Arya matches the resistance, throwing her body back with an arch, a small curve before he spins her around and places his hand behind her neck, bending her over and down to the side. She looks back into eyes with an equal desire, before she pushes herself up, both hands on her sides as Luigi lets go.

"You're perfect." Luigi mutters the words before calming his thoughts. "I think you did enough for today." He smiles, holding her forearm and giving it a soft squeeze. Arya places her free arm on top of the one touching hers before reciprocating the action and telling him "I think you did more" and walking away to get a drink. Luigi watches her, letting go of a breath he didn't know he was holding. He feels giddy, absolutely sure that he is stepping into territory he shouldn't.

He's falling in love.

Arya's heart hammers out of her chest as she downs the water, quenching her parched lips. The cool liquid refreshes her throat and being, humming the song quietly to distract herself from the sensation of the moment. She quietly retraced the path his fingers drew while finishing the last few drops. She turns around to see Luigi packing and zipping his bag up before wearing his shoes. She stands quietly, waiting for him to make the next move. Luigi lets out a sigh after he's finishing organizing his items, looking back to see Arya.

"You're free to go. Thanks for today." Luigi walks over and smiles. Arya nods: "Of course. What time tomorrow?" She watches him think, but notices a small dip in shoulders, showing disappointment. She doesn't quite know where it's coming from, but she knew it was there. "How about we do it in the morning? That way I can get out of your way quicker." Luigi proposes this but Arya's eyebrows furrow. "You're not in my way Luigi. Same time tomorrow then." Arya makes the final decision before walking away with the water and sweatpants. She walks and exits the door before taking a few steps back. Luigi is still halfway across the room, making his way to the door before stopping to see what Arya has to say.

"Hey?" He asks confused. Arya smiles before twiddling her thumbs, hesitant but eventually telling him, "You should come over again."

She walks away, leaving Luigi both dumbfounded and ecstatic.

~

if you want to be added to my taglist, please comment on my PINNED BLOG POST, not any other post!

this is a slowburn romance/adventure and eventual smut fic. stick around <3

@poohkie90 @madkohi

[silvr-skreen]

Any random HCs for MFN (OC or canon) you want to share but haven't had the chance to?

OH BOY DO I? This is going to be incredibly long

Headcanons:

none of the puppets can swear if a child is around. Like physically can't. it's a failsafe Al added JUST IN CASE. they can if everyone is an adult however, but usually dont.... usually.

i am a gordon transman truther and i am going to die protecting my truth. grumpy old man deserves the world

also a ray HOH truther. i dont think his hearing was ever the same after the sewers and all that heavy machinery.

In relation to the last headcanon, he only got hearing aids after failing to hear the fire alarm during a drill... gordon found him inside and confused as to where everyone was. ray got his hearing aids the literal next day.

i like to think al was initially intending a lot more with the show, but got kind of trapped in the "doing what's always been done" and cutesy kid stuff. Especially since i can see the CNBG blocking him

they turned down a lot, and Al had never been bold enough to try and push back, beause he was afraid of losing hat he'd worked for.

RICHIE TIME. Richie is indian/mexican. he first tried to get into other shows or movies after leaving MFN but ironically... hated how grim they all were. there wasn't even an ounce of goodness unless it was to be used as a misdirection.

One of the things the CNBG pushed back on was the puppets (or at least some of them) having different races/ethnicities/nationalities etc. because Al wanted it to feel like a real neighborhood.

Pearl is Singaporean, Norman is hispanic on his mother's side, Ricky is african american, and Ray is scottish/irish, Gobblette is from Appalachia. The other puppets are still kind of a WIP on my end deciding

All puppets can clone themselves, they just need enough material. Larger puppets require more material in general, and so clone less.

The dogs are mostly clones. Started w/ just Mahoney and then they cloned themself twice into the other 2.

Puppets like Pearl, Ray and Gobblette who are large and fully dexterous (have you seen pearl leap?) have inner metal frames, theyre not particularly hard or poke-y, but they help hold the puppets structure like bones.

Gordon is physically disabled in some capacity, personally i've got a few headcanons on that, such as the asthma and a bad knee (as well as some others that are a bit in the realm of spoilers for my fic sorry lol)

He also has multiple medals. (three to be specific, but i cant tell you what 2 are yet.

Gordon to me is the biromantic ace guy who just never understood the appeal but shrugged it off like "im sure everyone dreads that part of a romance and just does it because its something you do."

Shirley coming back (hell even just being alive) was a shock to every puppet who doesn't go to the basement. they didnt know that one of her made it to the basement and stayed hidden with ray. Pearl stared at her for like a solid 2 minutes while trying to figure out if she was real.

ow this was exactly as long as i was expecting. i probably have many more i cannae remember em tho.

[uptochxnce]

[ LEE DOHYUN, CIS MAN, HE/HIM] — i’m pretty sure that was just CHANCE CHOI of  THE RICH AND FAMOUS that just passed by. the TWENTY-SEVEN year old ACTOR has been a resident here in the upper east side for FIVE YEARS.  they’re known for being WITTY & DEBONAIR, but i overheard someone mention they’re also SLY & IMPULSIVE…considering they’re an SCORPIO i think there might be some truth to it. but maybe that’s just because they’re always worried someone might find out about REDACTED.  something about them has always reminded me of THE SMELL OF THE OCEAN, SUNLIGHT FLITERING THROUGH YOUR FINGERS, ICED COFFEE ON A HOT DAY  but maybe that’s just because they like to PAINT & DECORATE in their free time.

