#i am happy to have you in my corner of the online world

[piastappies]

ᯓᡣ𐭩 BEFORE US! ᡣ𐭩ᯓ

pairing. ollie bearman x webber!reader.

summary. a drunken encounter leads to a history straight out of rom–com, turning the world of a formula 2 driver upside down.

notes. reader tells ollie the plot of before sunrise. also, reader is said to be ollie’s age (kinda self-indulgent LOL) maybe part 2 of them meeting in spa? 😁

it was eleven in the evening, while you were having a good time on the streets of hungarian capital city. your actions were not exactly responsible as you were there with a friend of yours that you met online a few months ago. also, you weren’t exactly sure how you managed to strain away from your father and oscar. well, alright — there was a possibility that a train, a sweet smile and a promise to be safe were involved.

honestly, you don’t even know how you ended up in that small bar, but in the larger point of view, you were happy that you let lara drag you there. you already had a few drinks in, you were going back to your booth, when you accidentally bumped into a muscular, tall guy, spilling the drink on your white dress.

“shit, i am so, so sorry.” the boy — because you could easily notice that he must’ve been similar to you in age — spoke relatively slowly, probably out of kindness as he couldn’t tell if you were fluent in english or not. some would call it offensive, but you considered it slightly endearing that the boy tried to be as considerate as possible, knowing that not everyone in the world speaks english.

his face fell to your chest for a tenth of a second, a small cough escaping his lips, before his cheeks tinted pinkish from embarrassment that he even let himself be so blatantly disrespectful towards you. what made it even worse was that the once white dress became see-through.

“shit, shit, your dress. i– here, take this.” he stuttered, swiftly taking off his grey hoodie, letting you take a glimpse of his toned stomach for half a second as his shirt rolled up.

people around you two, suddenly stopped existing and maybe the alcohol you’ve consumed that night was at fault — or maybe it was the charming aura around him, but you honestly couldn’t care less. he was the only guy that wasn’t trying to harass you or make your night less fun and definitely more stressful.

“you shouldn’t apologise, it’s all my fault. i wasn’t paying enough attention.” your voice was loud, but yet still soft enough, so only the boy you bumped into could hear you. “i’m yn, my friend lara is there in the corner booth, do you… um, maybe wanna join us? so i can get you a drink for bumping into you?”

it might’ve been a risky move — he could always say no, laugh at you and go away, thinking you were the most embarrassing person in the entire bar. or he could think that you were a pretty cute, interesting girl that he’d like to spend a july evening with. and, fortunately for you, ollie introduced himself with a quick breath of relief (that he didn’t know he was holding), said that he’d love to join you and buy you a drink, but he was there with two other guys and one of the friends’ girlfriend.

so, upon hearing that, as a responsible human being, you… suggested that they should join you as well, because you really felt like getting to know ollie a tad better. upon hearing that he wasn’t there alone, you nodded with a small smile, before suggesting that it’s not really a big deal and that maybe the four of them would like to join you and lara, who wouldn’t have anything against it since she was a social butterfly, loving bigger crowds.

two and a half hour later, you ended up walking down the cobblestone pathway, while your newfound group of friends was a few steps ahead. lara quickly got along with kimi, eliska and gabriele, so you felt less guilty that you got so occupied in the endless conversation with ollie, slowly trailing behind the group. a month or two later, you were told by eliska that she saw the way you and ollie click and made sure you could get along.

you weren’t sure where the six of you were going, budapest was a gorgeous city, but keeping your eyes on bearman was pretty much enough. he had your arm hooked around his as you slightly started to stumble from the tiny gaps in the path. a giggle escaped your mouth as he whispered a really cheesy joke, his lips inches away from your ear. then, your drunken mind thought that you should come clean with the cute boy about why you’re actually in budapest.

“i have a confession.” you started quietly, your words barely above a whisper. ollie let you continue as he simply nodded. if you weren’t tipsy from all the strawberry daiquiris you had at the bar earlier, you would notice how his body tensed slightly, almost as if he was afraid of what you were about to say.

the first thing that came to his mind was that you had a boyfriend somewhere in monaco, while he was really getting a vibe from you that maybe you were interested in getting to know him as much as he wanted to get to know you. just half a second later came the thought that you knew who he was and it was just as awful. he hasn’t been in the spotlight of motorsport for a long time yet, but he was aware of how people’s perception on things change once they realise what he does, and he really, really didn’t want it to be the case with you.

“this is not something i usually tell people on the day i meet them, but you’re so genuine and so, so nice to me.” your words were coming off as rambling, though despite the lump in his throat, the prema driver couldn’t help but think that maybe he could live with the thought of you bumping into him on purpose if he could listen to your cute rambling for a few more minutes. “and i’m really enjoying spending time with you right now, and-and i don’t want you to think that i’m like a liar or something, because i really am not.”

“hey, breathe. whatever it is, i don’t think i’m gonna perceive you as a liar.” his quiet chuckle with a nervous undertone was enough for you to calm down a bit. his hand dropped to yours, squeezing it for a little more reassurance.

“that’s what i’m really hoping for.” you whispered, looking down at your jointed hands, a ghost of smile lingering on your face. “so, there’s this sport you might’ve heard of — or not, honestly if it wasn’t for my dad, i don’t know if i would, but — gosh, i’m sorry i’m rambling again. alright… there’s, um, formula one, right? i guess you know, because it is a big thing in england, i suppose.” oliver nodded once again, a pit in his stomach growing.

“the thing is… i’m in hungary for that exact reason. there was the grand prix this weekend and i came here with my dad, because, um… he’s a manager of, um, one of the drivers. oscar? he won today, yesterday, technically.”

ollie couldn’t believe what he just heard. he was so scared that you were pretending just to boast about hanging out with formula 2 and formula 3 drivers, while you were having an inner turmoil of your own, weighing pros and cons of telling him that you were the daughter of the mark webber. he could see the nervous expression on your pretty face and his heart swelled, knowing that in those two and a half hours of constant chatter he gained so much of your trust to be told that.

for other people it might seem like it was nothing, nevertheless ollie knew how much fake people you must’ve met in your life, who liked you for your father’s achievements and not you. god, for a moment he felt like crying.

“i was there too.” he gave you a shy smile. before you were able to overthink every possible scenario with the worst possible outcome, his smile widened, his hip gently nudging yours. “i’m racing for prema in f2.” he chuckled at your surprised expression.

bearman, as he was a tad more sober than you, could easily notice the weight falling off your shoulders, once you recognised him, quickly replaced by a blush of embarrassment that flooded your cheeks.

“that’s why i thought i’ve seen you somewhere.” you muttered, scrunching your nose, gears in your brain working overtime. “i’m sorry, it’s— i haven’t really been up to date with formula 2. but i remember you from saudi, i wasn’t there, but my dad was really impressed. everything makes sense now, though.”

“no need to be embarrassed or anything, i’m glad neither of us recognized each other. you made me feel like a normal teenager for once.” he grinned down at you, your face matching his as he let go of your hand, wrapping his arm around your shoulder, bringing you closer, but you couldn’t really complain.

you didn’t remember the moment, when your night turned into a reenactment of one of your favorite rom-coms — before sunrise. gabriele, kimi and eliska had to go back to their hotels, suspiciously at the same time, when lara’s curfew was coming. it was truly reckless for you to stay out with ollie till your train back to the place your father had rented for the four days stay in hungary. once you were alone, he made sure to keep you close to him at all times, so if an emergency occured, he’d be able to protect you.

“i feel like i’m in a movie.” your admission was soft as you slowly sat down on the grass in the park, the state of your white dress long forgotten as it’d be green once the sun was up.

“a movie you like?”

“my favorite one.” ollie smiled.

“tell me about it.” he suggested, plopping down next to you, uncorking the wine you two bought earlier in one of those 24/7 shops.

“it’s about two people that met on a train going across the europe.” you started explaining, ollie’s free arm slung across your shoulders once again, making you realize what his love language must be. “he’s american and she’s french, once they stop in vienna, he asks her to get off the train with him and walk around the town with him till he has to go to the airport, because it’s his last day in europe. she thinks it’s crazy, but she agrees and they spend the entire night together. nothing kubrick-esque happens there, all of the action happens during their dialogues. they share opinions and stuff. it’s kind of silly, but they end up in a park, too, with wine and stuff.”

“like us.” he commented, his eyes still lingering on your face as they were, while you were skimming over the plot of the movie.

“like us.” you repeated softly.

“so, what do they do in the park?” ollie asked another question, earning himself a small hum from you as you shifted closer, his thumb absentmindedly drawing shapes on your shoulder. your stomach was filled to the brim with butterflies as he asked all the right questions, made all the right moves, giving you all the right smiles.

“they kiss.” a whisper left your lips, tilting your head to get a better view of his face.

“they kiss.” it was the prema’s driver’s time to repeat the short sentence as you just nodded, noticing the way his eyes flickered to your mouth.

sweet silence embraced the two of you as bearman took his chance and leaned forward an inch or two, cautiously testing the waters. when you didn’t pull back, a smile tugged onto his face, before cupping your cheek with his free hand.

however, ollie didn’t kiss you for a moment that felt like eternity. his mouth just hoovered over yours, giving you a chance to back up, to show him that he read the signs wrong, but you didn’t. your eyes locked with his, before his lips were moving against yours in a sweet, gentle and almost tantalising manner. you couldn’t tell how long were you kissing for, but when the two of you finally pulled away, his mouth was tinted with the red shade of your lipstick, both with messed up hair and slightly swollen lips.

it was almost seven in the morning, while you were sitting at the train station with your hand clasped in ollie’s. the silence between you was truly the most comfortable thing in the world at the moment. budapest was slowly waking up in the background as you enjoyed his presence beside you.

“what do they do in the movie before they part ways?” he interrupted the silence.

“they promise to see each other in a six months time in the same place. they don’t exchange numbers or anything, though.” you recalled, wondering where was he going with this.

“and do they? meet, i mean.” he asked, already expecting the answer as you’d told him it was a trilogy.

“not in the set time. she can’t make it to vienna again, because her grandmother dies, but he does.” you nodded. “but they do meet each other again, eight years later, this time in paris.”

“good thing we’re not jesse and celine.” ollie joked, a grin tugging on your lips as you nod in agreement. “i do have your number, and we can see each other in spa on thursday, if you want to.”

“i do.” this time, you were the one to press a gentle kiss on his lips for a brief second as your train arrived. bearman just grinned back at you, leaving a kiss on your forehead. “i’ll see you on facetime then, and in belgium.”

ollie stayed for another five minutes after your train departed. his gaze dropping to the phone in his hand before he quickly sent you a message.

ollie: thank you for making this night amazing for me x

[strawb3rry-hon3y]

Figure You Out

Pairing: Na Baek-jin/Park Hu-min’s x Fem!Reader (told from Park Hu-min’s POV.) Requested: No

Summary: Based loosely on “Figure You Out” by VOILÀ: Park Hu-min quietly falls for his childhood friend, now dating Na Baek-jin. When a fight drives her into Hu-min’s arms, one kiss changes everything… and nothing at all.

Length: Genre: Angst, Drama, Slow Burn, Forbidden Love, Emotional Hurt/Comfort.

Warnings: Toxic relationship dynamics, Verbal arguments, Unrequited love/love triangle, Feelings of worthlessness/insecurity. Status: Complete!

I heard he bought her a designer clutch last weekend.

One of those limited-edition ones, the kind you’d only see in some influencer’s hands online. Gold hardware, flashy enough to catch the light even when it’s overcast. He posted a picture of her the next day. She wasn’t even looking at the camera. Just standing beside him, fingers wrapped around the strap like it didn’t quite belong there. Like she didn’t quite belong there and I knew.

I knew the moment I saw her face in that photo. A tight smile, the kind she only wore when she was trying not to be ungrateful, that she hated it.

She told me once, years ago, that she hated carrying bags at all. Said they slowed her down. She liked to keep her hands free for snacks, for balance, for pointing out dumb clouds shaped like cats. So why would he buy her something she’d never use if it wasn’t for the look of it? For the image?

Because that’s what she is to Baek-jin now, an accessory. A status piece. A quiet, pretty thing to place beside him while his friends clap him on the back. But I remember her before all this.

I remember scraped knees and summer popsicles. Her tugging my sleeve when Baek-jin was being a brat and whispering “He’s impossible.” I remember how she used to laugh full belly, no filter, wild like the world couldn’t touch her. I still hear that laugh sometimes, when she forgets to be composed around me.

She’s different with me, Not the version they want. Not polished and packaged. With me, she’s soft again. Real. I hate that I’m the only one who notices.

It burns watching him parade her around like she’s his prize. Touching her lower back in front of everyone like he owns her, not like he loves her. He doesn’t know she hates PDA. That she only lets him hold her hand in public because she doesn’t want to make a scene. That she flinches, just barely, when he kisses her too long in front of his friends.

He doesn’t know her like I do. But he has her, and that’s what kills me.

I should be happy just being near her. Sometimes I convince myself that I am, that friendship is enough. She still messages me, still visits when she’s nearby. She shows up with snacks in her hoodie pocket, the way she used to, and we sit on the stairs outside my dad's house and talk about dumb things. School, weather, our favorite songs from middle school.

And the whole time I’m thinking, This could’ve been us. It should’ve been. But I keep quiet. Because what we have now: this fragile thing, it’s better than nothing. If I say something, if I ruin it, I don’t know if I’ll ever get her back. Even as just a friend.

So I let myself hurt. Quietly. Let myself love her the only way I can: in silence, in stolen glances, in the space between words. And he keeps giving her things that glitter. While I’m still holding all the pieces of her he never bothered to learn, and I hate that.

