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roosterforme · 2 days

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Aim for the Sky Part 22 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: After weeks of looking forward to a quiet day with you and Rose, Bradley almost messes up his own Father's Day celebration. He's lucky you're quick to forgive him. Every day with his daughter is a collection of moments he wants to commit to memory. Every day with you makes him fall more in love.

Warnings: Fluff, angst, adult language, lactation kink, blowjob, DILF Roo

Length: 3800 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader

Aim for the Sky masterlist. This was written to accompany my series Is It Working For You? along with a bunch of my one-shots and other series, but it can be read on its own! Check my masterlist for the reading order.

"Do you have any big plans for Sunday? For Bradley's first Father's Day?"

You looked up from your computer when you realized Cat was talking to you. Truthfully, you did have plans, but they weren't big at all. Your husband just kept telling you that all he wanted was to spend the day with just the three of you.

"Isn't it kind of Jake's first Father's Day, too?" you countered with a grin. When Cat sputtered instead of actually answering, you felt like you'd won this wrong of proverbial chess against a master. "It's okay... you don't have to admit it out loud, but I just know Jake is exceeding all of your expectations."

She dropped down into the seat next to you and leaned in like she was afraid someone else might be listening. "He took Jer to the park with Bradley and Rose the other evening."

"I know," you replied with a laugh. "I needed to clean my house, so I kicked Bradley out and told him to call his bestie, Jake."

Cat looked a little panicked now. "No, you don't understand. I can trust him to take care of Jeremiah."

"Yeah... that's good, right?"

"I don't know!" she hissed. "When I moved to California, it was my intention to never ever get involved with a man again. Just me and Jer. And then when he went away to college, I was going to start collecting exotic pets or something."

You tried not to laugh. "Yeah, Jake kind of ruined that agenda for you, huh?" She buried her face in her hands, and to your surprise, she started crying. You glanced around the lab, but Macy wasn't paying any attention as you put your arm around Cat's shoulders. You were very confused as you whispered, "Are you okay?"

Cat's dark eyes were wet with tears as she met your gaze while somehow shaking her head and nodding at the same time. Her voice was raspy and uneven as she said, "He bought an engagement ring."

"Jake proposed?" you gasped, ready to jump out of your seat. You knew for a fact he wanted to, but he kept saying he didn't think the time was exactly right yet.

"No. I found the ring. He's terrible at hiding things."

You sat quietly for a minute while she worked at getting herself under control, but then more questions started to formulate in your mind. "I know this isn't where you saw yourself, Cat. I know trusting Jake after leaving your ex is something you've struggled with, but if you love him, then what's holding you back?"

Her fingertips were pressed to her lips, and her hand was shaking. You weren't sure she had even heard your question as she stared off into space and said, "I can't even accurately describe it, because it was so pretty. The diamond was huge. Absolutely enormous. Obviously expensive." She paused and pulled away from you, opening her computer like she didn't just let herself fall apart on your shoulder. "And I have nothing to offer except a child that isn't biologically his and a crippling amount of debt that I'll probably never see the end of." When you opened your mouth to respond, she slammed her computer shut again and said, "And now I'm late to meet with Bickel," before rushing out of the lab.

You stared at the door for a few seconds before you took your phone out and started to draft up a text for Cat. You didn't see her again for the rest of the day, and you didn't send the text until you got home with Bradley and Rose. But you meant every word of it.

You're tenacious and strong, and that's worth a lot more than money. You're the kind of person someone would want to buy a big diamond for.

------------------------------

"Why is everything so expensive?" Bradley muttered to himself. "Holy hell."

He was trying to plan out the few days he would have alone with you when your parents came out again for Independence Day. Going back to the oceanfront boutique hotel in La Jolla where you and he had celebrated his birthday two years ago was going to cost a fortune over the holiday.

"Rose isn't going to need money for college anyway," he mused, shrugging at his phone before charging the room to his credit card for three nights. His daughter was going to be a genius. She was already so strong, trying her best to roll over and getting better at holding her head up without support. Suddenly he needed to see her.

Bradley tossed his phone aside and headed for the nursery where you were feeding Rose in the glider chair. When you looked up at him expectantly, he said, "I missed you."

Your gaze was soft as he sat down on the floor next to your feet. "We were with you ten minutes ago."

"Ten minutes ago? No wonder I was getting so lonely," he whispered, reaching out to run his finger along the back of Rose's hand. "Hey, Nugget."

She paused, lips pursed, before she continued eating. It was unreal how adorable she was. Bradley could look at his daughter all day long and never grow tired. He could look at your tits dripping milk all day long, too.

"Let me burp her," he said, making grabby hands as soon as she started to slow down. "It's my favorite."

You handed Rose, who was already dressed in her sleeper, to him, kissing him on the cheek as you stood. "Should I just keep these out for you?" The way you gestured at your breasts left a smile on his face.

"Please. I would very much enjoy it if you did."

You stretched your arms over your head and said, "I'll meet you either in the shower or in bed." Then you were gone, and he was excited to burp the baby and then do whatever you let him do to you.

"Let's see if we can get a nice, big burp out of you so you'll sleep for a few hours," he muttered, pulling one of the many storybooks down from the shelf from his spot on the floor. He'd read every book in the room to her multiple times already, and he couldn't wait until she started to have favorites. Tonight he read about a dragon while he patted and rubbed her back, pausing every page or two to kiss her soft cheek.