QUICK STATS

name: chance choi

nickname(s): n/a

gender: cis man

pronouns: he/him

age: 27 

dob: nov 15th 1996

pob: los angeles california

orientation: bi-sexual (closeted) 

social group: the rich and famous 

APPEARANCE

height: 5'10"

build: lean/muscular 

ethnicity: korean

eye colour: brown

hair colour: black

notable features: cute smile 

style: casual (but in designer clothes)

tattoos: n/a

piercings: n/a 

PERSONALITY

positive traits: witty, debonair, kind, charming, 

negative traits: sly, impulsive, selfish, needy, reckless 

likes: late night drives, italian food, hot baths, swimming, painting, decorating

dislikes: heatwaves, the smell of cooked onions, spicy food, ketchup 

CAREER & EDUCATION

current occupation: actor 

past occupation(s): n/a 

degree(s): n/a 

BIOGRAPHY

tw: sex, drugs  as the son of a famous hollywood director, no one was surprised when chance appeared in his first movie when he was barely three years old; doe-eyed and confused, his father feeding him every line with a proud smile on his face. yet somehow he thrived, many claiming it was because his mother had been a popular actress back in south korea so it must have run in his blood. by the time he turned 10 he’d been in more movies than he could possibly remember, he was hollywood’s favourite child star, a nepo baby beloved by the world for his adorable appearance and natural skill. it was only by luck (and perhaps good genetics) that he aged into an attractive young man, growing out of his boyish charms and showing the world he was destined to be a successful leading man. yet a chance grew up he lived a rather particular and unusual life. he never attended a real school, his classroom had been in a trailer on set alongside other child actors. the only prom he ever attended was in a movie, and he’d grown up put on a pedestal, his privacy non-existence, invaded by masses of fans and paparazzi trying to get the latest scoop on hollywood’s Golden Boy. but chance kept his good reputation despite that, he was known for being kind albeit a bit oblivious at times. yet as he began to get older, this pressure of perfection slowly began to weigh him down, leaving him confused as to if he really knew who he was, or if he’d just been conditioned into the person he was raised to be. this may have been how he slowly began to resent his perfect image, starting to allow his impulses to take control. pictures of him partying at clubs began to flood the tabloids, his arms wrapped around a new pretty girl every few months. it was like he wanted to show the world he wasn’t the golden child they wanted him to be, he was adult, he was messy, he was human just like them, he could make mistakes. and mistakes he certainly did make. being rich and famous meant the world was all but on a silver platter for him, his ‘friends’ encouraged his bad habits, from sex to drugs, he let himself go wild, ultimately ending up in more than one scandal, getting labelled as an ex-child star now acting out to seem mature. it took damage control from his PR team to clean up his reputation, though behind closed doors chance was still the same mess he’d grown to be. yet to the rest of the world, he was back on screen, starring in blockbusters and charming fans with his sweet smile.

HEADCANONS 

he is bisexual, with no lean in either direction. however, he’s never publicly been in a relationship with a man because he’s worried about his reputation as an actor.

as a child chance got his start acting because his father used to put him in his films, which eventually lead to him getting speaking roles

he’s acted in most genres as a teen/young adult he’s did a lot of YA franchises. but now as an adult he favours acting in action films and dramas. 

he has many accolades and has been nominated for several oscars, but only won once. 

WANTED CONNECTIONS

childhood friend: someone else who may have grown up in entertainment industry, they could have acted in the same film or just known each other by chance.

best friend: someone in around the same age as him that he trusts with the wold, and may be one of the few people who know his secret

celebrity status: another celebrity he may have worked with whether in a film, or as brand ambassadors for something 

old sweethearts: they have previous had a very public relationship, and while they dated they were beloved by the press. but may have broken up due to schedule or personal differences.

publicity stunt: someone he had a PR relationship with, which may have been beneficial to them both (brought them publicity for dating a celebrity, and may have been a cover for him from a recent scandal) 

[staliamazing]

tag game TEHEH

name: sarah !!!! c'est moi

age: twenty, to be twenty-one soon-ish. i am planning a party. will i go through with it? who's to say.

star sign: taurus sun, capricorn rising, gemini moon. i have beef with geminis so the last one deeply upsets me.

first language: english

second language: je parle français !!

i was near fluent and have my B2 but don't practice anymore. i am considering getting back into it because i feel i need more hobbies and highly regret throwing out all my textbooks and notes. (that's a whole other story i LOVED school and threw out all my damn notes and stuff?!?!? sarah you dumb dumb)

favorite lip product: that lush lip scrub! i've lost my peppermint tub but anticipate it turning up when i least expect it. my lips always has excess skin peeling off for some reason so its great to feel exfoliated!

the best food dish you can make without a recipe? um. pizza bread! pizza, pizza sauce, cheese. eat up friends!

if you drink tea, what kind? none, get away from me. SOMETIMES lipton peach iced tea but only if im at mad mex.

if you drink coffee, what roast do you usually get? see last answer. i get the jitters.

favorite thing to watch on youtube right now: THE BALD AND THE BEAUTIFUL. i;ve been watching upwards of two episodes every night in bed.

favorite thing to watch on youtube in 2012: for sure mormon family vloggers. pick a channel i probably watched them. i have no fucking clue why!

favorite item of clothing right now: new graphic tee! the alice oseman x everpress collab with this gorg patchwork design and all little queer and trans doodles over it! the proceeds went to LGBTQIA+ refugees <3 i fucking love graphic tees holy shit

favorite item of clothing in 2012: some form of graphic leggings im certain.

fandom -

three movies you recommend: the half of it on netflix - watched recently and was confused but pleasantly surprised

your favorite concert: either one i went to with my gf! they were both great experiences even though i was shitting myself before both because i have a lot of sound and crowd sensitiivities ( # actually autistic). i loved being in the pit for ATL despite not knowing any songs and i like how you can feel the music inside you.

have you ever unfollowed someone over a fandom opinion? no i've actually followed someone because i love getting mad <3 over time i have grown to really respect them and where their views come from which im proud of because i can be a bit close-minded.

the best tv show you watched last year: i watch a lot of shows! recently though i watched euphoria and understood the hype. couldn't rewatch though. it felt like a disservice to the shock factor i feel like the show really feeds off.