Sometimes, I think I could love her with my eyes closed.

Even with the distance: different schools, different circles. She’s still the one I see most clearly. It’s strange how people can live separate lives and still feel stitched to someone. Like no matter how far we drift, there’s always this invisible thread pulling me back to her.

She texts me before bed sometimes, usually about nothing—a picture of her cat curled up in her lap, a dumb meme, a rant about her math teacher. I save every one. I replay her voice notes when the days feel too quiet.

She still comes by the corner store near my place on Thursdays, the one with the old vending machine that barely works. I wait around those days, pretending I just happened to be there too, and she pretends not to notice that I never have anything in my hands to buy. Every time she smiles at me, really smiles, I feel like I’m thirteen again and she’s the only person in the room.

He’s got her, but he doesn’t get her. I see it in the way she sighs when she tells me about another expensive thing he bought her, like that designer necklace last week—the one she left in her bag all day because she said it was “too heavy.” She’d rather spend a weekend painting old flower pots or biking along the Han River than showing off some stupid necklace at a Union event.

She told me once, years ago in that park we used to sneak off to, that she hates people who try to fix everything with money. She said love should feel like being known, not bought. I’ve never forgotten that. I don’t think I ever will.

She looked at me once, after a particularly bad fight with him, and said, “Sometimes I think you understand me better than he ever will.” I didn’t say anything then. I didn’t want to ruin the moment, or maybe I was just scared of what it would mean if I said how I felt.

But the truth is, I could love her in the dark and still recognize every piece of her. I’m not trying to be her rescue. I’m not waiting around with some fantasy that she’ll leave him for me. I just..I don’t want to lose what little of her I still have. Because every time we talk every Thursday at that store, every time she texts me instead of him, I feel like I’m this close to figuring her out all over again.

I heard he started calling them her friends too. Guys who hang off his shoulders like shadows. Big names in the Union. Bigger egos. They don’t know a damn thing about her, but he parades them around like they’re hers now, like he’s giving her something special. When will he learn she doesn’t need anyone to give her a future? She already built one for herself.

Tonight, when she showed up at my door, her eyes were already red. No words, no explanation, just a plastic bag full of snacks, trembling hands, and that look in her eyes like she was trying not to fall apart.

She didn’t speak at first. Just kicked her shoes off quietly, curled up on the couch like it was the only place left in the world that didn’t hurt. I sat beside her, close enough for her to know I was here, but not close enough to make her flinch. I didn’t ask. Not right away. We sat in silence for what felt like forever. The soft rustle of chip bags and the quiet hum of the fan filling the space between us. Then I asked softly, “Do you wanna tell me what happened?”

She blinked a few times, like the question startled her. Then it all came out. “He said they were our friends. Ours. But I don’t even know them, Hu-min. They make jokes about stuff I don’t find funny. They talk about the Union like it’s a game… like people aren’t getting hurt.”

Her voice cracked, and she looked away. “I told him I wanted nothing to do with any of it. That I didn’t want to be dragged into the crap he and the Union are doing. And then he—” She stopped herself, lips trembling. “He said some things. Things I didn’t think he ever would.”

Tears welled in her eyes, and then she was crying again. Fast and silent, the way she always did when she didn’t want anyone to know she was hurting. I moved without thinking, wrapping one arm around her, pulling her gently against my chest. She didn’t resist. She curled into me like she belonged there, and for a long moment, she just cried.

Then, in between soft sobs, she laughed. This weak, broken thing that made my chest ache. “If I would've known it would be like this, I would’ve rejected his idea. I mean… I know it was our parents. I know this was their whole big plan, but…” She shook her head. “I was hoping, Hu-min. Just hoping maybe it would be nice. That he’d care. I’m so stupid.”

“You’re not stupid,” I said immediately, tightening my hold on her. “You just wanted something good. That’s not stupid. That’s human.” She went quiet. Her breath slowed, but her eyes stayed damp. From under my arm, I felt her shift slightly. When I looked down, she was already looking up at me.

Big, tear-filled eyes. That half-sad, half-sweet smile she always wore when she was trying to be strong. I didn’t realize how close we were until I felt her breath on my neck. Then, without a word, she leaned up and kissed me. It was quick. Like she was afraid she’d change her mind if she waited. Soft, warm lips pressed to mine, trembling just enough for me to know how scared she was. But I kissed her back. Desperately. Like I’d been holding my breath for years and she was the air.

There was so much in that kiss. Every unsaid word, every hidden glance, every Thursday afternoon at the corner store when I wanted to tell her but didn’t. I poured it all into her in that moment.

Then, like something shattered inside her, she pulled back. Eyes wide. Panic. “I—I’m sorry,” she whispered. She stood up so fast the snacks nearly spilled off the table. “I shouldn’t have— That was a mistake. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

“Wait,” I said, standing too. But she was already halfway to the door. “I shouldn’t have come,” she choked out. “I just— I’m sorry, Hu-min. I’m sorry—” The door closed behind her before I could stop her. I stood there in the empty silence, heart still pounding, lips still warm from hers. All I could do was whisper her name into the space she left behind.

It had been four days since the kiss.

Four days of silence. No replies. Not even a single “seen.”

My fingers hovered over the keyboard more times than I could count. Messages typed, deleted, rewritten, unsent. Hey, are you okay?I’m not mad.I just want to talk to you. Please.

But nothing came back. No double check marks. No bubbles. Just a blank screen and the sharp ache in my chest every time I opened our thread. She wasn’t mine to miss. Then Baek-jin called.

“Come by the bowling alley,” he said, his voice cocky and casual like always. “We’re regrouping. I’ve got some moves in the works. Could use you” I almost laughed. But then, like a damn idiot: I thought of her. Maybe she’d be there. Maybe I’d get one second to see her. To explain.

So I went.

I pulled my black hoodie over my head, stuffed my hands into the pocket to hide how bad they were shaking, and walked the same streets I used to take with him, back when things made sense. Before money and pride and the Union started to rot him from the inside out.

The moment I stepped into the bowling alley, it hit me like a wall.

The air was thick with smoke, laughter that felt too loud, like it was covering something ugly, and the clinking of bottles and cheap music blaring through busted speakers. The scent of stale beer soaked into the cracked vinyl booths and warped wooden lanes. Half the guys here didn’t even bowl they just sat around, played cards, and acted like kings in a crumbling castle.

I kept my head low, eyes scanning the dim lights, the shadows. Every girl made my stomach flip until they turned around and it wasn’t her.

My heart was racing by the time I got to the hallway in the back. Flickering light overhead. Dirty walls. My footsteps felt heavier with every step. I didn’t know if I wanted to see Baek-jin or if I just wanted one glimpse of her. 

Then I saw her.

She was sitting on the couch, tucked in the corner of Baek-jin’s office, legs crossed, shoulders hunched like she was trying to disappear. Her phone sat loosely in her hands, screen dark. Her eyes were distant, tired, and that soft pout to her lips told me everything I needed to know. She wasn’t okay.

Baek-jin’s voice cut through the fog. “Hu-min.” She looked up. Fast. Like the sound of my name had jolted her awake. Her gaze hit mine, and for a split second, it was just us. Before Her eyes glanced away, worried I’d see something in them.

My throat closed. Her expression didn’t change still sad, still closed off. But I saw that flicker of something. Recognition, Pain. She stood slowly, not saying a word, still not looking me in the eye. “I’ll give you two space,” she murmured, brushing past me.

Instinct kicked in. My hand reached out, catching her wrist gently. She stopped in her tracks, her gaze falling on the hand on her wrist. I didn’t say anything. Just looked at her, silently begging: Don’t go, Not like this.

Her eyes met mine. Finally and it was like someone ripped a breath from my lungs. There was so much swimming in those eyes. Confusion. Hurt. Guilt. Something else she didn’t want to name.

She looked over my shoulder at Baek-jin. He was watching us, head tilted, brows creased in suspicion. It was only a second, but it was enough for her to make up her mind. She pulled her hand from mine. “See you around, Hu-min…”

It hit like a punch. She turned and walked away, back stiff, pace fast. But just before the hallway swallowed her, I saw her do it. She smiled at him. Small. Forced. Like she was trying to prove something.

I was still standing there when Baek-jin scoffed. “Didn’t know you and my girlfriend were still so close.” I didn’t look at him right away. I couldn’t. My gaze was stuck on that hallway, the space she used to fill, now empty again.

When I finally turned, I wasn’t angry. Not the way I thought I’d be. I was tired. There was no point in fighting over something I never had in the first place. Hands in my pockets, I stepped toward his desk. His throne. The place where he played king of a kingdom built on fear and fake loyalty. “What do you want?” I asked, my voice flat.

Taglist: N/A Header Creator’s: @saradika-graphics

[littleoldrachel]

trans lives are more precious than ever

i've spent the last couple of days feeling truly sickened and hopeless, and i haven't yet figured out what it all means for my place in fandom. it has felt like there hasn't been anything i could add to the conversations taking place as someone with almost no platform, and at a time when voices far more eloquent and important than mine were already having an impact.

however, more than ever the events of the last few days have shown me how important it is to speak up, even in my tiny corner of the world, even if it's clumsy, even if I cannot see the visible impact. this should not - and cannot - be the burden for trans people to speak about alone, and i am ashamed it took me so long to say something.

trans women are women and trans rights are human rights and the world is a better place with you in it.

if you are reading this and you are trans: i love you. i love you and your life is precious and you deserve the entire world. you are a miracle. please know my inbox is always open if you ever need a place to just be Heard. i love you 🫂🫂🫂

this list is as much for me as for anyone - when i feel overwhelmed and helpless like this, it helps to know what steps i can take to make it slightly more manageable. i hope it helps 🤍

for support:

Mermaids: 0808 801 0400 or webchat (open mon-fri 1pm-8:30pm), supporting trans people under 20 and their loved ones. also runs local support groups!

Gendered Intelligence: 0800 640 8046, WhatsApp 07592 650 496, email supportline@genderedintelligence.co.uk for people over 18. also runs local/online support groups, residentials, workshops, etc. etc.!

A list of trans-friendly therapists/counsellors (accredited by GI)

LGBT Switchboard: 0800 0119 100 or webchat

AKT: supporting LGBTQ+ people aged 16-25 experiencing homelessness

for solidarity:

if you have the funds to do so, donate to support any of the charities linked above. donate to a trans person's gender affirming (life-saving) care.

reach out to your trans loved ones and make sure they know how loved, precious and vital their lives are, how tight you are holding them, and how hard you are going to fight for them.

follow TransActual's steps for taking action.

write to your local MP.

attend the emergency demonstration at Parliament Square (London) on Saturday 19th April, 1pm.

leave a message of love and solidarity on the TransPride wall of hope.

i am a therapist irl and i cannot recommend Gendered Intelligence's training on Working with Trans clients enough if you are also in this field!

for fandom:

do not look away. listen and engage and stay educated. be vocal about the harm jkr has done/is doing, have those conversations with others if you can, both irl and online, and do not leave the labour of this task to those most impacted by its harm.

dearest heart messrsrobyn (on tiktok) has put together some truly incredible resources on ethical fandom engagement, including his podcast.

idk how much longer i will be in this space, but however long it ends up being, i intend to be loud about this. trans folks are too important not to be.

*I'm happy to add to/remove links on here as needed.

[sentientcave]

Retirement Party

Chapter 6 - The Butterfly Effect

Read on AO3

<<First Chapter - < Prev Chapter - Next Chapter >

Contains: No Y/N (2nd POV but Reader is an OC), Kidnapping, Forcible relocation, Dubcon, Plus-sized Reader/OC, female Reader/OC, Everyone learns new things about each other, Manipulation, PTSD, Doll has a tragic backstory, Poorly translated Spanish, Lots of introspection

~4.2k - MDNI - Dark fic! Please mind the content warning above but honestly nothing particularly bad happens this chapter.

John gives you space for the next few days, letting you settle in around the edges of his own routine. You’ve always been an early riser, and so is he, but he starts every day with a run, and you prefer a slower pace. You’ve taken to coming downstairs after you hear the front door close, and stretch on the living room floor (you wouldn’t call it yoga, but you’ve spent the last few years keeping up with the Kinsey kids, and you know how important it is to maintain flexibility), and make coffee before you go back upstairs to get dressed and ready for the day. John always showers first thing after his run, but after the second day he starts taking off his shirt before he drinks a glass of water at the sink, watching you from the corner of his eye to see if you’re looking.

And maybe sometimes you are. It would be a useless endeavour, pretending that he’s not nice to look at. He’s big, barrel-chested, with thick, muscular arms, and he’s hairy in a way that’s unbelievably attractive, and he gleams with sweat after his runs. If he didn’t look so damn smug every time he catches you looking, you’d probably gladly spend a few long minutes studying him. Something about the man makes your fingers itch to pick up a pencil.

You just orbit around each other for those first few days. He’s working on some project outside, and you putter around the house a bit and look for new jobs online. You were surprised that he didn’t confiscate your laptop to keep you from calling for a rescue, but he made no effort to stop you from using your laptop or your phone. Perhaps he’d really listened when you’d tried to set boundaries. He’s certainly given you space to adjust.

On Wednesday, you video call your Lola— It’s been routine for ages, since you always had Sundays and Wednesdays off from work— and catch up. You start the call shortly after John leaves, to give yourself some time to talk privately. It’s nice to see her familiar, wrinkled brown face, even if she’s half the world away from you.

She clocks that you’re not at home right away, and gets that sly, knowing smile when you tell her you’re staying with a friend. “¿Estás viendo a alguien?” she asks. “¿Un joven tal vez?” Are you seeing someone? A young man perhaps?