She was yawning by the last page of the book, and she did indeed burp for him. When he set her gently in her crib, Bradley whispered, "I can't believe I get to be your dad." He stood there, leaning on the side of the crib until he was certain she was asleep, then he headed for his own bedroom, unzipping his pants along the way.

Bradley found you naked in bed, fresh from the shower and rubbing lotion all over your legs. It was such a mundane yet intimate thing for him to watch, and you didn't realize he was in the doorway yet. "Get in bed," you told Tramp, nodding toward the fluffy mat he slept on next to the bathroom door. "You can't play with Rosie any more tonight. I'm sorry, but she needs to go to sleep after Daddy finishes reading to her."

"I'm finished reading to her."

Your gaze met his as your palms went gliding up your thighs, and you smiled a little shyly at him. Then you reached for the sheet like you were going to try to cover yourself, and he headed for the bed.

"Please don't, Baby Girl," he whispered. "I was really enjoying that view."

You paused and let your eyes drift down his body. "Get undressed and come here."

He did not need you to ask him twice. Bradley yanked his jeans off and tossed them aside followed by his tee shirt and his boxer briefs. You giggled when he climbed into bed in just his socks and hovered above you like he was going to do push ups with his hands planted next to your shoulders.

When he lowered himself down to give you a kiss, you raked your fingers through his hair. He knew there was no hiding how hard he was getting, so he didn't bother. He just pressed himself against you while you licked his bottom lip.

"You're really horny, Roo," you murmured, and he simply nodded. You let one hand drift down along his scarred cheek, and then you were touching your tits.

He was salivating immediately. He could practically smell you. White beads of your milk formed on your nipples as you gently squeezed yourself, and he whimpered your name. His cock was tapping against your thigh in excitement as he lowered himself down to kiss your lips again.

"It's okay," you whispered. "I know you want to. Go ahead."

Bradley sighed and came to rest on his elbows, letting his mouth meet your nipples.

-------------------------------

You spent all day Saturday running to three different grocery stores to buy ingredients for Bradley's Father's Day picnic lunch. It cost a small fortune to get everything you needed to make chicken salad sandwiches on homemade bread, a charcuterie board, fruit salad, and brownies. Your plan was to get up very early on Sunday to start making everything, but now Bradley's words made you feel like you were going to cry.

"I'm playing golf in the morning."

He was so nonchalant about it, you thought perhaps he was joking at first. But his expression showed a tiny bit of alarm and remorse, and you knew he was actually ditching you and Rose on Father's Day.

When you spoke, you hated how small your voice sounded. "You said all you wanted was a day with just the three of us."

"I do!" he insisted, reaching for you and pulling you close. "That's all I want. I promise I'll be home by lunchtime."

With that, you excused yourself to go to bed. You didn't bother to set an alarm, because what was the point? Rose would wake you up when she started crying her lungs out to eat, and Bradley would already be gone with Jake, Javy and Reuben. Honestly, you would have thought Jake would want to be home with Cat and Jer, and now you were mad at him, too. You thought about texting him but turned your phone screen side down on your nightstand and tossed your glasses aside instead.

A few minutes later, Bradley climbed in bed as well, and you could feel him trying to coax you closer. "I love you," he whispered, but you stayed curled up in a ball until you fell asleep.

Sure enough, he was gone when you woke up. You didn't even bother changing out of your pajamas to feed Rose. Your plans to wear a cute sundress seemed pointless now as you tried to appease your cranky daughter while you made chicken salad and baked a small loaf of bread.

"You'd probably calm down if your dad were here," you mused, handing her toy after toy only for her to push them all away. Finally Tramp had mercy on you and plopped down next to her on her play mat for a few minutes.

Of course the picnic foods looked absolutely perfect, and you struggled to get Rose burped and down for a late morning nap. "I swear you don't act like this for him," you groaned, fighting the urge to start crying. You'd been feeling better over the past few weeks. Your body was becoming more your own again, even though you were still sharing it with your daughter. The birth control and the healing time were certainly helping, but right now, you and Rose came in second place to a round of golf. On Father's Day.

She spit up all over you before she fell asleep, forcing you to change into your dress anyway. The wrapped present on the coffee table along with the homemade card were enough to make you set a timer for noon. If he wasn't back, you were going to eat the meal yourself. Your stomach was already growling.

But Bradley came through the door at 11:58 wearing gym shorts and a tank top with his aviators low on his nose. "Sweetheart," he said, sounding a little bit out of breath as he headed your way. "You look pretty."

Did he think you were stupid? You got up from the couch and turned off the timer. "Where were you, Bradley? Because you weren't playing golf dressed like that."

His cheeks flushed pink at the same time you noticed something wrapped around his right bicep. When he held his arm out to his side, you gasped.

"Why didn't you just tell me that's where you were going?" you whispered, tears burning your eyes. You felt frustrated and embarrassed that you got upset in the first place.

"I wanted to surprise you," he murmured, wrapping his left arm around your waist. "I've been waiting to do this since you told me you were pregnant." You buried your face against his chest and let yourself cry. "Shit. I'm sorry. I'm sorry I said I was golfing. I panicked when they called me back and said they could fit me in this morning. I just really wanted to get my second paper plane as soon as possible."

He held you tight with both arms wrapped around you. "You said you just wanted a day with your girls, and I planned a picnic and got you a present, and then you said you wanted to fucking play golf," you sobbed. "Next time just tell me you're getting another tattoo, okay? Because now when you say you're going golfing, I'm going to think you're getting another one anyway."