do you have a fancasting you just can’t let go of? don't pay much attention to fancasts!

a ship you’ve abandoned: im so sorry amy and rory from doctor who... i legit met them too. it just doesnt hit the same and im glad they divorced. amy was too swept up in the doctor and rory is a damn sweetheart who honestly deserves better. ALSO maya and lucas from girl meets world - bit random honestly why did they do that. lucas and riley from day one. maya and zay!

on a scale of 1-10 how willing are you to share your ao3 history? 7? depends on who to! anyone on here sure. not real people they'd be like "what do you mean you like fics where that little thug man wears short skirts" they just wouldnt UNDERSTAND

what fandom do you wish was bigger? tori spring fandom! maybe it is and i just dont know but.

do you have a fandom tattoo? yah, the fandom of my high school english teacher! most of my tats are literary inspired and specifically books i read in school for the curriculum.

my others are - phoebe bridgers related

gf related (she tattooed me) (fave fandom) (she's the best)

has a finale ever ruined a show for you? definitely i just can't remember which lmao im sorry

have you…

swam in an ocean? yep! swam is a strong word though. i've been in and bobbed up and down! i usually run from the tide.

been vegan/vegetarian? both! at different times. it was very much part of my friend and family culture growing up.

gone skinny dipping? yes, in my exs best friends dads girlfriends dead uncles pool :) honestly 10/10 swimming with clothes on is so random? i think its so beautiful how people look under the blue wavy water of the pool.

gone skiing? no i am scared of the snow since learning about crevasses in year 4 and almost falling off a ski lift at a very young age. i do love the cold and the ski lodge episode of gmw though.

thanks for the tag @iansw0rld, these are fun :)

[etphonemom]

I look down at the bone, the size of an average adult human's femur. Maybe it was overlooked amongst all of the fossils, even though I don't know how. I can clearly see it's different from everything that came with it. Oh well, if it was a mistake I can at least try and find out who it belongs to.

I shrug it off and take a final gulp of water. I sit down, plant my feet firmly on the ground and meditate for a moment

I remind myself who I am. When and where I was born. How many siblings I have, my mother's favorite movie, my other mother's favorite song, all of the pets I had the blessed opportunity of caring for, I then list 5 of my firsts (I make sure none of them are the same as the previous ritual, repetition is okay but I find it's better when it's atleast not twice in a row).

This time I am absorbed in the memory of my first sleepover. It was with two of my cousins, I was 9. One of them was 13 and the other was 8. I remember trying to impress the older one by begging the 8 year old to turn off their nightlight. It backfired. I woke up in the middle of the night, thinking there was a monster in the room because I couldn't see. I wet the bed, luckily my little cousin took the blame for me the next day.

I remember my first time at an amusement park. I wet myself on the ride where you go straight up high in the sky and it drops you down super fast.

I remember the first time I was scared and didn't wet myself. I was 12, I had just changed schools in the middle of the school year. I got lost and wandered into the boy's locker room, where I felt I truly belonged but knew I wasn't safe there. I heard a few boys outside and I ran into one of the stalls. I was scared I was going to get beat up again. I counted three voices, I had no way of escape even if I caught them by surprise. I could feel my fear cause me to lose control of my bladder. I pull my pants down and sat on the toilet. This time I shat. I remember the boys being grossed out by the smell they left the bathroom immediately. I had never been so thankful for my ability to shit in my entire life.

(Don't worry, not all of these firsts are bathroom related. One first makes me think of similar ones and I tend to have a few on the same route.)

I remember my first period. I thought I was dying and I called 911. Actually... I don't want to think too much about that one. It was quite embarrassing. Luckily my parents were only mad at first when they thought I was trying to pull a prank. When they found out what was going on they were very gentle with me. I usually hate when people try to tiptoe around my feelings, but I will forever be thankful for that day. Though I'll never admit it.

And lastly, I thought about the first time I ever lived alone. (Told you they weren't all bathroom related.) It didn't last long, I begged my cousin to move in with me since we were both out of highschool. They surprisingly were on board pretty fast. I had a whole speech I planned to say to guilt them as well as convince them it was the most logical thing to do. I'm grateful my cousin waited to move out until I was ready. I'm also grateful they installed cameras at every entrance for me.

I take a few deep breaths and finally, I am ready to touch the femur. My biggest fear is seeing into another life and forgetting my own. It feels like how a dream feels real, but tenfold. And even when I snap out of it, I get confused for about 10-30 seconds. It may not seem long to the average person, but it feels like an eternity.

I shake my fears and slowly reach my arm forward.

I'm in a deep hole surrounded by dirt. I'm digging and digging. My arms are burning, my hands have blisters and they sting. I hear yelling. I look up, squinting. The sun is blinding me through my sorry attempt at shading my eyes. I see a tall silhouette. They walk around above me to the other side of the hole, blocking the sun. Intentionally. I see his face. I feel fear and disgust. I see the end and I'm almost relieved. Relieved my suffering will be no more, but I'm also scared. A fear I have never felt before in my life. He kicks some dirt in my direction, causing me to cough while also stinging my eyes.

After my tears help wash them out, I see bones in the sides of the hole I'm in, close to my knees. I would say I'm about 8-10 feet deep. I imagine how long these bones have been here. If they met the same fate as mine. I wonder if I will ever be found. If they'll ever find who did this, if they would even care. I look back up with pure hatred in my eyes. I ensure his face is scarred into my brain until the end of time. I then pray. Not necessarily to a god, I'm still not sure if I believe in one. I pray to something bigger than myself. I pray that he makes a mistake of some kind that will lead to my discovery, I pray he gets into a car accident and dies slowly, I pray he gets too drunk at a bar and starts a fight with the wrong guy. I pray for something anything, if not for me but to prevent this happening again. I pray and pray, I look up and see his shovel matching my own. He bashes my head with his. I refuse to fall so easily. After the fourth one I'm laying on my side. Still slightly lucid. I continue to pray. I feel the dirt cover my face. I feel my lungs fighting the uninvited guest. After a long and excruciating minute or so, I awake.