“No nada de eso. Sólo quedarme con un amigo.” No, nothing like that. Just staying with a friend. Once again, lying to make it seem like you’re not in trouble. It’s not like your Lola would be able to do anything about your situation anyway. You would just worry her.

Of course, Lola is much too observant not to see that you're hiding something-- Even if all she sees of you is a video call once a week, you're her granddaughter and she knows you. "Dalisay," she says, her tone a mocking approximation of sternness. "Eres una mujer adulta. Me gustaría saber que eres feliz, que estás saliendo con alguien agradable. No tienes que mentirme. Mientele a tu otra abuela.” You are a grown woman. I would like to know you're happy, that you’re seeing someone kind. You don't have to lie to me. Lie to your other grandmother.

You laugh. "¡Es complicado Lola! Él es—" It's complicated Lola! He's—

The door opens, and John limps back in, early. "Rolled my ankle," he explains, taking your wide-eyed look as concern. "Just need some ice."

"Muéstramelo," Lola demands, laughing. "Tiene una voz hermosa.” Show him to me. He has a handsome voice.

John turns toward you, frowning. "I'm sorry, am I interrupting something?"

"I always call Lola on Wednesdays-- John, sit down, you need to ice your ankle, what are you doing?"

He's standing on one leg, in the middle of the kitchen, fishing a mug out of the cupboard rather than getting something cold and sitting right down. "I--"

You're not sure what possesses you, but you get up, and you make him sit, and you go to make him his coffee and wrap a bag of frozen peas in a tea towel. When you turn around, he's reached across the table to pull your laptop closer, smiling at the camera when Lola claps he hands together, beaming.

"Es guapo, Dalisay. Pero no joven, ¿eh?" She says, laughing. He's handsome, Dalisay. But not young, huh?

"No," he agrees, "soy demasiado viejo para ella. Todavía soy lo suficientemente egoísta como para intentarlo de todos modos.” I'm too old for her. I'm still selfish enough to try anyway. Lola laughs at his honesty, pleased with John already.

You set down the coffee and glare at him. But you gently set the ice pack on his raised ankle. He pulls you into his lap, sitting you on his other thigh. "John!" You protest.

"Oh, relájate, apo,” Lola chides, unhelpfully reading the situation just the way John wants her to. She seems impressed by John's accented Spanish, happy to not need to translate her words to English to speak with him. She speaks English perfectly well, but she prefers Spanish, calls English clunky and ungraceful. "Yo también fui joven una vez. Me preocupaba que ella nunca encontrara a alguien.” Oh lighten up, apo. I was young once too. I was worried she would never find someone.

"No es que ella no pudiera,” John says. "Ella es tan hermosa, pero mantiene la distancia." It's not that she couldn't. She's so beautiful, but she keeps her distance.

“John, stop that,” you say, and you do mean the way he’s talking, but you also mean the hand that’s firmly gripping your hip, kneading your soft flesh. It’s not hard enough to bruise, not even enough to hurt, but it’s distracting, and makes your heart flutter. The movement is also hitching your skirt up a little higher on your thighs.

The innocent, laughing look he gives you is no help. “Sorry, love.” He kisses your shoulder, his hand sliding up to your waist instead.

You glance over at the screen, wincing when you see two of your cousins crowded into the screen with Lola, all of them stifling laughter and one of them holding a chubby baby.

“He needs to buy you a ring, cuz,” Ligaya says, waving her baby’s chubby hand at you. “Say hello Berting, that’s your auntie Dalisay and her boyfriend.” She and her sister, Ceci dissolve into giggles. The baby laughs too, although he doesn’t have any idea what’s going on around him.

“He’s too old to be anyone’s boyfriend,” you grouse.

“He looks more like husband material to me,” Ceci crows. She points a threatening finger at the webcam. “You’d better be good to her! She’s our favourite cousin.”

“Y mi nieta favorita,” Lola says, And my favourite granddaughter, cupping her hand around her mouth as if that would keep Ligaya and Ceci from hearing her. They both laugh, unoffended, Ceci batting Lola’s shoulder lightly.

“I will,” John promises. “She makes it easy. She’s much too good for the likes of me.”

“And don’t you forget it, English!” Ligaya agrees. “Are you coming to see us for Christmas this year, Lisay? There’s at least four babies you haven’t met yet.”

“I’m not sure I can afford to this year. We’ll see if I can find work—”

“¿Qué pasó? ¿Perdiste tu trabajo?” Lola asks. What happened? Did you lose your job?

“You practically raised those niños!” Ligaya protests, as if that would change the facts of the matter. “They love you!”

You grimace, and haltingly explain that Mr. Kinsey had made a pass at you, and you’d been fired so that he and his wife could work out their marital issues. Apparently you’d been just too tempting to have around, despite the fact that you had less than zero interest in your former employer. By the end of your explanation, Lola looks ready to fight, and Ligaya and Ceci both look furious too. “It’s alright,” you say, trying to convince yourself as much as you are them. “I wouldn’t have been able to leave if they didn’t fire me. And I didn’t want to be raising someone else's’ kids forever.”

Ceci wiggles her eyebrows at you. “Yeah, Lisay, you want your own babies, eh?”

“You should start painting again,” Ligaya suggested, flicking Ceci with the hand not currently supporting her son. “You could sell prints online, portrait commissions. You’re as good as your mother, and she made it into that London Gallery.”

Lola notices the way your smile strains and shoos your cousins away. “El consejo es bueno aunque graznan,” she says. “Eres demasiado buena para dejar de pintar.” The advice is good, even if they quack. You’re too good to stop painting.

You change the subject, and Lola talks some about the children, about neighbourhood gossip, catching you up on everything before you end the call. You sigh, sinking into John unconsciously. He’s so big, and so solid, you wish you could do away with that undercurrent of fear ruining the little comfort his arms would provide you otherwise.

“Why’d you stop painting?” he asks.

“It’s not the same anymore.”

“Is anything ever the same?”

You twist to look at him. His eyes are too blue, piercing though you like he’s able to read the thoughts in your head. You have to remind yourself that he can’t, that he doesn’t know you well enough even to guess. You’re getting to know him pretty well though, and you recognize this earnestness, this plea to let him in, to let him help. John is a man who needs to do something all the time, that needs to focus on a task. You wonder what it is that nips at his heels so sharply— Is is inherent, genetic, something unavoidable, written in the core of his very deepest, truest self? Or is it just that he’s running from something, and must stay in motion, driving himself ever forward to keep it from catching up?

“Have you ever lost anyone, John?”

Surprise widens his eyes for a flickering second, before he hides it behind a tight smile. “Think we’re talking about you, Doll.”

“You don’t have to answer. I think it’s just easier to understand, when you have. Painting just reminds me of my mam. It’s like trying to swim with lead shoes on. It’s so hard to keep my head above the water that it’s easier just not to swim.”

“Maybe you could try takin’ off the lead shoes,” he suggested, his arms tightening around you. Levity and reassurance, like he knows exactly what you need. “Or maybe you just shouldn’t go swimmin’ alone.”

“A lifeguard,” you say, rolling the thought around in your head. Maybe that was the problem, the empty space was too apparent when there was no one around to fill it. You’d painted the flowers on the credenza with Ripley there, and that had even been nice. You’d thought it was just a fluke, but you hadn’t really thought about why it had been different. “That’s an interesting thought.”

“Did you have everything you’d need? We can look through the boxes for your supplies.”

You shake your head. “No. Yes. I have watercolours somewhere. Just no acrylics. But I could start with watercolours.”

“Yeah? We can look now, if you like.”

“Maybe in a bit. I’ll make breakfast first.”

“I can do it,” he offers quickly. “I want to take care of you.”

As much as you aren’t quite ready to admit it, he already is. “No, I think it’s my turn. Just give me a minute. I don’t want you to get the wrong idea, but this is kind of nice.”

He hums his agreement, picking up his coffee. You think he’s doing it so he can’t kiss you, and you’re so pleased that he’s starting to get it that you almost consider kissing him instead.

But you don’t. You just let yourself enjoy the moment.

Maybe that’s enough, for now.

You decide that having him sit and watch you painting would be awkward, so once you hunt down your watercolours and a sketchbook with heavy paper, you set up outside while he works. He’s constructing some kind of frame over a concrete pad, a covered porch, you think. You sit out of the way, facing the copse of trees that surround the house, and the overgrown, weedy garden. It looks like it had been set up early in the season with the best of intentions, but you suspect that it was too hard on his knees and back. He’d made the mistake of planting everything straight in the ground— You probably would have suggested planter boxes, if you’d been here in the spring. Then he could have sat on a stool— It would have helped keep the bunnies out too. The few tomatoes left on an abandoned vine have little bites nibbled out of them— Almost everything has little bites taken out of it.

It makes you smother a laugh. It’s easy to imagine John railing against nature— He’s so stubborn, there’s no way he gave up for a good long time— Cursing the rabbits and deer, leaning over the once-neat rows until his back ached. There’s a pair of rusting garden shears stuck out of the ground, evidence that he quit in a fit of pique some months ago.

He’s looking at you— He has a sense for when you let happiness slip through, like a hound picking up a rabbit’s trail in the woods. You can feel the burn of those bright blue eyes on you, the heavy weight of his attention. Does he make note of everything you smile at? You wonder how long the list is now. Puppies, the Stuart kids, Lola and your cousins, and now his poor attempts at gardening. You haven’t really let much else get past your careful, polite mask, knowing full well that stone-walling him is your best defence. He’s searching for an opening, and once he finds it, he’ll pop you open like a clam.

It seems inevitable. Still, he’ll have to work for it, if he wants you to let him in. He’s already set himself the first of his Herculean tasks, to get you painting again. It would be easier to face the Nemean lion. Your grief has sharp teeth, unblunted even after a decade, still dug deep into your heart.

“You aren’t painting,” John says in your ear. His hands settle on your shoulders, holding you in your seat when surprise would launch you a few centimetres into the air.

You turn your head to look at him, and he’s far too close. “You aren’t working.”

“Takin’ a break. You look like you’re thinkin’ hard about something. What’s on your mind, Doll?”

“Your garden. Must have been a storm of misfortunes to make you give up.”

“Few things get the better of me, but this was one of ‘em. Have to settle for buyin’ produce at the shops like everyone else.”

“It’s not really so hard.”

“You the expert in gardening?”

“No, I just used to help my gran with her garden. Picked up a thing or two about keeping green things alive.” You take a dry paintbrush and dust it over his fingertips idly.

“That the one we talked to today?” he asks.

“No, that’s Lola. Gran is the Scottish one.”

He hums, smooths out tension in your shoulders with his thumbs, catching the slightest touch of your skin at the collar of your sweater. "Didn't think you had family in the UK."

You tip your head back, looking up at him. He shifts, leaning his forearms on the back of the chair, hanging over you. "Just my Gran, she got remarried a bit before we moved to Manchester. She thought her husbands-- Well, I'll say kids, but they were full adults, older than my mam already-- She thought they were more respectable than my parents. Wouldn't categorize her as a real warm and fuzzy lady."

"You don't talk then?"

"No. Not since my parents died. We had a proper row at the funeral and she's never apologized, and I'm certainly not going to."

"Learnin' a lot about you today, Doll."

“That I’m stubborn and that I distance myself from the people that love me?” you ask, flicking the paintbrush at the tip of his nose. His whole face scrunches, and it’s kind of endearing. You’re already feeling soft about him from this morning, because Lola liked him, and because he didn’t ask if she spoke English, just launched right into Spanish that was a maybe a little rough around the edges, but good enough.

“That,” he agrees. “But I think it’s good that you hold your ground. You’re not stubborn for the sake of it, you say what needs to be said. I’d bet good money that you were in the right.”

“It doesn’t always matter who’s right and who’s wrong, John. Sometimes you have to set aside ego to make things right.”

“Tryin’ to teach an old dog new tricks?” he asks.

“If you know what’s good for you, you’ll teach yourself. Now go on, get. You’re distracting me.” You wrap your hands around one of his, and press a fleeting kiss to a spot between his thumb and his wrist before releasing him. “And be careful of your ankle. If you need to carry something heavy, let me help you.”

He laughs and withdraws, his shadow sliding over your page as he moves away. “Yes ma’am. You’re pretty cute when you’re bossy.”

“I’m always cute,” you say blithely.

You don’t look at him, so you miss the way he glances back over his shoulder, blue eyes burning. “You’re damn right about that.”

Ducking your head down to hide your smile, you pick your pencil up and look back to the garden. Something about the red-handled shears stuck in the soil speaks to you, so you lightly sketch it out on the page, humming to yourself quietly. The next things you need to hunt down are your headphones and the old mp3 player so you can listen to music while you paint.

There’s something soothing about hearing John work anyway. The whirr of his drill as he screwed framing lumber into place, or the buzz of his saw when he cuts pieces to size. He’s methodical, exacting— What makes him so good at building probably made him a poor gardener too. He can cut and fit pieces of wood together to make any shape he pleases, he can make a plan and nothing will fight back against it, beyond a warped bit of lumber here and there, but a garden grows as it will, and there’s no controlling the wind or the sun or the rain, let alone the creatures that might come looking for something tender and green.

That same struggle plays out between the two of you. He sees a map and a destination where you see a landscape. The journey, the exploration, is what matters to you, the light and shadow, the soft growing things and the hungry teeth that nip at the roots. In his mind he’s already built a house at the top of the hill, and he wants to pull you inside, lay you down, plant his seeds in a different garden, watch something new grow. It’s not simply impatience, but a need for control, for surety.