"Hey," Bradley rasped, tilting your chin so you were looking up at him. "I'm spending the rest of today with my girls. That really is all I wanted to do today. I'm sorry I lied to you. I feel terrible about it now." His brown eyes were sincere which made you feel a lot better, and now you weren't mad at Jake anymore.

"Can I see it?" you whispered, and he immediately started to unwrap his arm. Right there next to the large paper airplane that had Baby Girl written across it was a smaller one that said Rose in the same script. "God, Roo. It's perfect."

"Just like my girls."

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Okay, so he came within an inch of completely fucking things up on Father's Day. It wasn't like he planned it that way. He wasn't even sure why he said he was going to play golf. None of his friends would even make a tee time on Father's Day and include him. Or Jake for that matter. Plus, Bradley was fucking terrible at lying. He felt apprehensive the entire time he was getting the tattoo done.

It didn't even really matter if you knew about it ahead of time, but he wanted it to be a surprise declaration of his love for his family. Instead he made you stress out and cry, because of course you had a whole fucking day planned. You loved him that much.

He was right there with you and Rose for the rest of the afternoon. He changed her diapers and helped you pack up the food along with a bottle of pink champagne that was tucked way back behind everything else in the refrigerator. He carried everything out to the Bronco and got both of you buckled in. Then he started driving where you told him to.

"Are we going to our wedding venue?" he asked after a few minutes, and you started laughing.

"Is that what we're calling the parking lot?"

"Sweetheart. That's our wedding venue." Rose hadn't been to that beach yet, and now he was excited. So excited. "Rosie, we're going to show you where Mommy first kissed me and fell so in love that she's incapable of being mad at me even though I didn't tell her I was going to get tattooed this morning."

Now you were laughing harder, and you turned his playlist up a little louder, and the sun felt a little brighter. When he pulled into the parking lot, he backed into the spot where you became his wife, and then he strapped Rose into her baby carrier against his chest.

Bradley watched you pull Rosie's little sun hat out of the diaper bag, and you kissed her nose before putting it on her head. "Don't want you to get too much sun." Then you led the way down the rocky path to the sand below where you spread out a beach blanket. You tugged Bradley's hand until he was on his knees, and then you kissed his nose as well. "Don't want you getting too much sun either."

When he remembered the sunburn he got the day of Mickey's birthday kegger, he shuddered, but you were already squeezing some sunblock onto your hands and smoothing it along his face. You smiled when you got some in his mustache, and Bradley leaned closer to kiss you, and then he didn't want to stop. You ended up on your back on the blanket with sunblock on your nose while Bradley cradled Rose's head.

"Happy first Father's Day," you whispered, running your fingers up inside his sleeve to touch the wrapping around his bicep. "Rose is lucky you're her daddy."

The lunch you made was absolutely perfect. Bradley couldn't remember ever having homemade bread before, and he ate two sandwiches in a row. You and he drank the champagne from the bottle on the blanket before walking down to the water. Your tipsy giggles as he dipped Rose's toes in the water made him smile.

"She hates it!" you cackled when Rose pulled her legs up and wailed. Bradley lowered her down again when the next wave came in, and she pulled her feet away from the water once again.

"Aww, Daddy's sorry," he said, lifting her up and flying her around in the air like a plane to get her to calm down. "I'll take you to Virginia Beach where the water is warmer," he promised. "And we can go to the cemetery and visit Grampy Goose and Grandma Carole. How does that sound?"

His daughter looked much happier at the prospect of warmer water and more time with grandparents. Even though Bradley was here with his family, he couldn't help but think about everything he missed out on. Everything he was still missing out on.

He never had a dad to fly him around or dip his toes in the water, at least not that he could remember. All he could recall were glimpses of laughter and being lifted out of his crib. He could almost hear a voice, but he wasn't sure if it was even Nick's or if his memory was playing a trick on him.

Bradley held onto Rose a little tighter as you let your head rest on his shoulder. Your voice was soft, barely loud enough for him to hear you over the waves. "I wish I could have met them. I wish they were here to see you with Rose."

He knew one thing for a fact. "They would have loved this little Nugget."

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Quite effortlessly, Bradley led you back up the rocks while he carried Rose and all the gear. As soon as the sun started to set, the wind picked up and the air got chilly. Even though you nursed Rose, you knew she was going to need to eat again so she could fall asleep.

"Oh, you still have to unwrap your present," you told Bradley when you got home and walked past the living room table.

"Right now?" he asked with a smirk.

"If you want to."

He started to take your shirt off, and you ducked out of his grasp with a laugh. "Not me!"

"I don't want anything else though," he rasped, still reaching for you, but you pushed him toward Rose on her play mat instead.

"She needs a quick bath while you open your present, and then I'll give you a blowjob after she's in her crib."

"Hell yes," Bradley muttered, scooping up the baby and the wrapped gift and heading for the bathroom. You filled up Rosie's little tub, and he set her down in the water then started unwrapping the present but keeping his attention mostly on his daughter.

"Do you like it?" you asked over your shoulder, and then he realized he was holding a book. A book about him and you and Rose and Tramp.

Bradley flipped through the pages, staring in awe at the cartoon versions of his family. Each of you had been drawn as a superhero, and even the sketched version of Tramp was wearing a little red cape.

"This is the cutest thing I have ever seen. How did you get this?"