I'm gasping for air, Lila is splashing water on my face, shaking me. I feel my pants get warm but I don't care. It's not due to my fear and lack of control. This is someone else's fear. Her prayer worked in a way she wouldn't have imagined. Whoever that piece of shit was buried her at what eventually became an archaeological site. And the discoveries at that site eventually brought her to me. And his face is scarred into my brain, I allow it. I grab a pencil and paper near me, leaving Lila dumbfounded. I probably look crazy but I don't care. I make a rough sketch of his face.

After I am satisfied with my drawing I sit back and think. Where are the rest of her bones? Was she actually buried at the site this was brought from? Who put this there? Was someone hoping I'd be the one to find it? Only a small group of people know about my gift... Those who do know are aware that I refuse to touch dead humans. Maybe they thought if they asked me directly I'd say no. Did they assume I wouldn't have been able to differentiate a human bone from a fossil? I can't truly blame them for trying to trick me. I knew it was human and I still touched it.

"Lila, where and who did this batch come from? And can you take over my responsibilities for a few days? I will make sure you are paid well for it. I have something I need to do."

That motherfucker looked young, how much you want to bet he's still alive. If I am the answer to that poor girl's prayer then he should be. And I'm gonna make him pay.

I selfishly wish I could go back in time before I touched it. Maybe bring it to the police, my curiosity got the best of me. I've felt another living being's pain and suffering before but it was usually due to natural causes, or the food chain. I've never felt suffering at the hands of a sadistic prick. I'll never be able to forget that feeling. I'll make sure he doesn't either.

You’ve always had the gift; touching the dead you live their last moments through their eyes. As a paleontologist, it helped you recreate scenes from by-gone eras in astonishing detail. However, this time, you wish you hadn’t touched the fossil.

[ofepiphxny]

━ ✧ 𝑱𝑶𝑹𝑫𝑨𝑵 𝑨𝑺𝑳𝑨𝑵𝑰 // 𝑽𝑰𝑹𝑻𝑼𝑬

“every time I wanna get a little peace of mind, all I gotta do is close my eyes. and suddenly, I'm dancing in my childhood bedroom, falling right back into the way it was.”

name: jordan aslani face claim: aria shahghasemi pronouns & gender: he/him & cis man age: twenty-six birthdate: march 3rd zodiac sign: pisces orientation: demisexual, biromantic status: visitor class: virtue hierarchy: pawn housing: joan of arc’s refuge (unit 2a) occupation: server at frenchie’s family: unknown bio family moral alignment: lawful good mbti: INFP enneagram: 9w1 vice & virtue: envy & kindness element: air hogwarts house: hufflepuff traits: friendly, artsy, creative, absentminded, clumsy, gullible character inspo(s): emmet brickowski (the lego movie), peter parker (spider-man), bambi (bambi), olaf (frozen), samwell tarly (game of thrones), samwise gamgee (lord of the rings), rex (toy story)

song inspirations

childhood bedroom by ben platt

waving through a window by ben platt

go the distance by roger bart

superheroes by the script

idle town by conan gray

tightrope by michelle williams

history

Born in the regular world, Jordan grew up in Brooklyn, New York. He lived in an orphanage with various other kids for a while, never having known his real parents. He later moved out and was able to get a small apartment a few blocks away. Whenever he wasn’t at his job, he was spending time drawing in his sketchbook or walking around petting some stray cats and dogs or playing games or riding around on his bicycle. The latter activity would end up being the last thing he really did in that world he was so used to. While riding on his bike under sunny skies, Jordan was having a rather normal day that would end up turning into the craziest adventure ever. He, uh, couldn’t really describe how it happened. But he just sort of—well, went through a portal?

It definitely was a fell down the rabbit hole type of situation, except imagine the clumsiest guy you’ve ever seen in your life. A domino effect that involved Jordan flipping off his bike, falling on his face, and the bike landing right on top of him, all while multiple strangers were watching him. A few people asked if he was alright and then there were some instinctual laughs from others, but otherwise they didn’t seem that surprised by his sudden presence.

Jordan had somehow stumbled upon – and stumbled was an understatement – an almost sci-fi looking city that he’d only ever imagined from books or seen in movies. He was bewildered, looking around in complete awe, confused at how he ended up there. But also where was there exactly? It didn’t take long for someone wrangle him up and start to explain that he was in a place called Hiraeth. And Jordan was like the awkward standing person emoji while listening, nodding a few times while his mouth was just partly open. A lot of ohhhs and woahs and okay yeahs coming from him. Meanwhile he couldn’t remember most of what was said to him then, in all honesty.

It was definitely a learning curve, being in a whole new world and having to kind of relearn a lot of stuff. He was fascinated though, trying to take in everyone’s stories and the like. That was around three months ago, and Jordan has now made the choice of being a Virtue along with being a Pawn under that umbrella. A green ID that previously marked him as a Tyro has been replaced with more of a goldish looking one. Working at Frenchie’s as a server, Jordan has been taking it one day at a time, continuing to get used to this new life. He has started doing art again too, sketching or painting various buildings or nature areas or people, cherishing the beauty of what is around him.

[thelongstroll]

The OZ Effect

Back in the day, and I mean BAAACCCCKKK in the day, there was a thing called appointment TV.  I know I’m aging myself with this but whatever.  There were a couple of tools needed for appointment TV.  You needed, well a television, and then either a TV guide or Local Listings, and a pen or one of those old felt tip markers.  Then came the work part of it all. Looking at the listings or guide and then drawing up a personalized schedule, as opposed to the confusion of having to look at all the Chanels,  (three to five sometimes up to seven if the antenna was dialed in correctly and if the weather was just right ,not too sunny but not too cloudy,  not to clear but not a deluge, you get the idea.  If you had cable there were of course more channels and with that a larger personal schedule but not everyone had that type of access.  