He exerts that control outwards, bending the world to the shape he likes. You’ve always turned it inwards, pulling in on yourself, turning your life into a safe little cocoon, turning deprivation and isolation into an art. Constructing masks to get you through, reliable scripts, being whomever you need to be to make things easier.

And perhaps it was easy, but it was lonely too.

Maybe they really had done you a favour. By pulling you out of your comfortable routine, they’ve forced you to face yourself, for the first time in ages, to ask yourself what it is that you want, to see who you are.

You feel like a butterfly, wings still damp and unfurling, perched in John’s hand. He could risk letting you fly away, or he could force you to stay by destroying some integral part of you. There’s no telling which path he intends to take, not yet.

You can just hope.

It might be insane— It certainly feels insane— but you really want him to be a good man. Not just out of self-preservation, although it probably weighs something in the equation, but because you want him. He’s right when he says there’s something here, something that’s been rolling around in the back of your mind since Ghost dumped you in his lap. It hasn’t even been a week, but it feels longer.

You keep half an eye on him while you put the first pale washes of colour onto paper. A few small versions first, to get a handle on light and shadow, colour values, just to remember how to mix colours the way you want to, and then start on the larger version, feeling a little more confident.

You’ve just blocked in the base colours when you notice that John’s limping again, and showing no sign of stopping his work. Sighing, you set your paintbrush down and stand. “John,” you say gently, putting yourself in the path between the saw set up and his lumber pile. “It’s time to take a break.”

“No, I’m fine, Doll. Get back to your painting.” He tries to move around you, but you side-step and block his path again. “It’s just a sprain,” he says, exasperated. “I’ve worked through worse.”

As if that was a good reason to ignore pain. “And you never considered that maybe you shouldn’t have had to?”

He frowns down at you. The difference in your heights has to be at least a foot, but he has a funny way of tucking in his chin and hanging his head when you’re standing close like this, and looking at you straight on anyway. A soft little hand settles on his stomach, unbidden— You’re not sure that you’ve instigated contact with him before, it’s always been him reaching out for you, his big hands achingly gentle. Is anyone ever gentle with him? Is he ever gentle with himself?

“The work will still be here tomorrow,” you remind him. “You have time to rest.”

A raindrop splashes on your outstretching arm. The two of you look up in tandem, at a heavy grey cloud that’s rolled over head— It hasn’t blocked out the sun yet, and neither of you had noticed it creeping up— and then at each other. “Guess the weather agrees with you,” John says.

You both scramble apart and into action. John covers the pile of lumber and the saw with tarps, weighed down with a few odd bricks so they won’t blow away, and you quickly pack up the water colours and your paintings. You don’t get there in time to stop a few splashes of rain from hitting the page, but you get everything inside before it’s completely soaked and set it on the kitchen table for the moment.

While you’re filling the kettle and looking outside, watching the rain splash against the window, John comes in too, and looks at your work. “The rain ruined it,” he says. “I should have been paying more attention to the weather.” There’s guilt in his voice, as if it’s his fault that the rain chose to fall where and when it did.

You set the kettle to boil, and join him, studying the paintings. Each of them unrefined— The smaller ones are just work-ups anyway, but the raindrops have warped the colours, creating voids with saturated edges. You wouldn’t say they’re ruined. There’s an artistry to incident, story preserved on paper in a way that your art wouldn’t do alone.

“No, I like it better this way,” you say decisively. “It underlines the theme of futility, don’t you think? How we’re at the mercy of the weather, whether we like it or not.”

“S’pose so,” he admits grudgingly.

His mouth is set so it almost disappears under his moustache. He really does hate the reminder that he has no control over some things. You dash upstairs and grab a couple of towels and tuck them under your arm, and take John’s hand, leading him out onto the front porch.

He follows you without resistance, although there’s a funny, curious look on his face. “What’re you doing?”

You let go, and put the towels down on the bench. “What does it look like I’m doing?” The rain is coming steadily now, the sky turned darker, sun all but blotted out, and it’s cold on your skin when you step out from the shelter and into the downpour. You throw your arms out and spin, laughing.

There are many things in this life that you can’t control. Things that are fixed, unchanged and immovable, laws of nature, the whims of weather, and Captain John Price. But you have choices too. You can try to move a mountain, but you’d be better climbing over it. You can choose to struggle against the current, or let it sweep you along. You can dance in the rain rather than wish it were sunny.

And you can hold out your hand, and invite John to dance with you.

Image Credits: Banner Dividers

[matthewswifeyx]

One month <3

Requested?- yess! Here <3

Warnings?- Fluff

A/N: Guys this is my first try writing in third person, please tell me if its trash or not! 😅

Y/N and Matt had finally welcomed their beautiful baby boy Conner into the world. He was home safe, sound and settled. Both of the new parents were enjoying their title. They felt extremely comfortable referring to each other as 'mommy' and 'daddy' when speaking with Conner and talking about themselves. The first month went by so quickly, Y/N and Matt had enjoyed every second of quality time they could have with their new addition. It did take them a while to get used to this new lifestyle.

"Matt you put the diaper on backwards!" Y/N chuckled.

"Hey, can you blame me? There are no instructions." Matt laughed with Y/N.

They had worked together and promised each other to talk things out if they are struggling. Y/N recently had been feeling the effects of postpartum depression, but her husband wasn't afraid to be at her side and support her in anyway shape or form.

"I don't why I am feeling so down, I am so happy that we finally can have a family but I just feel a little lost."

"Y/N it is completely okay to be feeling this way at this point in time, we can go to the doctor and get the support you need. We will get through this together. I promise." Matt kissed her lovingly to show that he does care. Y/N knew that he did.

A newborn in the house did result in sleepless nights, but Y/N and Matt did know what they signed up for.

The baby monitor released the sounds of crying from baby Conner in his nursery. It broke both of their hearts that he was in distress.

"I got it Matt don't worry."

Y/N hopped out of bed and went straight to the crying Conner to try and get him back to sleep. She picked him up from his crib and she tried breastfeeding, Y/N has always had trouble feeding Conner. Little did she know that Matt was watching and listening to the events over the baby monitor, he felt so upset for Y/N. He knew that she was devastated when she found that she would have troubles feeding her son.

"Why am I labelled a natural mom when I can't even feed my baby naturally." That comment replayed in Matt's mind. He didn't want Y/N to feel this way again, so he got out of bed and joined his wife in the nursery.

"You doing okay baby?"

"No i'm not. My body won't let me breastfeed." Tears start to sting the corners of Y/N's eyes.

"Baby, you're just tired. I got this one, i'm just going to get a pre made formula from the fridge, okay? Go back to bed and get some rest alright?"

"Okay." She murmurs.

"I love you Y/N." Matt says. Y/N doesn't say anything and walks out of the nursery back to the bedroom. Matt bounced Conner slightly up and down in his arms in a way to quieten him. Matt went over to the rocking chair and tried to see if skin to skin would make Conner fall back to sleep. Matt was already shirtless. Matt took Conner out of his onesie carefully and placed him on his chest.

"It's okay buddy, daddy's here." Matt hushed. He continued to craddle Conner on his chest for a few more minutes and after that Conner had fallen back into a peaceful sleep.

Conner was mostly a happy baby, so when he did cry during the day it didn't affect Y/N and Matt as much. Matt was such a good dad, he knew that the baby couldn't really respond at the moment. But he was being silly and fun with the baby. Matt would never put the baby in harms way. But he would scare Y/N a few times by throwing Conner up in the air slightly and catching him safely.

"God Matt! Don't do that, you scared me!" Y/N immediately took Conner from Matt's arms and held him close to her chest.

"Y/N, honey, I would never do anything to hurt Conner. It's just a bit of fun." Coincidentally Conner babbles quietly in a cute agreement. Both Matt and Y/N laughed at this interaction.

Every since Conner was born, Matt would be looking online for toys and games that they could play with together. Y/N knew that Conner was going to be Matt's best friend. Matt would order the biggest and coolest toys all over the internet. One day Matt would pick up an interactive dinosaur and the next day he would order a jellycat the same size and Y/N. Matt really cared for his child to feel safe and happy even if Conner couldn't appreciate it right now, but being a new father gave Matt a job to make sure both of those bullet points are ticked off the list straight away. Matt would start decorating the play room as soon as he had any free time, Matt had bought a comfortable small couch to put on the corner. he had bought a camouflage backdrop to put behind the sofa, he decided to theme the play room as a jungle. So Matt had bought loads of animal plushies and a teepee tent to put in the corner. Matt had purchased about a dozen of childrens books to read. Matt had also set up some fairy lights in the ceiling to really set the mood.

Y/N couldn't have been more proud and appreciative of Matt, he wanted his son to have the best childhood a father could offer.

Y/N and Matt really tried hard to make sure everything was prepared for Conner when he was able to play and walk and talk. They couldn't have been any better and supportive with one another.

Hey guys! I hope you really enjoyed this fanfic! if you have any suggestions/requests please do not hesitate to send something for me to see and i will try and get back to you asap! <3

Banner credits to @bernardsbendystraws <3

[pixiesfz]

It make me so sad that’s there is not much lotte or Teagan content on here 😭

I’m gonna mix my two requests for teagan together!!

take the punch t.m

plot: you take a hard punch in a corner kick, turns out it’s from the girl you’ve been talking to for months.

warnings: injury, aggression from teammates, Player gets hit in the face and player is only given a yellow also I am NOT a doctor

You stared at your phone and the messages that were on it.

More specifically the girl behind the messages.

You had met Teagan at the start of the season on her debut as Liverpools goal keeper.

She had been a pain in your ass.

saving your shots left right and centre, it annoyed you but impressed you so much that you went up to her afterwards.

“Teagan is it?” You ask, walking up to her and she nodded “uh yeah, your y/n” she responded and you nodded “you know your really good” you told her “wasn’t fun for me but you know” you laugh and she laughed with you.

“I was honestly very scared to go against you” she admitted and you rose your eyebrows “really?” You ask and she nodded “watched you in the World Cup when Australia versed you, got those goals past us like it was nothing”

Oh yes, you remember that day.

“Sorry for kicking you guys out” you said softly and she shook her head “nah it’s all good, had me mesmerised to be honest”

You blushed, “yeah?” you ask and the goal keeper nodded “definitely”.

Before you could response you felt the hands of your teammate drag you away “Chloe!” You complained as she smiled at you

“No fraternising with the enemy y/n/n”

“Shut up”.

When you went to bed that night you didn’t expect to wake up to a dm from the Australian.

‘I really hope this is your account and not just a very popular fan account’

And for the first time in a while you woke up with a smile.

After a month or so of talking online with the girl your teammates noticed a change in your behaviour.

You were smiling in the morning, trying new things for breakfast and pestering Mary and Alanna for Australian facts.

One day Alanna turned towards you “Alright who is it?”

“Who is what?”

“Who is the girl that is getting you all…giddy”

You stepped back “there is no girl”

“There is such a girl, who knew our little German could find love?” She grinned and pulled you into a loving headlock.

“Fine” you grunted “there is a girl” you admitted and cheers filled the room.

“Who is it?”

“Does she play?”

“Do we know her?”

“Please don’t let it be a physio”

You turned to Jill weirdly “what?” You asked and she just shrugged before you turned back to your teammates.

“I’m not going to tell her name yet just in case it doesn’t go well, yes she plays and yes some of you know her well”

You gave away your hints before the team realised it could literally be anyone in the WSL.

“Can you at least tell us the team?” Mary asked, using her power of being one of the younger, cuter members of the squad.

“No.”

You were on a FaceTime with the Australian when she made the first move “Do you want to go on another date with me?” She asked after the topic of your worst date ever came up.

You smiled bright, a blush burning on your cheeks but you were so ever happy “I would love to, we can walking on the beach again”.

“Well we have the Liverpool vs City game coming up next week so after that” she declared “nah, I was thinking something fancier, we can go on a nice dinner and-“

“I want you to surprise me” you cut her off “I want to know what your creative Australian mind thinks of”

“Well mostly it’s you” she chimed in and you groaned, rolling your eyes “oh shut up”

Teagan laughed at your reaction, smiling at the way you reacted to her cheesy pick up lines.

Texts back and forth between the two of you did not help your nerves for the game ahead of you. But mostly you were more nervous for the activities afterwards.

You had ended up confiding to your national teammate Lena about your situation ship with the Aussie, not letting your club teammates know just yet.

But when the game ends and the girls see you walking out the doors with Teagan they'll find out who your mystery girl is anyway so with your blood rushing and head spinning you finally and well accidently tell your man city teammate and unfortunately Teagan's international teammate Mary.

"Really?" she responds to your quick words as you laid them out quickly, you just blushed harder before she gives you a thinking face "well that makes sense".

You furrow your brows "how-why- how does it make sense?" you ask, your arms moving with your words "well last international break she seemed much happier and that was after we versed Liverpool and if we weren't at trainings she was like stuck on her phone"

You stepped back at your friends words, You and Teagan had only successfully been able to go on one date together by the time the first international break came over, it brough a smile to your face realizing that she was in a similar state as you afterwards.

"I can help you two!"

"Mary I will not allow this to become a primary school relationship!"

Soon the game was here, you were lined up with your team in the tunnel, not in the starting XI but still in your gear as a sub. Mary was behind you, still the only teammate who knew about Teagan.

"look who's watching" she teased and you turned red, quickly turning around and smacking her arm "stop" you instructed and turned towards Teagan who was near the front of her line, she was already smiling at your interaction with Mary but gave you a small wave which you copied before you all walked out.

"that hurt" Mary rubbed her arm "deal with it".