"I had it made," you told him. "I sent photos of all of us to a local artist, and she created the book for you."

"Damn," he whispered, tears in his eyes as he looked at each page again. "I'm such a sappy mess now, I swear." Then he sat down on the floor next to you while you rinsed the sand from Rose's tiny feet and started to read the book out loud. "Once upon a time, the Super Bradshaw Family was just about to eat dinner when Super Dad Bradley's phone rang. The city of San Diego needed help, and there was nobody better to turn to."

The story was fun, and the drawings were silly, and he just knew Rose would probably adore this book when she got a little bit older. And he was so lucky he had a wife who did things like turn him into a cartoon superhero for Father's Day and make him a four course picnic lunch.

He also had a wife who dropped to her knees as soon as they were alone. You looked up at him as you pulled his shorts and underwear down to his thighs, kissing his cock as you whispered, "There's my Super Daddy Bradley."

He grinned as he pulled his shirt off as well, enjoying how pretty you looked below his flat abs with your hand cupping his balls. "You absolutely own me, Baby Girl. I'm a fucking wreck for you. I'm all tattooed for my girls now. If you want me to be your Super Daddy, you know I will be."

You licked your lips and parted them, and then Bradley was in heaven.

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I need Jer to have a dad. I need it in my bones. I also need Bradley to have a sensational 38th birthday before he packs his bags and goes to La Jolla with his wife for three days in bed. Thanks @beyondthesefourwalls

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whimsyfinny · 3 days

Text

He’s a Winchester

Chapter 1

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: It's been a long time since (Y/n) and Dean's paths have crossed. Last time they saw each other it was ‘98 and they were young and living in the moment. Nine years down the Line, their paths cross again, but (Y/n)s longest kept secret is about to become Deans reality.

Slow burn (ish), mom!reader, eventual smut

Warnings: language, mention of drugs

Chapter Word Count: 2330

—-MDNI—-

A/N: wooooop new series! I'm trying something new with this one! As a mom myself I loooove reading mom!reader fics, so I wanted to write my own. It's a slightly shorter first chapter, but the following ones should be longer. Any feedback is greatly appreciated, reading your comments makes my day ❤️ and of course, this is proofread only by myself so pls pls let me know of any errors! I really hope you enjoy it. I also didn’t write this at 2am for once so brownie points to me hahaha

Photos from Pinterest

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Chapter 1

“Come on, (Y/n)! You have to tell me all about it! What was he like? Did you kiss? Hold hands? Where did he take you?”

I couldn’t help but smile at the rapidfire questions spewing from Kats mouth. Kat, the stunner sat opposite me with perfect dark skin and the inability to have a bad hair day, was my closest friend. We lived on the same street, drank at the same bar and both hated this small, slightly judgemental town equally. We bonded over the similarities in our lives - like both of us having fallen pregnant at a young age and being dealt the hand of having to raise our kids as single parents. Life was fucking hard sometimes (well, nearly all the time), but my son, Levi, and Kat, made this life worth living.

“Jesus Christ, ok! The date was ok.”

“Uh oh. ‘Ok’? That means it was awful, right?” she raised an eyebrow.

I took a gulp of my coffee.

“The date was ok. But he was…. Seriously not my type. He was too…perfect?” I winced as the words left my mouth, fully aware of how utterly ridiculous that sounded.

“Girl, ‘too perfect’? What the fuck kind of excuse is that?” Kat snorted slightly into her latte.

“I know, I know. But he reminded me of a Ken doll, ya’know? With his white jeans and his Armani sweater over his shoulders - that’s not really… me. The dude gets more manicures than I do. Plus he drives a Fiat Panda. Levi wouldn’t be caught dead getting in and out of one of those.”

“You can’t use your sons taste in cars to dictate the men in your life. That’s a low blow and you know it.”

“Ok then, you go out with Robert and tell me about all the kale facts that you never wanted to learn.” I leant back on the couch, clutching my coffee with both hands to bring some warmth to my fingertips. Kat did the same opposite me, leaning back in the plush armchair as we both took a second to glance out of the large café windows. This was our happy place, right here. It was the place we would come to when we first met and the boys were still in diapers. It was our happy place for the last nine years, and we would come here for every situation: be it a breakup, a catch-up, to discuss terrible sexual encounters or dire situations that need insane back-up plans. But we mostly came here to people-watch. Being the young, single moms that we were, we were constantly under the scrutiny of the small town, having every decision judged by the perfect Jeep-driving soccer moms and the old ladies from church. When we came here, to sit by this window in these comfy-as-fuck couches, it was our turn to do a little judging.

“Vicki Priestley isn't fooling anyone with those sunglasses,” I said, taking another sip of coffee as I watched the thin peroxide blonde across the street repeatedly wipe her nose with the back of her hand.

“Right? We get shunned for…well… fuck all, yet that Paris wannabe can snort coke on a Tuesday school run and everyone turns a blind eye? What a joke.”

“Amen to that,” we watched her for a few more seconds as she climbed behind the wheel of some monstrous four by four and sped off down the road.

“Did you hear that Mrs. Harris caught Mr. Harris with a young mistress? Apparently she works at the bank.”

“Oh my GOD yes I heard!” Kat exclaimed, leaning forward, “and as revenge she put Nair in his shampoo - he's completely hairless, even his eyebrows are gone.”

We both snickered as we raised our mugs.

“To Mrs. H for taking no shit.”