What made appointment TV possible was habit.  People had their shows.  With the advent of the VCR appointment TV was even more important.  You could program the VCR to record programs you wanted to watch but for whatever reason couldn’t, and even more important, you could watch your favorite show in real time, and record one that you wanted to watch for whatever reason but that didn’t rise to the level of Must Watch Now.

Every year in January or February depending on the network the Wizard of Oz was appointment TV.  The annual showing made bed time obsolete for one night.  Popcorn was made, and usually around 8 PM, if I remember correctly, the Kansas prairie would spring to life on the big 17 inch Television screen and the night was begun.  There were even times when they showed the movie commercial free.  

For a movie called the Wizard of Oz it always struck me that the wizard really only made his appearance twice.  The green smoke, the floating head, the deep booming voice, and even the pyrotechnics were really cool for a kid of seven and eight.  That first glimpse was one of awe the first time you are watching, and when Dorothy and the gang come into the wizards presence the second time, well it’s still one of the coolest things in the world.  The spectacle that distracts, and disarms and sows fear and self doubt and not a little bit of a subservient attitude.   

Is it any wonder that Dorothy and the crew are so eager to do what the Wizard wants.  They take on their quest believing that the Wizard can make all their dreams come true, but also out of fear of what will happen to them if they don’t do what he says.  

And then Toto.  The smartest of the group, sorry scarecrow.  Toto’s perspective is different than that of the rest of the group; small, unassuming, spending most of his time being carried around by Dorothy.  Toto can see what the others can’t because they are so distracted by the show that is the Wizard.  Toto can see underneath the curtain, he can smell the lie that is the Wizard, and when finally given the chance he pulls back the curtain to reveal an old man, and not just any old man but a charlatan.  The Wizard was a con-man.  He became the wizard when he was blown into OZ in his hot air balloon.  The people of OZ thought this was a sign.  They believed he was a sorcerer and had great power, and so, being the conman that he was, he perpetuated the myth, and ruled from a huge castle hidden away behind a curtain of lies and half truths. 

We are currently living in what I call the OZ effect.  There are Toto’s all around, have been really for months and years,  They have been trying to pull the curtain back, to show the Charlatan and his minions for what they are, and yet, there are people who can’t see the “man behind the curtain.”  They can’t see him because they don’t want to.  They like the image that they have built up.  They aren’t looking for a brain, or a heart, or courage, or even a way home.  They want to live in Emerald City.  Green tinted glasses firmly in place to hide the ugly parts.  The movie leaves leaves that part out,  In the original the Emerald City isn’t really Emerald at all, before anyone can enter the city they are forced to put on green tinted glasses.  This makes everything look better.  And this is what is happening to so many in the MAGA movement.  This is what is trying to be forced on our country by the president, and his cronies.  I refuse to call them advisors or cabinet or anything of the sort.  They are instead people who have decided that power and money are more important than being a decent human being.  They are people that could care less about people that think a great night out is a trip to Fridays, and a movie or bowling as opposed to jetting off to that destination for a meal that costs more than most make in a month.  People that could buy and sell all of us, and, let’s be clear, that’s what they are doing and what they want to do.  

They are the ones that strap those green tinted glasses on the masses…(see how I did that?) and tell them that they know whats best.  That not everyone agrees with them, that not everyone thinks that they know best, that there are vast swaths of the electorate that want nothing more than for all of them to rot is unthinkable to them, I mean after all they have all this money and we don’t so we must be less than. 

That MAGA cult members can’t or won’t see this is the height of idiocy to me.  There are seemingly intelligent people that swear by all that is, that all of this is good, that ignoring the constitution isn ’t really a bad thing as long as it makes America first…again or makes America great again.  I wish that many of them would say what they mean.  Say the quiet part out loud.  That America first and America great, really means.  America white.  It really means America led by angry white men who know best what everyone should do. It really means that the constitution only apples to the people that have money, and power.  It means people of color, and people that are not “whole” in the sense of what angry frightened white men thing of as whole need to just disappear, go back to the way it was, don’t make them uncomfortable, don’t make them confront the hard stuff.  Just get back where you belong.  

Fascism is all around us now, it’s becoming the norm in Washington, it’s becoming the norm in our daily lives.  It’s becoming acceptable to so many people simply because they don’t like not being the only voice in the room.  

We all need to understand and grasp the importance of what is coming.  What we are seeing right now is what happens when people would rather give away their freedom, as long as it means that “those people”. Don’t have a chance to advance, don’t have a chance to become what they are designed to be.  They want OZ the great and Powerful, even though all they are getting is a conman and his cronies that hope to take as much as they can before they burn the rest to the ground, and sail away to their own private island where everyone looks like, sounds like and acts like they do.

[theharpermovieblog]

#HARPERSMOVIECOLLECTION

2024 MOVIE LIST

www.tumblr.com/theharpermovieblog

PHANTASM SEQUEL WEEK

I watched Phantasm 5: Ravager

This is part three of Phantasm Sequel Week , but it's the fifth film in the series. Is that confusing? Probably, but remember I was depressed when I watched these back to back in one day. Don't question it.

The character of Reggie finds himself questioning whether his fight against The Tall Man is real, whether he has dementia, or whether both realities are true.

This is the only Phantasm film not directed by Don Coscarelli. Although Coscarelli did co-write and produce the film, the directing credit goes to David Hartman. Hartman seems to be an animation director, and one I'm not familiar with. Several internet links give directing credit to a Journalist also named David Hartman, but that's not correct.

"Phantasm 5" is pretty cheap looking. They do their best with the budget they have I guess, but this feels a lot more like the episodic Internet show it was supposed to be, rather than a real movie.