You weren't subbed on until the second half, City were up by one as Lauren sent one through Teagan's fingers and into the net. You saw Teagan dust herself off as you ran on, her eyes fell on you for a second before going back onto the play which you joined in on quickly after.

Jess had scored not long after and you cheered after her, jumping onto her back with a smile. You wanted to look back to Teagan to see if she was doing okay but you were in your element, playing the sport you love and in this case winning!

In the 87th minute Kerstin weaved through the midfield and in between defenders as you lead towards the goal, her eyes darted towards you and sent you the ball, you jumped to header it in and then black.

The crowd watched as you jumped in the air, the ball hitting the front of your forehead and unfortunately the fist of Teagan's hands hitting the back, causing you to fall forward straight on the floor which you stayed.

Teagan all of a sudden didn't care about the ball that hit the back of the net and quickly dropped down to you, rolling you on your back so you faced up to her. "Oh my god-"

Teagan was cut off as your teammates pulled her away "Get off of her Micah" someone called out, Mary, cringing on the sidelines as she couldn't split her teammates and her friend apart. The words were catching your ears as you stirred awake to whatever had just happened to you.

Teagan ignored the man city players pesters and kept her eyes on you "please I just want to see if she's okay" she told them but Alanna pulled her back as medics ran on "Teagan she's not going to want to see you" she told her and Teagan crossed her head "I was supposed to ask her to be my girlfriend tonight" she told Alanna and the tall Australian stepped back and looked back over to you with wide eyes.

"let her go over".

Teagan ran over to you as the medics sat you up, The referee also showing her a yellow card but she didn't care.

"Hmm- Teags" you slurred as the girl came into your view "what happened?" you ask and the girl pursed her lips.

"Kinda punched you in the face"

"Oh" you said, not really gaining the information, a clear concussion on your behalf

Teagan watched as you were taken off by medics and went back into her box, the game quickly changed in the last ten minutes, the crowd was quiet and the teams weren't playing as hard, Liverpool excepting their defeat and man city not celebrating their win.

Not without you.

You were taken into the medics room before they quickly decided to take you to the hospital for a CT scan.

Meanwhile at the game, some of the players skipped the walk around the field to talk with fans and checked to see where you were. Hospital was what word was heard and Teagan along-side with Man city players were on their way.

Teagan drove herself, maybe going a bit faster than usual but you were on her mind, this was her fault.

She had had a concussion before, a bad concussion, it took her out for months on the team. She didn't want the same for you.

She was the first to arrived still in her kit, your teammates walked in five minutes later, quickly seeing the girl and walking up to her "you don't have to take pity on her" Kerstin said, Lauren quickly following "a quick DM would have been fine for her", their words were filled with pettiness which Alanna and Mary quickly shut down.

"They're not strangers" Mary said quickly and they all turned their heads "what?" Chloe questioned, Leia still stepping up to the Goal keeper "then what are they?"

"She's the girl".

Leia stepped back as Chloe gasped "oh my god, we are so sorry" Teagan just nodded, she ignored their comments her mind strictly on you "she was gonna tell you today after the game"

"before you punched her"

"useful information, thankyou Mary"

All the girls sat down, waiting for you "do you think she'll be mad?" Teagan asked Alanna who shook her head "she knows what she signed up for when she took that header, she knows the game" the blonde said and Teagan just nodded, still not convinced you wont cuss her out when you see her.

You sat in the room, looking at the scans, you would have a month off which you nodded your head at "I know it's not ideal but you have to be on a bed rest for about a week and you will have to miss the next international break for Germany" the doctor told you and you once again nodded your head.

"But you will be well enough for the Olympic but if you don't make it to the finals then you'll be out until the end of the season"

You sniffed, rolling your head back to stop any tears. You were sure Man city would make it to the finals with how they were playing, but if you missed a month you weren't sure if you would get any minutes on the film.

You had seen how time off had done for others, you didn't want that to be you.

You walked out of the room looking defeated as ever, your teammates were the first to walk to you, checking up on you with little questions before Kerstin gave you a hug, silently apologizing for her kick which you told her was not her fault.

It was nobodies fault.

When they all walked away, Mary softly turned your head towards the Liverpool keeper who had left to grab flowers from one of the stalls nearby.

"I thought you would have gone home" you said, relieved at the sight of her "and go to the dinner by myself?" she joked and you softly laughed.

You touched the back of your head "I don't think I look nice enough for a fancy dinner right now" you said and Teagan stepped forward her arm raising towards yours "Well personally I think you look amazing"

You blushed as she she tucked your hair you had taken out behind your ear "how long are you out for?" she asked "only a month" you smiled "that's really good Y/n" she started before looking down "I'm really sorry I just wasn't thinking and-"

You cut her off y quickly pecking her lips, distracting her completely as she widened her eyes "I don't blame you Teagan" you said, grabbing the flowers with one hand and grabbing her other hand with the other.

"So you're not mad?"

You creased your eyebrows "of course not" she let out a sigh of relief "well that's good, might have to cancel our plans though" she said and you smirked "how bout we order take out at mine?"

"yeah?"

"yes."

[cheese-water]

Charlie is right.

Bolas Rojos won today. They got their revenge after yesterday’s beating. They’ve proven themselves as real competitors. They have literally won the battle today.

But they themselves have orchestrated the war.

Peace is no longer an option. All bridges have been burned for the red team. Any sympathy or pity from the other groups was gone as soon as they cemented first place. And even worse, there were many witnesses to their carnage. Primarily ElQuackity on green, who faced them head-on (so much for blaming the base raid on Bad), but Pol and Tina on blue saw those same chat messages. Like Charlie said, in situations like these, people will never forget. These are how grudges are formed, how small decisions lead to larger repercussions, and how consequences end up mattering after all is said and done.

The Bolas can’t go back now. They’ve made their bed of destruction and warfare, and now they have to lie in it. While the actions of the others may have led them down this path, do not get me wrong. They were not backed into a corner. There are many opportunities to do something different. For instance, the trader village or going full-on cult mode were genuinely viable options. Due to the lack of players on today and the players that were online’s motivation for the competition visibly waning, the red team could have easily isolated them each and indoctrinated them into the group.

To be honest, the Reds’ resistance to joining general vc only furthered their “us against the world” and “peace was never an option” mentality. Disregarding everything pre-purgatory, the only person who actually has positive relationships with the others is Foolish, who made an effort to interact outside of the team (1v1 with Étoiles, chatting with Tina and BBH, etc.). Unlike his teammates, Foolish really has set himself up well for the future, be it for trading, secret alliances, or if, for whatever reason, teams switch. And in games like these, that's how you gain credibility; that’s how you end up being pitied; that's how you survive.

And today, guess who won in that regard? The team in last place, SoulFire. Which thank god they did, because steamrolling the competition two days in a row is how you get majorly targeted. Their lack of progress (which was definitely unintentional lmao), the gen vc basically being BadBoyHalo’s “apology” tour for a bit (which again, very unintentionally focused the blame off of the six kills from their equally bloodthirsty leader), but most importantly, keeping Étoiles, the skilled and need I mention literal leader of the enemy team, company when his team was gone has more impact than even they might not realize. I mean, talk about damage control lol. Like going into Day 3, my bets on who’s group will form an alliance first are solely on green and blue.

Anyway, I am happy not only about the Reds getting the win they rightly deserve but also about the fact that they are aware of what they are doing. The moves they have and will make are purposeful, self-aware of their own “let’s all be peaceful” hypocrisy.

On Day 1, Blue and Green got to be the bad guys.

On Day 2, Charlie can’t help but question his own morality while doing the same terrible things that sent him down this spiral to ElQuackity tonight.

But I guess it's the burden that first place has to bear. I’m sure they’ll all get used to it eventually :)

[fearcrowz]

What advice would you give to someone who's not sure or confident about posting their art online?

Oh gosh I am the same way. I feel you, anon and I will try and give advice that is prolly absolutely hypocritical of myself BUT it does help.

Long blab ahead:

These days, it is hard to post for yourself. I drew a lot to make friends. Sure it was for me but I desperately wanted to find people and be friends with everyone (I still do ew). When I found my corner, I just did whatever. Then dread and imposter syndrome kicked my tushy. Art blocks, all that juicy good artist stuff.

Followers effected me, my skills effected me, everyone successful around me, these 15 year old that have 100k followers just for drawing the same doodle of a cat and nothing more.

As a 31 year old who has not a single taste of success and has tried to keep up for over 20 years of drawing (I also dealt with an icky life tho), yeah it's pretty discouraging. Art really does suck sometimes. A lot. I struggle with not being good enough always.

BUT. You love drawing dont you? You love those doodles and sketches and silly things. You love your characters or fandoms or whatever you are into cuz they make you happy. Something special. And wanting to share that thing that makes you happy is it's own happiness. I may not be anyone as special as I want to be, but sharing my silly characters and stories, even if no one sees them or one person sees them, they are there and I drew it alone and I made it alone and I am proud of it. I made that and I get the privilege to share it with everyone in the world whether they see or not. These silly drawings and characters my brain made.

It is hard to do, but draw for yourself. Draw because you love to. Draw for the characters you love, whether it be yours or a fandom you enjoy a bunch that makes you happy. Share, even if it doesn't reach anyone right away. Share and share and share, because I promise someone will see it. There are a lot of shy people on the internet, maybe your art will make someone happy. Maybe they will secretly follow. You never know. Just gotta draw, share, and grow. Even if the internet is really hard to post on more than ever, even if algorithms only favor the lucky, that doesn't devalue you or your art. What you make is special cuz you make it. You made that, with your own hands. No matter what, it's special and it is worth sharing. I promise, even if it takes awhile, and it's scary and anything can go wonky or feel off and sometimes it can be REALLY disappointing some days.... But it really is worth it in the end, you just can't give up. It's a really special thing. And I am absolutely confident you can do it!

[storiesforallfandoms]

our next step ~ swaggersouls

word count: 1611

request?: yes!

“hey hey!! i adore your work and was wondering if you could do a swaggerwouls x fem!reader? maybe something along the lines of the reader also being a youtuber and them having a baby together and announcing it to their fans?🥺i’ve been having major baby fever lately lol. super sorry if this goes against any of your rules and it’s totally cool if you’re not comfortable writing it! :)”

description: in which they decide to tell their fans the major update in their lives

pairing: swaggersouls x female!reader

warnings: swearing, two uses of y/n, rpf

masterlist (one, two, three)

Being content creators with a very small social media presence outside of YouTube and Twitch made it incredibly easy to hide my pregnancy.

It’s not that we didn’t want to tell our fans. The majority of mine and Swagger’s relationship was online for everyone to see since we vlogged and gamed with each other regularly. If anything, it made more sense to tell everyone when I found out I was pregnant. And I had actually filmed most of my pregnancy to make one big vlog once the baby came.

But, like I said, the majority of our relationship was online. Not only that, but most of my life since I was in my late teens was online for the world to see. We decided that we wanted something for just ourselves, even just for a little while.

Neither of us posted on social media enough for it to be suspicious if we were suddenly MIA for months, and my face cam when I was streaming was always positioned in a way that showed me from my shoulders up, so my bump wasn’t on camera. The only thing my fans would notice was some weight gain in my face, which was easy to just say was because I had gained weight in general.

The other Misfits knew, of course. We told them shortly after we found out. Tobi was ecstatic that her son was going to have a Misfits friend. The guys were all happy for us, too, but Cam teased Swagger about being the last person in the group any of them expected to become a father.

“So, you’re giving up weed then?” Cam asked after we told him.

“Fuck no! I’ll go smoke outside instead.”

After nine long months, plus roughly six hours of labor, our baby girl came into the world and our family was complete.

She had Swagger wrapped around her tiny fingers from the second he laid his eyes on her. He loved her almost more than he loved our cats, which is definitely saying something. But, I did say almost.

A month or so after our daughter, Daisy, was born, Swagger and I were laid in bed together. I was reading while Swagger was watching stuff on his phone with little Daisy asleep on his chest. I kept glancing over at them and smiling at the sight. I couldn’t help it, seeing Swagger as a dad just made me happy. Especially seeing him with the little human that we made. It was hard to explain the level of joy I felt.

“Take a picture, it lasts longer,” Swagger said, giving me a playful smile.

I hadn’t even realized I was staring until that moment. I shook myself out of my thoughts and retorted, “That’s not as insulting as you think it is. If I could reach my phone, I’d take so many pictures of you right now.”

“Oh, I am well aware.” He reached out to hold my hand while trying to move very little as to not wake Daisy. “What had you thinking so hard anyways?”

I looked at Daisy again, another smile involuntarily tugging at the corners of my mouth. I just couldn’t help it.

Instead of telling him what I had actually been thinking about, I found myself saying, “Should we tell our viewers about Daisy soon?”

“We did say we’d announce it after she was born,” he said. “And they’ve definitely noticed that you haven’t vlogged in months.”

“Do you think it’s time?”