Conversation flowed as topics ranged from the new dessert parlour that opened last week down the road to the extortionate price of kids' Motocross gear.

“I mean the bikes are so tiny, why do they have to cost that much?”

“You're preaching to the choir babes, Toby just outgrew his boots for the third time this year,” Kat grimaced at the thought of how much money she'd spent already.

“Ouch, they're like what? Eighty bucks a pair?”

“Yup.”

“Yeah well, I had to get Levi a new helmet after that little dickhead from the tournament last month crashed into the side of him. That boy was more upset about the stickers he lost than the bruises he got,” I shook my head with a smile on my lips. Kat did the same.

“That's a tough kid you've got there.”

I sighed.

“Yeah I know. Despite never having met him, he's so much like his dad. It's a little concerning actually,” I laughed nervously, instantly regretting bringing up Levi’s father in front of Kat. I glanced up at her, taking a sip of my coffee in an attempt to hide behind the mug. The wiggling of her eyebrows being an indicator of her impending wrath.

“That man is the reason why you’re never satisfied with your dates. He set that bar waaaay too high.”

I scoffed. “He did not. We were young and he just swept me off my feet a bit, that’s all; with that ‘give ‘em Hell’ attitude and handsome face. Plus he had a great car.”

“Last time you said his face was ‘gorgeous’,” Kat cupped her face and fluttered her eyelashes, puckering her lips. I threw a sugar packet at her which she batted right back at me.

There was a moment of quiet as we both looked out the window again, my mind unable to stop itself from racing through old memories.

“Do you think he’ll ever come calling?” Kat asked, some sincerity to her tone. I sighed and slumped back further on the couch.

“I highly doubt it. He doesn’t even know that Levi exists. I tried calling him a few years back but some guy John W. had that number instead. I gave up after that. Plus, he had this kinda dangerous job, and normally if he showed up it was because something was going to go down,” I paused, looking into the dark liquid in my cup, “It’s probably a good thing that he hasn’t just shown up.”

“You say that, but you still have that photo you took together on your vanity.”

I shot her a look, pursing my lips and pinching my brows as she laughed, knowing she'd stumped me there. I quickly downed my coffee and checked my watch before standing and grabbing my bag.

“Come on, let's stop interrogating me and go pick up the boys before all Hell breaks loose at the track.”

“Mom it wasn't my fault, I swear.”

I slammed the car door closed and turned to the boy who stood close enough to be my shadow.

I turned around to face him with a stern expression, “so you did do it? After I called that boys mom a liar? LEVI.”

Levi, my son, looked close to tears, his bottom lip trembling.

“Mom, I'm so sorry! I'll never do it again!”

I narrowed my eyes at him before sighing, already exasperated, throwing the car keys into my bag.

“Did you at least stick to the golden rule?”

His answer was a vigorous nod, the tremble in his lip disappearing.

“‘Never throw the first punch; throw the second and finish the fight,’” he recited the words like a prayer.

“And…?”

“‘Always claim self defence.’”

I smiled and ruffled his soft brown hair.

“Good boy. What started the fight anyway?” I asked, guiding him to walk through the parking lot towards that new dessert parlour.

“He said I was weird for not having a dad.”

I looked down at him, eyes softening and I lifted a hand to rub his shoulder. It wasn't the first time he'd had this argument, and it likely won't be the last. Kids can be assholes. “And then he hit me when I said ‘at least my mom's boobs are real.’”

“Levi!” I stopped in my tracks and looked at him, mortified. I didn't even know where to start with that one. “Where-”

“Jamie from math class told me what ‘implants’ were… and he said that Brad's mom had them.”

He looked up at me innocently, and I knew then that he didn't fully grasp what he'd said to Brad - the kid he'd just punched between the eyes. I sighed for the umpteenth time and started walking again.

“Whatever, just… don't say that to anyone again, ok? You're gonna make me look like a terrible parent.”

“Ok mo- whoa! Look at that car!” It was Levi's turn to stop dead in his tracks as he stood in awe of the sleek black car parked by the sidewalk.

A black Chevy Impala.

“Oh wow,” my words came out slightly breathless, my mind suddenly racing to him and the conversation I'd had with Kat earlier that afternoon.

“So cool!” Levi gushed, walking up close to it but not close enough to touch.

“Yes, very cool. Now let's go inside before they run out of ice cream,” I ushered him to the door, reflexively looking over my shoulder, not knowing if I even wanted to see who could possibly be in the area.

The bell jingled as we walked in and Levi ran up to the counter, pressing his forehead to the glass. My eyes scanned the menu and I was pleasantly surprised to see they served coffee.

“What do you fancy kiddo?” I ruffled his hair again and waited for him to decide, and it wasn't long before he'd made up his mind. After ordering, we headed towards a small table-for-two at the edge of the room, and as Levi slumped down in his chair something familiar caught my attention.

A voice.

My heart quickly became erratic in my chest and my palms grew sweaty. I looked in the direction the voice had come from and was met with a slap in the face from memory lane.

There he was; the same wicked grin and mischievous eyes that had burned themselves into my memory. He dressed the same as he did nine years ago - right down to the necklace and leather jacket. He was engrossed in a conversation with another man, who looked slightly younger than himself, all whilst digging into a stack of waffles.

“Mom?”