Truthfully, while it leaves a lot to be desired when it comes to production, I don't hate the overall story idea. The focus on Reggie's sanity and the idea that his dementia may be, much like dreams, a link to other dimensions, is a good idea for the series. It's that high minded, surreal, out there, incomprehensible craziness that made this film series so iconic. I liked this so much, I found myself wishing it had been executed a little better. It's pretty muddy storytelling and never really feels like it's building to something. When the ending comes we don't feel the connection to the characters or to the 5 film arc that we should.

However, all in all, this no-budget, cheap looking, muddy film did give me a little joy. I'm a fan of the series, despite its many many MANY missteps, I get what it's trying to do with it's mixture of B-Horror gore, sci-Fi world building, and heady concepts of reality. For me, it's very much the thought that counts with this series.

Are most of the Phantasm movies bad? Yeah, technically they're really bad. In almost every department they often slip-up or outright never get the hang of things. And, none of the sequels even came close to the original in any way. However, Phantasm is sort of like the little horror franchise that could. Completely uninterested in mass audience appeal or box office numbers. I admire that.

[songs-about-girls-like-me]

chapter 12: my love for sleepovers, explained

(a/n this one is kinda long and kinda soppy but I can't make it sound different. I've tried, sorry lol)

It was november, and I was the only one left to turn 11 now cause we were at Ella's house for her birthday. She was technically turning 11 next monday but I was already getting some "you, baby" comments from her and she was having me and Liv over for a sleepover. It was the first Time I was visiting her house and it's wild to think we only spent three whole school years hanging out in that room, cause it really became That Room for my early teenager self. Shoutout Ella's 2010-2013 room, you'll be remembered forever.

So, let me backtrack a bit. I had been to one (1) Sleepover, with a capital S, before. Olivia and I would sleep at each other's houses every so often, but we wouldn't really consider them sleepovers (e.g. that Time we threw a chair down her staircase was originally us trying to rearrange her TV room for us to sleep there). The proper Sleepover I had ever been to, we were at least 10 or 15 girls and it had been some months ago during 4th grade.

I had cried because of my phobia to that specific food and some girls tried to console me but I asked them to please stay away. Later, I ate like four giant muffins I still dream of to this day cause they were THAT good and managed to forget about my phobia. Then at some point in the night, I got on a couch and pretended to be Justin Bieber at a concert and said stuff like "I love all of you, beautiful girlies" to my classmates, everyone wearing pijamas. I sang a bit of Baby and they all screamed and pretended to want to touch my hands and stuff, as if I was on stage and then I literally caused a physical fight (lol) between Max (who was an asshole) and another classmate who was the most obsessed with Justin, cause I was singing directly to one of them or something along those lines. I don't remember, but I do know I was never cautious when playing a flirt as a kid lol. And so they started playing fight over Justin Bieber, and then actually fighting, cause Max could get on everyone's nerves. In a matter of seconds, between the pillow punches and the pushing and screaming, we all saw real red blood and stopped playing. Max had a blody nose, and then the other girl ALSO got a bloody nose. Never underestimate the might of the bond between a girl and her "loml celebrity". She's not messing around lol.

To be honest, I was a bit amused when both girls literally ended up with blood dripping down their faces for my Justin impersonation, even more because Max was always mocking me and she said "I'd pay for that". And I shrugged and laughed, which always felt like victory. I still apologized to my other classmate and to everyone else for causing the fight cause it did felt a bit out of line, but they all agreed I was not the one to blame and said it had been very funny. The rest of the night I was kinda bored cause I didn't have a friend there cause Liv hadn't been invited. And the homemade oatmeal facemasks we did were confusing to me, even if they smelled nice, and then i fell asleep early while everyone watched "Sleepover" (that movie from 2004 starring the girl from Spy Kids) cause the plot was boring and why were they stealing a dude's boxers?

Later I woke up to some girls trying to prank me, told them I was actually awake (lie) and asked them to "please chill" and they actually let me be, to wake up the next day hoping my mom would arrive before they gave us eggs for breakfast cause I hate eggs. And even if it had been fun, I was ready to go home to my sisters and stuff. I don't know how to put it but I think that whole story is exactly what my status was on the social hierarchy at the Time lol. And even if that's a core memory, it was not even comparable to this Sleepover.

Ella had explained that her parents had moved her to the ground floor bedroom because her 3 year old brother was taking the room they used to share upstairs. He had a Cars bedframe. Ella said she didn't have a walk-in closet anymore but the bedroom itself was cooler and she had a bathroom of her own and a double bed. She was being a biiiit of a show off that day at school but I guessed it was fair to allow it since it was her birthday. She had only invited me and Olivia from school, but she also invited her childhood bestie, and two other girlfriends who were family friends or something and must have been 13 at least.

I remember changing into our pijamas for the evening, leaving all of my stuff on Ella's mini couch in one corner of her room. I was wearing a pijama set, as the rest of the girls lol. Mine was from Barbie, in a green, hot pink and white colorway. I loved that the top was one of those that look like you're wearing a short-sleeves over a long-sleeves. The oldest girl was wearing a tank top and pijama shorts and I remember being so impressed by how chill and cool she looked. We then just hung out and Ella showed us around the house in our socks, carrying our stuffed animals around. She and I obviously used the open space of her kitchen to practice our pirouettes and grand battements. We played music on someone's iPod and spent a long Time doing our hair in Ella's bathroom and I think during these hours my brain released a ridiculous amount of dopamine cause I can remember it as if I had lived it many Times. There were multiple hair straightners and one of them was cheetah print, and it all made me feel like I had been transported to a movie bedroom or a music video set. I had never used a hair straightener but I loved it the minute I passed the heat over my hair. I had naturally quite straight hair, with just some wave to it, but I still straightened it to the max and the quality of it changed to feel way silkier and flowy, just the way healthy hair does with heat. It fell beautifully over my shoulders over my Barbie pijama shirt. It moved so nicely when I danced and I was screaming singing in the bathroom mirror with a bunch of girls, my two best friends included. I put one side of my hair behind my ear. It looked so pretty. But it also looked so nice when I put both sides behind my both ears. And when I would run my hands through it making it really messy. I looked so pretty. And everyone around me was so pretty and so fun in my eyes. I loved how it looked. My hair, myself and the scene I was in, but I was too bussy dancing to 2010's pop to have realisations about any of it which was awsome. Ella showed me the tiny purple hair straightner she used everyday to do her side bangs for school and I actually thought it was fucking amazing that she had a mini-sized straightner. We all danced almost screaming these lyrics I barely even knew. My hair was so straight and I just kept passing the straightener over it for fun, when Olivia entered the bathroom.