Swagger looked at Daisy and asked, “What do you think, Daisy? Should we tell the world you exist?” The baby let out a heavy sigh, but otherwise didn’t move or wake up. “I think that was a yes.”

~~~~~~

The next day, I broke out the old vlog camera that I hadn’t used since before I developed my baby bump. Surprisingly, the battery hadn’t died even from lack of use.

“This feels foreign,” I said as I turned the camera on. “I haven’t vlogged in ages. I wonder if I’ll even remember how to do it.”

“You’re just setting it up to sit in front of it,” Swagger teased.

“Hey, that’s hard to do when you haven’t worked a camera in, like, a year.” I set the camera up on the tripod and turned to him. “Sit your ass down, knight boy.”

“That was a terrible insult.”

Swagger sat down on the couch, wearing his ski mask and holding Daisy in his arms. He had her positioned in a way that her face was hidden from the camera. We both agreed that we would not be showing her face on camera while she was a kid, but we also thought it would be hilarious to start the video with Swagger just holding our baby that no one knew even existed.

“She’s going to be terrified if she wakes up and sees the mask,” I said as I sat next to him.

“She’ll have to get used to it eventually,” he said. “Maybe I’ll just walk around the house with it on.”

“Do not do that. I know you would use that as an excuse to just scare me.”

He gave me a look, and I could tell from his eyes that he was smirking under his mask.

“Anyways,” I said, turning away from him. “Hello. I know you guys are all wondering, what is this thing.” I gestured to Daisy.

“Thing,” Swagger snickered.

“This is our baby,” I said, ignoring him. “It is the bun I baked for nine months, and now here she is. And I know you’re also all wondering, (Y/N) and Swagger, when did you guys have a baby?”

“About a month ago,” Swagger responded. “And technically, (Y/N) had the baby. I just put the baby in her.”

“Yeah, thanks for that.” To the camera, I said, “We know you guys have so many questions. The short story is, we weren’t trying for a baby. It was definitely a shock to us both, but it was a good shock. Announcing my pregnancy wasn’t the first thing we thought of. Actually, it took, like, a week for us to realize we hadn’t said anything online about it, and at that point we kind of came to the conclusion that we wanted the pregnancy to be an us thing instead of a shared internet thing.”

“We were being very selfish,” Swagger said.

“But we’re not sorry,” I added.

“Oh, not at all. We love you guys, but sometimes we do need some privacy, and this was definitely one of those times.” He glanced down at Daisy, his eyes lighting up just looking at her. I decided against teasing him in that moment because it was just too cute. He continued, “And I’m going to answer the important question, which is no, not even becoming a father will stop me from smoking weed.”

I playfully rolled my eyes.

“Everyone was thinking it!” Swagger argued. “Obviously I’m not smoking 24/7, or around the baby, but I’m not giving it up all together. I’m not becoming a square just because I have a kid.”

“Should we tell everyone her name, or are we just going to keep calling her ‘the baby’?”

“I don’t see a problem with telling everyone her name.”

“Her name is Daisy.”

As if hearing her name, Daisy made a soft cooing noise and opened her eyes. Swagger moved her so she would look at me first. We were joking for the video before, but we were actually a little nervous about her reaction to seeing Swagger in his ski mask for the first time. It was something we’d have to ease her into when she was much older.

“Hey baby,” I said, taking her from Swagger. “Woke up to be in your first ever video, huh? You’re ready to be a star.”

She looked up at me with her big, brown eyes. Ever since she was born, everyone said she looked exactly like me, but not her eyes. She definitely had Swagger’s eyes.

“That’s it, I guess,” I said. “We’re going to take some time to take care of this one and get used to having a baby, then we’ll be back to regular streams and uploads eventually. Uh...yeah. Bye, I guess?” I looked over to Swagger. “Can you turn the camera off? I’m holding Daisy.”

He got up and did as I asked. Once the camera was off, he pulled off the ski mask and tossed it off to the side. “That went well.”

“I’m weirdly nervous about it,” I admitted. “My heart is pounding. Daisy can definitely feel it.”

“You don’t have to be nervous. I don’t think anyone is going to react poorly to us announcing we’re parents now.”

“I’d doubt it, but weirdly I still am.”

Swagger sat down next to me and put an arm around my shoulder. I leaned into him, stretching my legs out and resting Daisy on them so she could look at the both of us. She was very interested in her surroundings. According to my mom, babies can only see so far when they’re first born, and their vision increases as time goes on. I’m not sure if that’s completely true, but it was adorable to think that she was just now seeing everything for the first time.

“I can’t believe we made this,” I said. “We made a whole human being.”

“We can make another one, if you want.”

I shot him a look. “No way. My body does not need to go through that ever again. We can practice, though.”

“Deal.” He pulled me close and kissed the top of my head.

[82mitsu]

{18Trip} The 18 Questions Corner - Nishizono Renga

This is a translation for the 18 questions interview uploaded on the official Youtube channel. I suggest to read this translation alongside it!

Note: P stands for "Player", this series has a voiced male & female character for the player. The interviews are conducted by the male player in this case.

P: 18 questions for the Tourism Ward Mayors! We look forward to your cooperation!

Renga: Hmph. Interviews are nothing new to me.

What’s your name?

Nishizono Renga.

How old are you?

I'm 23 years old.

Tell us about your occupation!

The kind of celebrity even weeping children would be awestruck. 

What’s the first thing you do when waking up in the morning?

Opening the curtains and basking in the sunlight.

Anything you’re particular about with lunch?

I make sure I clean my plate. 

What pops up in your mind when it comes to “evening”?

A huge sunset!

What’s your routine before bed?

Skincare. A talent’s weapon is their appearance.

Where do you start with washing your body?

Eh, um… uuuh… hmmm.. ah, from my elbows!

What’s essential when leaving for a trip?

My sunglasses. They’re indispensable to avoid having my whereabouts leaked online. 

What do you check before traveling somewhere?

Uuuh, um… places like zoos… I-I enjoy them… 

What’s your favorite method of transportation for traveling? 

Airplanes, I am a celebrity after all.

What’s one item you’d bring to a deserted island?

One item only, hm…. the seed of a rose, perhaps.

Please give us some fanservice! 

Wha-..., ah, uuuhm- 𝚆𝚎𝚛𝚞… um.. 𝚔𝚘𝚖..𝚝𝚘𝚘…𝙷𝙰𝙼𝙰… 𝙰𝚊𝚊𝚑 𝚢𝚎𝚊𝚑… 𝙷𝚊𝚋𝚊 N𝚊𝚒𝚜𝚞 T𝚛𝚊𝚙!!

Who’s someone you’d lean on for support? 

My friend Ten… There’s also Yukikaze who’s easy to consult about different things. 

Who would you swap bodies with for a day?

Night squad’s Nagi. 

What would you want to do if that happened?

I would look after the rose garden at home. He’s an amazing guy who knows his way around flowers. 

Pass on a message to your roommates!

Kafka, as your leader I demand you to tell me whenever there’s something. And Ten… I’d be happy if we continue to get along from here on too. 

Tell us from the heart, what’s a “journey” to you? 

Something that makes you realize how unexpectedly vast the whole world is.

P: Thank you, those were all 18 questions!

Renga: Ah, it’s already over? Uh.. Hmph! Hope you realized I’m the most charming man alive, okay!?

Renga:  HAMA’s 3rd Ward Mayor, Nishizono Renga. Of course you already knew that, no? I’m an elite celebrity model making headlines in the media every day after all!

[iboatedhere]

I just read 'Savasana' 🧘‍♀️🐶 - and I loved it !! And now I'd like to send you a prompt for June, just like you asked. 😍 It were actually three wordings that piqued my interest, if you don't mind.

the smell of sunscreen + the warmth on your naked skin + sailboat

Maybe it'll fit and inspiration will strike !! Thank you. 🙏✨️

“I’ve decided to sue “The Daily Mirror.””

“Cool,” Alex says as he folds his arms behind his head. “Give me a few years, and I can represent you.”

“No,” Henry says, “you’re suing them with me. You’re a plaintiff, too.”

“Am I now?”

Henry heaves a sigh, and even though Alex’s eyes are closed behind his sunglasses, he knows how Henry is standing: hands on his hips, chin out, with a crease between his brows.

“They’re printing lies about you. About us. That photo is incredibly out of context, and I don’t know how you are just sitting here and taking it—.”

“Sweetheart,” Alex interrupts, pushing himself up on one elbow as he slides his sunglasses onto the top of his head. Henry is standing just as Alex had imagined, but now one foot is tapping impatiently against the boat's deck, a conflicting rhythm to the gentle waves slapping against the hull. “Everyone prints lies about us, weekly if not daily. If we sued everyone who did it, we’d never find time to live our lives. Plus, I’m not sitting here and taking it. I’m lying here.” He falls back and lowers his glasses. “On the deck of this beautiful sailing yacht you’ve rented, in the middle of Lake Como, and I’d really like it if you joined me.”

Henry’s foot taps three more times before he drops down onto the deck, not close enough to touch but close enough that Alex can feel the heat rolling off his bare skin.

Alex understands Henry’s anger because he knows exactly what photo he’s talking about.

Last night, they docked in Bellagio and ate dinner on a terrace with stunning views, fresh seafood, and an extensive wine menu.

They were a bit tipsy after, and the streets back to the docks were narrow and cobblestone, causing them to go single file at one point.

Henry, ever the gentleman, let Alex go first, and Alex, after three glasses of wine, had to concentrate on the sidewalk in front of him.

The photo sold to “The Mirror” was a split-second shot of Alex frowning and Henry walking behind him, making it look like they had a huge argument. Or at least that's how the tabloids are framing it.

A photo snapped a second earlier or later would show Alex’s hand in Henry’s and Henry’s face tipped down to whisper into Alex’s ear, a smile on both their faces.

But happiness doesn’t sell.

It sucks, but Alex isn’t going to let it ruin their vacation.

They’ve been on the lake for nearly two weeks now, practically a lifetime, considering they still live an ocean apart and only see each other in grainy FaceTime calls.

Alex knows they’re on borrowed time. Soon, The Crown will call Henry home under the guise of some bullshit Royal obligation, and Zahra will have an aneurysm when she sees another shirtless photo of Alex online, and they’ll be called back to their separate corners of the world.

For now, though, they have warm weather, clear water, and a completely private cabin on their sixty-foot sailer.

“C’mere,” Alex says, holding his arm out for Henry to fall into.

“You know we’re not really alone,” Henry says, eyes flitting to the coastline. Amy, Cash, and Henry’s personal security on nearby vessels can keep people from getting too close physically, but they’re helpless against telephoto lenses.

“I know. I guess we’ll have to be all over each other all the time so they don’t have a chance to say that we hate each other. What a hardship.”

Henry rolls his eyes but shifts to stretch out beside Alex, his head pillowed on his bicep.

Alex turns and kisses Henry's forehead, breathing in sweat and the sweet coconut scent of his sunscreen. Henry’s gone from pale to burnt to peeling to a deep golden, like one of the sculptures they danced around at the V&A.

“It just feels like an act,” Henry starts, his fingers playing with the key on Alex’s chest. “Not that I don’t love this—but to be on every second of every day, being afraid of what will be said about you if the truth slips through…I thought I left that life. I’m still in it.”

“I get that,” Alex says, counting the freckles across Henry’s nose. “But you’re not alone in it anymore. I’m right here.”

“Thank goodness for that,” Henry says, his lips brushing Alex’s bare shoulder. “And I do suppose you have a point.”

He pushes himself up and over Alex, catching his mouth in a kiss and tasting the sun in his smile.

[oskea93]

Tis the Way the Wind Blows, Hummingbird (One)

Caleb Sykes x OC Horizon universe

⚠️ Warning ⚠️ Story will contain moments of physical, sexual, emotional, and verbal abuse, cursing, murder, suicidal ideations, childbirth, scalping, death, etc. Please do not read if you are triggered by any of these warnings. If you've seen the film or just read about it online, you already know that Caleb is a bad guy. He will remain a bad guy throughout this story as well. He will not be liked and will be vile in every way. Just a heads up if you were looking for a happy Jamie story.

A/N: Oh my goodness guys, thank you so much for the love for this story! I am so glad you all are enjoying it so far! It's only gonna get more extreme and downright dirty from here. Also, if you have any questions about the story, just wanna talk, or whatever, just drop me a message!

● If you would like to be tagged, please comment below ●

Taglist: @austinswhitewolf, @carriewritesblog, @isla-bell-blog, @jcbbby, @eve18ahs

His touch would burn like a batch of fire ants each time he laid hands on me.

The searing pain as his grip would tighten – his cold blue eyes staring into mine as I would beg and plead not to hurt me in front of our children. I would like to say it hadn’t always been this way with Caleb but that would be a lie straight from the devil’s mouth. I would love to tell you that he was once a gentleman who was corrupt by the bottle – that his hands were once full of love and joy but for some ungodly reason I actually held feelings for the man.

I remember the first time I saw Caleb, standing in the dimly lit corner of the saloon, a shadow of a man with haunted eyes that seemed to mirror my own loneliness. His smile was a twisted reflection of charm, drawing me in like a moth to a flame. Despite the warnings that whispered in the back of my mind, I found myself captivated by his words, his presence filling a void I hadn't even known existed. In his arms, I felt a fleeting sense of belonging, as if for a moment, the world made sense and all the broken pieces of my heart were whole again. But as the days turned into weeks and the weeks into months, the cracks in his facade began to show, revealing a darkness that chilled me to the core.

He was the youngest child of the vile woman who birthed him all those years ago – his father a philanderer who only arrived home when necessary. Rumor had it he had spawn all over the territory – the short woman he married long ago idly standing by as she knew there was nothing that could be done. The Sykes family were notorious among the Montana Territory – the fear they placed upon those wanting to settle was enough to make settlers treck along elsewhere. Some would say even the Indians feared the Sykes men – I would argue that on a heavy bible.

 Caleb’s anger more than likely rising from the hits of his mother and brother – always on the receiving end of a hand, foot, or even the butt of a gun at one point. I remember watching in the shadows as Junior almost beat him senseless for some measly reason – no reason good enough to knock your kin unconscious for hours on end. I was the one that had to drag him out of the snow that night – into the little shack that his mother had “gifted” us to make house in. The winter’s wind whistling through the loose logs, the fire barely staying lit as the snow floated through the home. When he awoke, he knew that there was no use in going after Junior, his hatred and fury landing upon my skin throughout the night.