The sound of Levi's voice snapped me out of the stunned fog I was caught up in and I quickly sat down, trying my best to focus on my son and not the man who was sitting only a few feet behind him. Levi looked like he was about to ask another question when a giant chocolate sundae and a coffee appeared at the table. I heard the waitress challenge Levi to finish the whole thing, but it was like I was listening to the world through water. My mind wouldn't stop racing. He's here. Do I talk to him? Will he remember me? Do I tell him about Levi? I hurriedly pulled my phone from my bag and sent her a hasty message before turning back to the boy in front of me, convincing a smile to appear on my lips.

“If you have room in that black-hole stomach of yours then you definitely could've finished your veggies earlier at dinner.”

He smirked slightly, like he always did when he knew he was getting away with murder, and it almost took my breath away. I saw the same smirk grace the lips of the man in the booth behind him. The mans gaze shifted to the side and when his eyes met mine - the same vibrant twists of green and gold that I have tattooed on my memory - I sucked in a sharp breath, my heart leaping in my chest as I tore my eyes away. I clutched my coffee cup, staring intently at the dark swirling liquid, praying to anyone or anything that I'd find the answers to my troubles in the bottom of this mug. The prickling on my skin was unshakable, like his eyes were on me and I was trapped under his intense observation, unable to breath. Minutes felt like hours, and eventually he and his companion stood before heading to the door. The moment they were gone with the bell signalling their departure, the air gushed from my lungs as I dropped my head into my hands, earning myself a confused look from my son. I offered him a reassuring smile which he accepted before returning to shovelling ice-cream into his face.

Just when I thought I was safe, I looked up and locked eyes with him. Our eyes locked through the window just as he opened the car door, leaning on it. It was like time froze, and for a few moments, despite my earlier urgency to not make eye contact, I was now unable to look away. My breath caught in my throat as a smirk pulled at his lips before he ducked down into the driver's seat, slamming the car door closed. I found myself chewing on my bottom lip as he tore out of the parking lol, that familiar rumble of the engine practically rattling the windows and, despite the noise, it was a comforting sound.

Once they were out of sight and the impala could no longer be heard, I sighed, pushing my hair off my face and running my hands through my hair. As Levi polished off the last of his ice-cream, my phone buzzed on the table. Opening it and reading the message, a small wave of relief washed over me as Kat confirmed that Toby would be at his dad's for once so she could come over to drink wine and discuss very important topics. She hasn't got a clue what I need to vent about yet, but I feel like tonight is going to be a very long night.

——————————————————————

@suckitands33 @jackles010378 @megara0224 @libby99hb @roseblue373 @hobby27 @calibootsgirl @lyarr24 @autistic-gothic @wattpaduser200 @spndeanwinchesterlvr @mxtansy @magssteenkamp @redmaro86 @slut-for-evans-stan @spookyysinsanity @localjisung @king-of-milf-lovers @xshortputax @jerksbitch @multifandoms-saidwhat @deans-baby-momma @writersxxx

#dean winchester #dean winchester smut #dean winchester x you #dean x reader #dean x y/n #dean x you #dean winchester x reader #dean x female!reader #dean winchester x reader smut #dean winchester x you smut

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inzuinzudesu · 2 days

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Post-war AU! (Yes, I'm trying to do more steamy drawings, more is coming) I imagine Obito to have mellowed out quite a bit after the war, with him atoning for his sins and everything?? He would be easier to bully at the very least haha Personally, I think Kakashi'd be the more proactive one of the two, since Obito'd be feeling guilty and wouldn't want happiness for himself? Then Kakashi has to try to get him to care more about his own live?? Obito'd be living on a cliff all alone, with Kakashi coming to visit every so often in between Hokage duties?? He's trying to migrate into society slowly but surely, helping out all the grandpas and grandmas out there. I wanted to draw him in white - just a blank slate, ready to be made anew, despite all the pain and suffering. Well actually he just looks really good in white, with that white hair?? Very elegant. I can't find much of this AU on ao3? There are quite a lot on pixiv though! https://www.pixiv.net/novel/show.php?id=9410739 This the first part of a whole series! It's finished too! I can only read a bit of japanese, so I mainly just used google translate haha! Really recommend it, if you can read japanese, or if you can bear the pain of reading some very broken english 😅 This author explored the AU in a very cute way that I love??? Overall it's just silly shenanigans with potent sexual tension disguised as friendship. Biggest plot point is that there's a rumor going around that Kakashi is gay, but he tries to deny it, thinking Obito would be weirded out?? There was a point where in his anbu days, Kakashi had a one-night stand that looks like Obito??? Not gonna spoil anymore, in case you plan to read it!

#naruto #naruto fanart #obito uchiha #kakashi hatake #オビト #カカシ #obito x kakashi #obkk #obikaka #kkob #kakaobi #yes they are drunk #umm obito has hashirama cells so he can't get drunk??#well my headcannon is that he is even more susceptible to alcohol how bout that #because drunk obito is just too cute to miss

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hotgirlssupportlando · 2 days

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one day x lando norris pt 4

this is a part of my series following one day of every summer from 2016 onwards in y/n’s and lando's lives, exploring their friendship and love for one another. ofc not a smooth ride with some angst and fights along the way. a friends to lovers, growing up together kind of thing. read first part here pairing: lando norris x fem!reader summary of this part: y/n attending lando's first home race in f1, but her expectations weren't really met warnings: kinda sad :( wc: 1,4k a/n: probably a couple of sad parts now in this series but bear with me!! a one day -series can't only be rainbows and butterflies hehe

summer of 2019

Silverstone Circuit, England

y/n was beyond excited getting her invite from lando to attend his first ever home race in f1. she couldn’t believ that the random boy she had met a few years ago now was one of the top twenty drivers in the world. seeing her best friend advancing in the sport truly made her proud, who would’ve thought he’d be going this far? since day one she had always supported her friend both on track and at distance, nowadays most through late night facetime calls as she was still in Edinburgh studying and Lando traveling all around the world.