"Who's straightening my hair?"

"Me" I said.

"Look! Your bones are showing!" Ella was pointing at Olivia's hip bones.

"Huh?" went Liv.

"Look. These little bones. Ugh, that's so cool. I wish I had that!"

"Uhm" Liv just shrugged. "I just have them"

"Mine also show!" I said looking down above the waist band of my pijama pants.

"Uhm..." Ella took a look. "Nah, not that much"

I frowned. Looked in the mirror.

"Yes, they do." I went. I didn't know if she was being sincere or not, or maybe she didn't want to be the only one with no hip bones showing. I didn't care much and shurgged too.

"Why am I so fat?!!" Half-screamed Ella.

"You're not fat!!!!! Jesus!!!" Everyone said something similar.

"You're so fucking pretty, Ella" said Victoria, one of her older friends. She was two years above us at school and took the school transport with her. She really cursed so much but she sounded edgier than us. "Say it with me: I am really hot" Ella laughed but said she wasn't. Then the six of us started a communal discussion going "Yes, you are" - "You're wrong". Victoria was aggressively stating Ella was skinny and pretty and even very hot, and it was very funny to witness and she was laughing a lot too. And in the end, Olivia started fighting her physically cause that was their thing, and they would end up bitting each other. Which always made everyone laugh about how violent they both could get. But no actual blood was spilt.

In the midst of that, someone asked if we should play to be "Miss Universe" contestants and do a runway show. And the dopamine in my head had another peak at the idea cause it sounded genius. They said we should even do a talent show round and I took a jumping rope from Ella's coat rack. I did my number, doing double jumps and all, and everyone said I was really good and I was ecstatic cause they seemed genuinely surprised. I told them I had learnt from watching Jump In. I remember Ella and her childhood bestie chose to sing, and each of them did a song and we turned the lights out to pretend to be at a concert or something, with the rest of us crammed up in the bed. I liked both of their numbers and we cheered and clapped for them as if they deserved grammy nominations.

Later we had cake upstairs, in the kitchen, with Ella's mom and brother. Her mom took pictures and we all cheered for Ella's 11th year of life. We also had dinner and I was glad we had quesadillas. After a while they left us to be alone and Victoria asked if we wanted to play "Never Have I Ever", which I had never played but they said it was kind of like "Truth or Dare" and I was down. We played with glasses of water, sitting crossed legged on the kitchen chair, feeling the wood against my socks.

Never had I ever kissed anyone, dated anyone, liked two people at a Time, or liked a girl. But I had had a crush and had liked a friend. Both were Brody, who now I thought was lame and was currently "dating" Mia after the school camp, but it still counted. Most things I had never done but I was still giggling and having a great Time and we all were screaming from Time to Time. I couldn't stop giggling and moving around in my chair, listening to everyone telling stories. Olivia was almost the same as I, but she had kissed someone (she would tell this crazy story about a kindergarten kiss and even a kindergarten boyfriend, but I felt like she was lying about the boyfriend cause the other Time she had told me that story, she also added in the fact that she had lockers in kindergarten and that she had locked herself inside hers for a whole school day to miss all her classes. Which seemed completely made up, no matter how different London kindergarten could be. I couldn't be completely sure, though.) Ella had kissed her neighbor, a dude a year older than us, and I was screaming with butterflies at the story and she was blushing and we all teased her about it. Her other three friends had even dated. The bubbly feeling in my heart was so fun to have around.

That sleepover was the first Time I straightened my hair on my own and the first Time I straightened someone else's hair, and the first Time I watched "Aquamarine", and the first Time I heard the term "make out" and the term "hook up", and even if I had already known about s* x for two years by then, I think the concept of "feeling someone up while kissing" (as they described it) lowkey changed my brain irreversibly, even more since the concept was being used talking about people who were just two years above us. I was a bit shook to my core, even more than when I had found out about oral s* x and p* rn. We chatted for what felt like hours back in Ella's room, sitting on what would become the iconic green rug until we went to sleep. Good sleepovers feel a bit like punching a hole into normal life to me, like a weird pocket of spacetime. To this day I can feel it, when going to sleep really late after a really good Time with my friends, when I am not sad or in my head or realising heavy stuff, and I feel as if nothing really bad could reach me. The world stops existing until we wake up. Sort of like AM by 1d lol.

The next morning my mom picked me up early cause we had weekend plans or something and she was a bit on her nerves cause I was taking really long to go out to the car. I was finishing straightening someone's hair sitting on the unmade bed while watching the last bit of Aquamarine. And I don't know how, but I felt like I was the master of hair straightning and no one questioned it. I wore my clothes from the day before and still felt really happy and surprised about how pretty my hair was. I wished a happy birthday to Ella for the millionth Time after laughing our heads off to some idiot joke, and got in the backseat of the car to lay down, talking to my mom who thankfully got in a good mood quickly. I was still happy with the sleepover fever.