I guess you may be asking how I even came to be with the blue-eyed devil – having enough dimwits about me to stay with a man like that. Well for one, it was an act of rebellion. I thought I could change him, hell, maybe even overpower him. I took the blows that he gave me each night, going to bed with tear-stained cheeks as he stepped out to go drinkin with his brothers. The other reason I stayed was because it was a sense of security. I had a leaking roof over my head, but it was covered none the less. I wasn’t wondering the land like the others out there, subjected to the harshness that the land was giving forth. The Sykes fortress was clear of any Indians – the dangers of being ambushed by them pushed at the wayside – unlike those that were travelling to their new homes.

I had married Caleb on the 24th day of January in the year eighteen hundred and fifty-two. The justice of the peace in the town below reading from the holy book as he weaved back and forth from the whiskey coursing through his blood. No kiss was shared – no joyous voices from our closest relatives. Just an empty room. I had run off from Grady’s house – my only bag packed – his best horse trotting underneath me. I had only known Caleb for a number of days before his hands slipped under my dress – the piece of me that I was savin for future husband taken away in a matter of seconds. I guess all’s forgiven in the eyes of God since I ended up marrying the bastard…

I watched as the snow swirled around the open air like paper scraps sent from the heavens above. The fire had long gone out several hours ago – my breath seen clearly as I exhaled in exhaustion. I hadn’t seen sight or sound of him in nearly four days – nothing uncommon nowadays. The wood burning smoke from the big house filtered through the cracks in the wood, the scent causing me to long for a warm room just for a moment of two.

Soft coos broke me out of my thoughts as I turned my attention to the little bundle in the center of the room. I had every blanket and article of clothing I could scrounge up piled atop her, trying to keep the cold off her small body.

“What’s wrong my sweet?” My feet carrying my body towards her.

She had her daddy’s eyes – bright blue and able to look right into your soul. Sprouts of red hair could be seen beneath the bonnet she wore, her little cheeks red with the touch of the cold. Emily was the daughter I longed for – a true gift from the Lord above. She was the second child – one that no one but me cared to have. She was the light of my life – the reason that I never gave up on myself against her father or his family.

I had given birth to Rory – our son – the first-born Sykes grandson seven years ago. Mama Sykes was at the head of the bed as he was born, quickly whisking him off before I could hold him. Caleb was celebrated for once in his life – having the workings to produce a strong male offspring – a male that would carry on the Sykes name and lineage. The Sykes women kept Rory at an arm’s reach from me during his infancy – only pushing him in my arms when it came time for him to eat. They would bring me into the big house as he fed and pushed me right back into the small shake once he was through. This was Mama Sykes dream to have another son she could mold and make her own. It was obvious that she wanted another son like Junior – Caleb being the lowest branch that she so badly wanted cut.

I watched as the years passed as my son shaped into a typical Sykes male. James and Junior would make sure to take him out, teaching him how to trap and hunt, something that a little boy at his age didn’t need to worry about yet. Caleb would just sit back and watch, the fatherly instinct never truly kicking in. He was seen more as Rory’s uncle rather than the his father. I’m almost positive that’s what Mama Sykes even taught Rory to call Caleb.

I would try my best to push my way into his life, only to get shoved back by the Sykes women. They didn’t trust me to be his mother – I was simply the woman that gave birth – not his mother. Hannah, Junior’s wife claimed that spot. Her evil glares cutting right through each time I would look at my son. Mama Sykes and Hannah would mutter awful words about me to Rory, finally breaking through to him. I watched as the baby boy I carried for nine months, suffering 10 hours in agony as I labored, just kicked me away like a speck of dirt on the floorboard.

I slowly picked my daughter up, bouncing her around in the quilt my mother had made before she passed.  “Flee as a bird to your mountain – thou who art weary of sin – go to the clear flowing fountain – where you may wash and be clean.”

The sudden sound of a shotgun going off cutting off the lyrics as my grip tightened on the baby. Stepping towards the window, the site in front of me causing my heart to thump against my chest. Gently placing Emily back into her bassinette, I tore open the wooden door, racing over to where my son laid.

“What the hell is happening?” My knees digging into the hardened dirt as I brought his limp body into my arms. His face bloodied and bruised as Robert and Junior stood above – Mama Sykes and Hannah watching from the porch steps.

Junior let out an annoyed sigh, “This doesn’t concern you, Elizabeth.”

“Like hell it doesn’t, Junior.” My tone biting back, fire raging through my eyes as I looked down at my little boy. My hand softly trailing down his cheek, his chest slowly rising and falling.

“He started the whole thing.” Robert, Junior and Hannah’s youngest son scoffed. “Ain’t my fault that he don’t got no fightin skills.”

My eyes cutting up to the younger Sykes, “That’s enough, Robert.” Junior sounded. “Go get cleaned up for supper.”

The boy followed his father’s direction, Hannah smiling at him once he reached the steps. Her last glance finding mine as she walked into the home. Mama Sykes stood stoic on the porch, her eyes dull and full of spite. “Junior, get Rory and bring him in the house.”

“No!” My arms wrapping tighter around my son’s unconscious body. “You will not touch another hair on this child’s head –“ My eyes piercing towards Mrs. Sykes. “None of you are touching my child again.”

“Ain’t your child, Elizabeth.” Mama spoke clearly. “Hasn’t been your child since the day he was born.”

I could feel tears of anger spiking in my eyes, “Oh yeah –“ A sarcastic chuckle slipping, “And who’s idea was that, huh?” Junior stepped closer. “You bunch of monsters took him away from me – turned him against his own mother for what? You see how well his father turned out – think I could’ve done a hell of a lot better than you, Mama Sykes.”

Junior’s large hands pried my arms apart, Rory slipping back onto the ground as he dragged me feet away. His grip like that of Caleb’s but only stronger. My words of pain going by the wayside as his foot kicked into my ribs, a guttural cry releasing deep from my body.

“Get that boy in the house before he catches a death of cold.” Mama’s raspy voice sounded.

Junior looked up to the matriarch, “What about her?” My body still curled into the cold ground. “Whatcha want me to do with her?”

The only sound could be heard was that of the winter birds around as the wind blew – Mrs. Sykes body staying silent for a moment. “She can find her way back.” Her eyes connecting with mine briefly as she turned to enter the home.

I stayed silent, face still pressed against the snowy ground as Junior lifted Rory into his arms, stomping his way up the stairs to the main house. The door slamming behind him once he crossed the threshold.

I waited a few moments before moving – the sharp pain of where his foot had landed making it hard to breathe as I slowly walked back to the building. The echo of Emily's cry reverberated in my ears, piercing through the chaos that had engulfed us. Each step felt heavy, burdened not just by the weight of my own injuries but by the fear and uncertainty that loomed ahead.

With a shaky hand, I pushed the door open, the hinges creaking in protest. Emily's tear-streaked face turned towards me, her eyes wide with a mix of confusion and fear. My heart ached at the sight of her, so small and innocent in the midst of such turmoil.

"Shh, it's okay," I whispered hoarsely, my voice barely above a broken murmur. I knelt beside her, wrapping my arms around her trembling form. The warmth of her tiny body pressed against mine offered a brief respite from the cold reality that threatened to consume us both.

"It's okay, baby," I repeated, the words a mantra to soothe not just her but myself as well. Tears welled up in my eyes, blurring the world around me. In that moment, I felt the weight of responsibility crushing down on my shoulders, the knowledge that I must be strong for her, no matter how broken I felt inside.

I thanked God silently that Emily was so young, her innocence a shield against the harshness of the truth…

“How dare you disrespect my mother and brother like you did, Elizabeth!”

I sat in the corner of the room, the metallic taste of blood lingering on my tongue as I dabbed away the fresh crimson droplets that fell from my split lip. The throbbing ache in my jaw served as a painful reminder of the altercation that had just taken place, but my focus remained unwavering on the man standing before me.

"I was protecting my child – our child," I asserted, my voice steady despite the underlying currents of anger and frustration that simmered beneath the surface.

He rolled his eyes in exasperation, his movements agitated as he paced the confines of the cramped room. "That boy was two steps away from killing Rory, he wa-"

"Robert was teaching him how to act like a man – not some pansy whipped little girl," Caleb interjected, his voice tinged with defiance. The words hung heavily in the air, a stark reminder of the deep-seated differences in our beliefs and values. "Junior and I did the same thing growing up – plus it’s not your word that matters anymore, Lizabeth."

I shook my head, a bitter taste of resentment flooding my senses. "Yeah," I muttered, my voice tinged with sorrow and anger. "You and your goddamn family took that right away." His eyes darkened as he advanced towards me, each step a menacing echo of the power dynamics that had long defined our relationship.

"I was just used as a cow to make sure he was fed and then put back in the pen like some kind of barnyard anim-" My words were cut short by the sharp crack that resonated through the home, the impact of the blow sending a searing wave of pain from my jaw to my temple.

“Always running that damn mouth of yours,” Caleb's voice was heavy with frustration as he hastily unclipped the holster from his waist. My body already knew what was about to happen as I scrambled to get off the floor, the urgency pulsing through my veins. Unfortunately, I wasn't quick enough. Caleb's strong grip closed around my ankles, his fingers digging into my skin as he yanked me across the dirty wood.

His dirt-stained hands pushing up the material of my skirt as his body straddled mine – my arms pinned to my side as my cries mixed with those of Emily’s in the corner of the room…

[yuri-is-online]

Well, since you are feeling festive and so am I, could I have request a fic with Ortho? Just doing a little holiday decorating or some other tradition with a homesick prefect? I don’t know, I just imagine Ortho to be the type to be interested in holiday traditions from another world. Thanks!

Oh hell yeah this slaps. Originally I was going to write about tree decorating but then I had a thought and I didn't want the fic to come off as me info dumping for however many words. I hope this is something like what you had in mind, and happy holidays!

notes: they/them used for Yuu, Ortho is the main focus here but the other first years are mentioned, Yuu and Ortho decide to play Santa. I would absolutely love to hear about any personal holiday traditions of yours, dear reader, as I think those are always very interesting. As always, other fic can be found on my masterlist here.

Christmas. Ortho had searched multiple websites, data banks, and even online journals to see if he could find any mention of such a word outside of the few instances he has heard it muttered by the prefect. He initially thought his searches weren't bearing fruit because Yuu pronounced it several different ways (Chrimis, Crisis, Chrysler???) but he has ultimately concluded those were likely jokes based off of their tone of voice.

That had been what finally made him ask, not even his brother liked laughing at his jokes alone.

"Oh that's one of the big winter holidays in my world." You had told him, trying to sound matter of fact but unable to hide the way your voice cracks with the strain of your homesickness. "I made the mistake of trying to remember a nursery rhyme while Grim was around and ended up telling him about Christmas stockings and now he wants one."

And now you have to explain the concept to him, but with much less pressure as Ortho listens carefully with growing excitement.

"Putting presents in socks! That's really silly but I suppose that there are some holidays here you might find really weird too huh?" Ortho can also see why Grim would be so excited about this particular tradition, a gift (in a sock or no) that has the potential to be made up entirely of candy, fruits, and other foodstuffs sounds very much like him. "So do we just need to find Grim some socks he fits in? You already have a fireplace to hang it on... or are you thinking about giving Grim coal?"

“Well-”  It had crossed your mind.  “Sometimes adults give chocolate that’s shaped like coal but that’s not really what’s bothering me.  You don’t usually use socks for this, you make these really big fake socks.  I wanted to make one for Grim, but while I was thinking about how I wanted to decorate it I sort of… thought it would be nice to make stockings for the others, y’know like Ace and Deuce and maaaybe Jack, but then I would need to explain it to them and I don’t want to do that.”

“Oh that’s easy, we just won’t.”  Ortho laughs and takes your hand to eagerly drag you towards Sam’s before you can question just what he means by “we.”   ~~~~ "Operation sock jaw is a go." Ortho mimics rubbing his hands together gleefully, his lab wear feeling deeply out of place in the unofficial official Ramshackle craft room. A small pile of carefully picked out fabrics and season appropriate accents are neatly folded at the corner of the table as you carefully trace out what you think resembles a pattern for a Christmas stocking as Ortho carefully watches.

"You have really good aesthetic tastes," you nod as you look over the drawings Ortho had provided "this one really matches Ace's clown vibes."

"I'm glad you like it!" He laughs. "I figured a harlequin pattern in Heartslabyul colors suited him perfectly! Deuce was a bit harder to figure out... I didn't just want to slap a playing card on it and call it a day. Jack was a bit easier with how often he searches for information on cacti and succulent care. Oh I can cut the cacti out of the felt if you like?"

"With scissors?" You tentatively ask, not entirely sure how your dorm would hold up if he decides to break out the lasers. But the suggestion seems to flatter Ortho rather than annoy him.

"Oh that'd be fun! I've never really had the need to use normie tools before, this will be just like..." his voice briefly trails off as he looks down at the scissors. You wonder if he is capable of zoning out, being a robot and all, but decide that isn't too far out of the realm of possibility as his next words come out in a stutter. "Hey Yuu, does this sort of feel like an anime to you?" It's not too unexpected a question for Ortho to ask, so you look down at your crafts and really try to think about an answer.

"I guess so?" You gently place the pieces you have cut for Ace's stocking down so you can look out at the snow blanketing the world outside your window. The scene isn't too different than one you might see in your world on a card. But then again- "There's a lot of tropes associated with Christmas in anime, there's an entire genre of weird rom com movies about it, so yeah I guess making crafts like this with you does sort of feel like something I would see in an anime?"