however, now after being months apart the pair would finally meet again and oh my, was she excited!! she couldn’t help but smile sitting in the taxi on her way to silverstone, headphones in listening to her and landos shared playlist. she fiddled with her mclaren paddock pass that already, proudly, was hanging around her neck, closely reading (for maybe the hundredth time) that all the personal information was correct, it would be just typical lan to spell something wrong and causing her trouble. as soon as the paddock pass had arrived in the mail at her uni dorm she had started planning her outfit, carefully picking out clothes and accessories that would perfectly match the colours on the pass. as the self-conscious being she was, she wanted to be prepared, not wanting to make a fool of herself or lando by turning up as a girl who didn’t look like she belonged there.

now she was sat stroking her new white dress, contemplating whether it was too boring or too much, and what would lando think, would he like it? and why didn’t she take the other dress instead, it would have looked much better! her mind was racing, overthinking every little thing that came to mind and her worries quickly aggravated looking outside the cab window at all the beautifully looking fans that stood waiting outside the paddock hoping to see their favourite drive appear from one of the taxis. oh well, she thought, there’s nothing i can do about it now. she took a deep breath before exiting the car, shyly walking toward the entrance where she blipped her paddock pass and quickly rushed away headed towards the big mclaren sign in the distance. overwhelmed by the situation she just wanted to see lando, knowing that his presence would calm her nerves.

after some walking she finally arrived at the mclaren hospitality, almost immediately spotting jon, lando’s trainer. ”hi we’ve only seen each other through facetime but i’m y/n l/n, landos friend”, she said approaching jon. ”oh hello, i thought i recognized you from somewhere!” he smiled, ”you’re probably looking for lando?”. y/n nodded smilingly. jon looked around a bit worried, telling her that he should be here somewhere but that his schedule had been a bit hectic this race day morning. she was offered to wait in the hospitality while jon was gonna go tell lando that she had arrived. with a good mood she went and grabbed a tea, sitting at a table that overlooked mclaren’s part of the pit lane.

after scrolling a bit on her phone and texting her friend, she saw in her periphery, more specifically in the garage, a familiar looking boy. he was giving some fangirls a tour around the garage, letting one and one test sit in his car. he looked so happy, being in his element. after a short while jon approached lando, and by his lips y/n could read something about her arrival. landos reaction was cute, he seemed excited that she was there but didn’t seem ready to come meet her just yet. y/n was just glad she had seen him at a distance and didn’t mind waiting for some time longer, she had already waited several months so what harm could another hour do?

if it only had been an hour or two or even three.. patiently she sat waiting, looking at the clock seeing it was nearly time for race preparations. nope, she thought, if she wanted to see him she would need to take it into her own hands, and that’s what she did. confidently she walked the same route she had seen jon take to the garage and after getting lost a couple times she found a visitor friendly spot. at the same place other high paying fans were stood looking at the team doing their pre race preparations. lando, as the kind boy he was, of course greeted the fans and let them take pictures with him. shortly after he spotted y/n who stood with a huge smile and open arms to greet him in an usual hug, but she wasn’t met by the same excitement. a rather cold and quick hug was what she got, from a boy that felt unexpectedly unfamiliar. a bit caught of guard by the reception and embarrassed by the amount of people that had seen this awkward encounter she felt like running far away. somehow she managed to still ask lando if their agreed meetup after the race was still on, to which she received a short ”yeah, sure”.

stunned from the whole situation she went back up to the hospitality and watched the race in some kind of haze. wtf was that? she didn’t have to be here, lando was the one that invited her there, didn’t some good old kindness include in that package? presumably not then. her thoughts wandered, shocked that the boy she had known for years abruptly was someone totally else, just because they weren’t alone, the two of them, as they usually was. or was she overreacting? maybe it wasn’t that bad. or maybe this was her fault? she could’ve put a bit more makeup on and change the dress so that she would’ve been prettier, maybe that was the problem, that she wasn’t as pretty as the other girls in the paddock.

in the middle of her overthinking someone patted her on the shoulder making her jump of fear out of her seat. ”sorry sorry sorry! i didn’t mean to scare you” a familiar voice half laughed, half tried to sound serious. she turned around meeting a pair of kind brown eyes, it was carlos sainz she remembered, lando’s teammate. ”are you waiting for someone?” he asked. y/n looked at the clock, it was late, somehow she had been thinking about her own problems so long that she hadn’t noticed that the race was done ages ago and that the other hospitality guests had gone home. ”oh yeah, i was waiting for lando, he’s my friend, but i guess he has forgotten about me.. again” y/n said not covering her disappointment very well. carlos smiled compassionately, like he understood, ”i’m sorry.. i remember when i was new to f1, everything’s so new and exciting that sometimes the one’s that has been with you from the start gets left behind..”. ”well, thats assuring” y/n laughed quietly as she felt her eyes tearing up. ”noo sorry, y/n was it? i didn’t mean to upset you, what i meant to say was that in the beginning you get kind of caught up in the fame and girls running after you, but when you settle in to the sport you sooner or later understand who the real one’s are” he said and gently hugged you afterwards. y/n sniffled after the hug ”well i hope so.. this wasn’t at all what i expected from this day” she sighed walking towards the door out of the hospitality. ”i’m certain he will come around, some new drivers take more time than others to realize that all the new attention is just empty and fake, nothing that can compare to a girl that waited the clock around to hopefully see her friend” he smiled trying to cheer y/n up. a small smile cracked on her face as she thanked him whilst they walked out of hospitality together.