[fcistmike]

I’m afraid you might just be stuck with me forever then. Cause me admitting defeat to that, is just about as likely as you admitting defeat to anything, and that says a lot, doesn’t it? It’s not that I don’t appreciate them, I do. I’m just awful at receiving them - you know this already by now. Hey c’mon now, there’s been so much hate towards Art, where is all of this coming from? It’s not like Tashi and Patrick are perfect either. The Art slander has been a bit much now and I’m gonna have to start defending my man for real I fear. All incredibly flawed people remember? We agreed on that, you can’t back out of that now Z. I’d probably go with the latter. I usually give up getting on people’s nerves after a while. With you though? It’s different. Cause it takes so little to annoy you and it’s actually just incredibly amusing to see you get so worked up. Especially when I know which buttons to push. Had you found it annoying, you would’ve told me to fuck off long ago, wouldn’t you? That’s what happens when you put three quiet, introverted and passionate people together. Had the three of us never worked together, there is no chance this movie could’ve ever been made. We were incredibly lucky to have all been put together in this sense. I haven’t had a stronger connection with my on screen people than this. Probably cause it was all so intimate, but still.. It’s not something one can take for granted, on or off set.  Yeah you’re always there to help when panic stikes. We owe you a lot for that actually. Oh you know, I’m not sure how appreciated a skill like that is. People could fear I’m too good of acting like I’m interested when I’m not, and mistrust my judgement. But it’s also fun keeping people on the edge and guessing. Gotta stay mysterious after all, they say it’s part of my persona. Yeah I think I started losing it right around London.. That’s when I was starting to get really fed up with some questions and I’m not as professional as you actually are when it comes to seeming interested. Once that low energy level hits, I’m afraid I have no more fucks to give. Thankfully you always seem to have a few to spare and Josh is too much of a gentleman to ever seem uninterested. Still Z, forever in awe of you and how you handle it all. I know I know, you have a shit ton of experience in this department, but still.. It’s admirable. I’ll be telling them to put on their walking shoes. Yeah no don’t think they do for anyone. Scripts aren’t all made like this one.. I count us very lucky for getting our hands on it. Likewise Z, and you know it. It sure did… Didn’t know what I was walking into when I got this role, but whatever it was, and is, I’m glad I did. You know you’re not getting rid of me that easily unless you beat me with a tennis racket. Yeah even like your own bathroom? You don’t realize it when you’re gone.. But you start missing things you never thought you could ever miss. Thankfully, what I’m wearing is not up to me - much to your satisfaction I presume. We both know I could never style myself for this sort of thing. Still very much confused as to what I’ll be doing there. Of course you are.. There really is no stopping you so I won’t even attempt it. You know not everyone hates Art after the second viewing right? No tears at all please and if there are, then let me see them so I can at least wipe them. I’m a morning person, I can’t help it. But I’ve learned to use small language first thing in the morning.. I know how you work by now. And for the record, I will be missing you too. Every day. Don’t even doubt it. Did I ever say I was joking? Cause I wasn’t. I don’t actually think I could ever get tired of you. Even when you think it, and I say it, I am not tired of you. Promise you that. The bed is comfortable, that I promise and the shower is yours as long as there is hot water to run, you don’t even have to worry about it. Yeah no I think if there is any cooking to be done, it will be done by me. But takeout sound wonderful.,

Don't make me second guess being nice to you, that was from the heart right there. Funnily enough, no but I will keep bugging you until you finally admit defeat and take a compliment that's offered to you. Actually, I was more alluding to you acting as though you were entirely innocent throughout the entire movie. I will be slandering Art to anyone who will listen to me. You really do live to drive me crazy, don't you? Should I be offended you're trying to get on my nerves or flattered you're putting so much effort into me? Come on, as if things could ever be any different when we're together. We could never be awkward and unconventional. It just comes natural... with Josh too, of course. I have so much fun with the two of you. I'm glad I was there to help you whenever you entered silent mode. Wow, a new skill developed. You might want to add that on your resume. Hey, no biggie. Like you said, I've done this before and I know the two of you aren't as familiar with it. When you don't know what to expect, it can be a lot to process. Not only are you exhausted and jetlagged, but you're having the same questions asked and it's hard to come up with new, exciting answers each time. I had your back, no worries. They do get easier. Like everything, once you do it a fee times, you become more familiar with the way it works and then the fear of it kinda dissolves. Come on, people are going to be running to you now. Hey, scripts like this don't come all that often for me either. Like I've said before, this was so new for me. Uncharted territory and I'm so happy you were by my side through the entire thing. There's no one else I'd want to have spent my days with. Yeah, I know exactly what you mean. The words jumped off the page at me. I needed to be in this movie and I met you during it so I guess agreeing to this movie gave me more than just a role. Not sad at all, I know exactly what you mean. It's so comforting to be at home, wearing comfortable clothes, surrounded by your own things. We miss that while we travel so much. Your first MET. How are you feeling about it? Please don't be boring and wear a basic suit. That might be where I have to draw the line. Yeah, I'm excited to hear the fan reaction. It's going to be pretty fun to read all their opinions. I'm going to keep pushing everyone to see it a second time. Oh no. Can't go breaking your heart now can I? No tears, I swear, or at least none that you can personally see. That's absolutely not true, and you know it. I'm going to miss you everyday. Just not first thing in the morning when you're overly chatty and I'm still on sleep mode. Don't joke about this, Mike because I will take you up on the offer. Do you really want me taking over your home life? Even after all this time we've spent together, you're not tired of me yet? If you really wouldn't mind, I'd be down for that. Don't worry, I'm not expecting a 5 star hotel. Just a comfortable bed and a shower that I can spend far too long in will be all I need. As a thank you, I'd offer to cook for us, but last time I tried to make dinner, I ended up in the ER after nearly severing my finger. I can buy us takeout?

[macchiatosdumptruck]

Writing silverusso porn and I look at the canon for reference and ... I cannot write them saying shit like that.

I am writing Porn. And I'm like--

"um. Seems a bit unrealistic"

and these guys were just out here doing That.

Saying those Things.

Like it wasn't gay as shit. In a supposedly platonic environment. Like it wasn't in a pg 13 kids movie about karate. Like Ralph wasn't getting paid to say "yes, sir" with giant Bambi eyes while an extremely large man was putting his hands all over him.