"I thought so!" Ortho happily begins to carefully cut the felt with the scissors, mimicking what he had seen you do with the little tuna fish for Grim's stocking earlier. "That makes me glad, if something is a common enough for people to fantasize about it in an anime, then it has to be really important to the people of your world. And yet no matter where I search I will never be able to find data about it in mine!"

"Doesn't that annoy you a little?" It would stress you, does stress you how familiar and yet distant Twisted Wonderland's traditions are to your own. But the smile Ortho gives you is one of such genuine excitement you feel at least a little of that stress fall away.

"It scared me at first, but then when I got my soul I realized that it meant I had a really good excuse to keep talking to you. More data is never a bad thing! You could give me and my brother ideas for a truly unique game or show, so please, tell me everything you can remember about your world. I'll make sure it's remembered." He means every word he says. It's enough to make you cry.

"Alright, but just remember you asked for it. Where to start?"

[etherealhoneybee777]

Okay, the mp100 fandom (and other fandom spaces as well) makes me really hopeful✨

The internet is mostly a cruel and terrible place. It largely exists as an instrument of global capitalism. Governments use social media to push propaganda that either reinforces their fascist, conservative ideals or instills leftists that want to fight back with a sense of hopelessness that paralyzes and scares them. And we’re also getting to a point where much of the content we see online is not only made by AI, but interacted with by AI as well. We’re seeing “art” and ragebait stories that aren’t even made by real humans, but are spread online as if they’re true. Transactions are everywhere, but because everything is a subscription service, we own nothing. Corporations are putting advertisements on even the most sacred corner of the web & encouraging people to constantly consume, to BE consumed with the desire to consume more things, and to fill up the little time we have left with constant, buzzing productivity—because the internet is an instrument of capitalism, and capitalism is about constant expansion, expansion that won’t stop until everything in our lives is quantifiable and our whole being is stretched thin in service of a pointless, unstoppable economic growth.

In the face of that, I think your mp100 art is amazing. I think your fic is amazing. I am glad you decided to share it with us. I am glad you took the time to analyze Mob or Serizawa or Tome. To post screen grabs of Dimple or gifs or animatics or anything else. I’m glad you reblogged my post and added some silly or thoughtful little hashtags. I’m glad you DM’d me or posted a long ramble about Ritsu or Teru or reigen.

People don’t have to do these things. They don’t have to sketch characters or share headcanons or write fic or make watch parties on cute little discord servers. But they do. They do it because it’s a fun thing to do & because they’re talented and passionate. And it makes me happy that on the internet—which is increasingly being used to alienate and control us—still hosts real communities and real people making real art and writing their real thoughts without any kind of profit motive or manipulative agenda. People are literally just posting because they want to share their work and connect with others. It reminds me that no matter what capitalism does, we live in a fundamentally social world & we’re constantly trying to connect with each other about the things we like. MP100 is the thing I like and the people here make me hopeful. I see people post their art/writing/headcanons and I get super happy. I get inspired. I look at people’s bios and all the different countries they’re from and get really happy that the internet can be used as a tool to connect people across the world with the same interest together.

Choosing to create and make friends and be nice and spread positivity over the internet is a uniquely powerful thing. It may not seem like much, (and being on the internet is often framed as “wasting time”) but the Internet is important and the things you do here are actually tangible and real. Making and sharing art—making friends—sharing writing and blurbs and headcanons is a legitimate pushback against the terrible capitalistic machine that the internet has become. I’ve heard a lot of creators say that their art doesn’t get noticed/doesn’t matter because it doesn’t get a lot of attention. But it DOES matter. Because, for every second that someone spends seeing your art, that’s one second that they don’t spend on government propaganda or brain-numbing advertisements or ragebait or AI generated “content”. And even if no one sees your art, YOU spent time making it. You loved it and cared for it and valued it in a way that capitalism can never profit from or understand.

I hope you know that I see your art & love it. I look at it when I’m sad. My gf and I look at mp100 art while we sit outside and feel the world leave our bones. Maybe this is too much, but I’m feeling earnest and joyful tonight & am trying to lean into those feelings.

I’m just thankful. You create and share just because you wanted to create and share. You’re making the world a better place.

[fullstackonion]

It Definitely Feels Like Love

Good Morning (and Happy Personal Holiday to Me ☕)

Today is what I like to call a personal holiday—a small, sacred slice of heaven we’ve all agreed to name “Long Weekend.” And honestly? I’m holding onto it with both hands.

I don’t know about you, but I feel like today’s going to be a good day. I hope it is. I want it to be.

But before I go about living it, I wanted to make good on last night’s post. I did say I’d follow through—and here I am. Posting the next little installment. I’m almost done. Don’t worry. Just one more after this. And then I’m calling this arc complete (well, for now).

Anyway, enough rambling.

This one—this particular scene—was brewing while I slept. It steeped in the quiet of my dreams and settled somewhere between heart and mind until it was ready to be poured out this morning. Warm. Strong. A little sweet. Like coffee.

Speaking of which—have you had your coffee yet? Let’s have coffee. ☕️

If you’re here—reading this, visiting this little corner of the internet where I drop pieces of myself like crumbs on a soft path—thank you. Truly.

This space has become a sort of online diary for me. A quiet room in a loud world. And writing here… it makes me feel like me again. I can breathe here. And it’s helped. I feel less burdened by work. Less burned out. Lighter.

So really—thank you. Stranger. Friend. Whoever you are. However you found this.

Thank you.

Oh—and before I forget: this scene was built entirely off a single expression I couldn’t stop thinking about. (Yes, I know who it actually is in the photo—but for a moment, let’s just pretend. Let’s just say, this is them.)

So here you go. Another piece of the story.

Take what you want from it. If it speaks to you, keep it.

And wherever you are this morning—I hope your coffee is hot, your heart is light, and your day unfolds with small, quiet joy.

Love always,
—T.

The Beginning

The coffee had long gone cold.

Aldo leaned against the counter, one hand curled around the handle of the untouched mug, the other braced on the edge of the sink. The kitchen was dim, lit only by the city leaking through the window—Rome’s late hush wrapped around him like an afterthought.

He hadn’t meant to make coffee. It was a habit, more than anything. A ritual of grounding. The kettle, the scoop, the quiet clink of porcelain—little acts to keep the mind steady. But nothing was steady now.

Not after that kiss.

He hadn’t moved much since coming in. Just enough to shed his coat, roll up his sleeves, and let the silence grow roots in the corners of the room. Goffredo’s lips had left a print on more than just his mouth—they’d left something in the air, in the walls, in him.

What do you do with that?

He sipped the coffee, winced—it had cooled into bitterness—but didn’t bother to warm it. He didn’t want warmth from the cup.

He wanted it from memory.

The look across the dinner table.

The elevator.

The kiss.

And the second one.

He let his forehead rest briefly against the cabinet, breathing out a quiet laugh. Half in disbelief. Half in certainty.

This wasn’t thunder. This was sunrise.

Not just tonight. Not just tomorrow. But after.

What do you do, he thought, when the truth arrives not like thunder but like the slow blooming of a sun you didn’t know was rising?

He moved to the window, looking out over the quiet curve of the Roman rooftops. In the distance, the dome of St. Peter’s loomed like a secret you could never quite forget. A city of memory. A city of contradiction.

Just like them.

He pressed his palm lightly to the glass.

What now, Goffredo?

What do we do with this—whatever “this” is?

He let himself wander—backward.

To that look across the table, earlier that night. The precise moment he had realized, without doubt or fear, that he loved Goffredo Tedesco.

He’d kept it to himself for the rest of dinner. Even the walk home. Even inside the elevator. Until it spilled out of him in the only way it could: a kiss.

He smiled now. Not wistfully, but wryly.

They’re going to say they told me so.

He imagined Thomas’s face—unsurprised and far too smug. Raymond’s grin. Giulio’s teasing.

He could still hear himself denying it just last week, in the sacristy after a long meeting.

“We’re just seeing each other,” he’d said. “As friends. We talk. That’s all.”

Raymond had smirked. “Friends don’t look at each other like that.”

Giulio leaned in and whispered, “Give it time.”

And Thomas, ever the diplomat, had simply said, “You’ll know. When you know.”

Aldo had rolled his eyes at the time.

But now—he chuckled quietly to himself.

Because they were right.

It wasn’t thunder. It wasn’t a revelation.

It was a candle flickering into flame.

It was silence, breaking open into something tender.

It was that look.

I didn’t know until I did, he thought.

And once you do, how do you turn away?

He stood there, thinking not just of what he felt—but of what they had already said, even if they hadn’t used the words.

In quiet dinners.

In almond pastries shared without asking.

In an old café after a long conclave, when peace was offered not as surrender, but as a gift.

The knock on the door startled him.

Not loud. Not hurried. Just… there.

He opened it.

And there Goffredo stood.

No coat. Just a sweater pulled over a collared shirt, hair a little wind-ruffled, cheeks pink from the cold, eyes wide like he was still mid-thought and hadn’t stopped walking since the elevator.

He didn’t say anything.

He stepped forward—quick, certain—and pulled Aldo in for a searing kiss. The kind that had waited years to be born. That said everything without asking permission.

There was no hesitation this time.

No surprise.

Just truth.

They pulled back, barely, still holding on to each other—hands clasped at shoulders, fingers curled into sleeves.

And together—like a prayer said in unison:

“I love you.”

“Ti amo.”

They laughed. Breathless. Disbelieving. Certain.

“I think I always have,” Goffredo murmured, forehead pressed against Aldo’s.

Aldo nodded. “Me too.”

And then—another kiss.

This one was slower. Not hesitant, but deliberate. A kind of unspoken vow.

Goffredo didn’t let go.

As they kissed, he gently walked Aldo backward, step by step into the apartment. Their hands didn’t part, their mouths stayed close, and the world outside blurred behind them.

The door closed with a soft click.

And Goffredo didn’t go home that night.

He was already there.

Across town, the group chat buzzed.

Giulio sent a message with no preamble, no context—just:

“You owe me 20 euros.”

Thomas read it, blinked, and tilted his phone to Raymond.

Raymond read it and laughed. “Finally.”

Thomas smiled and typed back:

“Worth every cent.”

They didn’t need to ask.

They all knew.

And in a city older than memory, where so much was spoken in silence, love—at last—had found its way into the light.

[solaslow74]

greetings, people of earth!! it is i, sola, newcomer to the our life community and to the platform, doing what everyone knows is the first step to integrating into an online fandom: oversharing identifying information about my children!!

my olnf children, of course! i’ve been cooking up some short fanfics starring these mcs of mine for the upcoming olnf week, and thought this month or so leading up to it would be a good time to introduce them!

so let’s take a walk along the street, and i promise everybody that you meet, will have an original point of view:

And in this corner of the ring, we have Soleil Bridgeford!

She’s cheerful, she’s energetic, she’s set on becoming the best her she can be! As the protagonist of most other video games, she’d be using the power of friendship and hitting things really hard to save the world or something; but as fate would have it, in this story, she’s just an ordinary kid in the peaceful town of Golden Grove.

But that’s not gonna stop her from being The Hero™! She’s gonna give this town her all, being EVERYONE’S friend and solving EVERYONE’S problems, especially when it comes to her two precious neighbors.

Of course, Soleil’s gonna have to learn that sometimes, handling personal struggles and the ups and downs of friendships is something you can’t always approach with the force and subtlety of a charging bull. And what her neighbors really need from her isn’t a superhero- just Soleil as she is.

Soleil loves sports, food, and all things “awesome”, but as she gets older, she develops a bit more nuance to her tastes, as well. She’ll find that her endless passion can be suited to more pursuits than just the physical.

Though her childhood crush on the cool and confident Qiu Lin fades as her neighbor grows harsh and distant in their teen years, who’s to say what sorts of feelings might blossom as the two grow into adulthood? But one thing’s for sure- no matter how much changes, Soleil’s gonna be there for her friends.

but, moving on… what good is the strong female MC without the pathetic male MC?

That’s where Rowan Cordovi comes in, of course.

Full of himself and with an utter lack of self-awareness, Rowan thinks he’s God’s gift to Golden Grove. But even if he sees himself as the star of the show, he’s more than happy to welcome in co-stars. After all, it’s not as if others can’t be amazing- it’s just that he already is!

While he works hard in the hobbies he loves- music and theater most of all- Rowan is more than content to take it easy in most other areas of his life. After all, once his natural talent and beauty is recognized, the success, friends, and admirers are sure to roll in. They haven’t yet, but it’s only a matter of time. Surely.

Golden Grove might be a little too slow and quaint for this rising star, but that doesn’t mean it’s all bad. After all, since the first day he met his neighbors, Rowan has known that they’re special. That magic between them can only be one thing, Rowan’s favorite part of the fairy-tale stories he’s fond of. That’s true love, baby! And you can bet he’s gonna get a good grade in romance, something that is both normal to want and possible to achieve.

Rowan has a long ways to go. It’s a good thing he’s got people around him who are gonna help him grow into a more well-rounded adult. But until then- watch out, Golden Grove!

and… those are my first two mc’s! i have seven in total, which is perfect for the seven days of prompts for olnf week, but starting with just two seems appropriate. you’re already awesome if you read through both of these! i’ll probably post about the remaining five in sets of two and three sometime soon!

feel free to ask any questions, or tell me all about your characters! (and also kindly let me know if i made any first-time tumblr gaffes, this is my first ever post!) i know plenty of you are just as normal about your olnf mc’s as i am about mine, so let’s all be normal together >:)