they didn’t have to walk very far before she heard lando’s familiar laugh, y/n turning around to spot lando in the distance, flirting with some very beautiful girls, noticing how he didn’t have a thought in the world about his old friend. she felt her heart sink and eyes tearing up again, was she really that forgettable? if anything, it only confirmed all her self-conscious thoughts. carlos that was walking beside her noticed the same as her and immediately connected his eyes with y/n’s, giving her a compassionate look while hugging her from the side. ”don’t you worry darling, remember my words”

_____

taglist

@amberpanda99 @phantomxoxo @landossainz @chezmardybum @lan4cha16 @tvdtw4ever @starlit-skiessss @dorothea47

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flawseer · 14 hours

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In your last ask, you mentioned misgivings with Book 10's ending, and especially how it pertains to Winter. I absolutely agree, and I know why, but I wanna hear your thoughts on it, too: What's up with Book 10?

The following is a (very long) examination of my personal feelings with regards to the WoF second story arc finale. While it is based on what is in the text, this analysis will be interpretive and fill in blanks with my own thoughts. Keep that in mind.

Hahhhh... okay. Since mentioning it in my last post I’ve gotten several requests to talk about my feelings regarding the second arc finale. There’s probably no way around it then.

If you haven’t read that last post (it was admittedly very long, and so will this one be), I talked briefly about why I didn’t like that part of the story. I have to warn you now, this will likely be the most negative and dour post in the history of this blog. In a few parts it will sound like I hate Wings of Fire, and I want to say now, while I still have the chance, that I don’t. I love this series, thinking about its setting and characters brings me joy.

I also—very emphatically—want to make it clear that I have no ill will against Tui T. Sutherland. I’ve looked around other people’s stuff a bit and there are a huge number of posts wishing violence upon her or threatening her for doing things to her series that people don’t agree with. That is NOT what I am doing here, shit like that is NOT okay! While I will be critical of her choices, I still respect her effort of bringing this vibrant, wonderful world of dragons to all of us.

Also, obligatory last disclaimer: If you liked the finale, that is okay. You are valid for feeling that way. I’m here to share my point of view, not to demand people agree with everything I say. Just be warned that you most likely won’t enjoy what I have to say. If you don’t think you can handle that kind of criticism, this is your guilt-free opportunity to stop reading.

Otherwise, let's get into it.

CW: Discussion of parental abuse, depression, disease, and extreme acts of violence.

In defense of the finale

Before I start to systematically disassemble this narrative and get lost in a quagmire of negativity, let’s talk a bit about the circumstances that brought forth this part of the story. The plot of this arc was a mess from the moment animus magic was unshackled from the restrictions it had in the first arc, and from then on there was no longer any conceivable way to end this story in a clean way. Sutherland had created an invincible, unbeatable, omnipotent villain; he could read minds, see the future with perfect clarity, and anything he could imagine he could conjure into existence at any time with no cost to himself and no drawbacks. She was likely wracking her brain about how to resolve this impossible conundrum. What we got wasn’t good, but I believe nothing could have been. The foundation was rotting and by the fifth book it couldn’t bear the weight of the plot anymore.

The thing about animus magic in arc 2 is that it is so potent, so all-powerful, and so free of restraint that everyone who uses it also HAS to be a simpleton, or they would be able to break the plot immediately and become god. From the moment Darkstalker broke out of that mountain, he could have said “Any and all spells that are cast with the intention to harm me, interfere with my plans, or do something I don’t consent to will not work, from now on until forever”, and he would have instantly won. The strawberry would have fizzled out. The Darkstalker-blocking earrings would not have been created, and no one could have saved the Icewings. On the flipside, Turtle or Anemone could have said “I enchant the concept of animus magic itself to no longer obey Darkstalker”, and his threat would have been neutered. Point is, powers as potent and easy to use as this really need limitations, or they will quickly eat your plot alive.

I don’t envy the situation Sutherland was in at the time at all. If you’re an author, that kind of thing is a nightmare. It really is no wonder she decided to blow up animus magic for good in her next arc, even if I would have preferred it to get more healthy restrictions instead of killing it outright.

The Darkstalker age regression thing

Everyone has talked this part to death already, but if I am to write a thorough analysis of my feelings regarding this finale, I’m going to have to talk about it as well. I’m sorry if I end up repeating a lot of things you’ve already heard.

This final fate of Darkstalker, to have his memories wiped and be reset to an infant, is really uncomfortable. As far as I am aware, though correct me if I’m wrong, Sutherland said in an interview that she didn’t want Darkstalker to die because, in her view, he did not deserve to. We can debate here about the philosophical question of whether anyone is truly deserving of death, and the merits of “justice” and “punishment”, but in general, Wings of Fire did not seem to have any issues killing off its villains prior if they committed suitably terrible acts. That makes this moment stand out as noteworthy.

Who is Darkstalker then--and if we assume villains can be “deserving” and “not deserving” of death--what about him speaks in his favor, or against? The guy had a pretty crappy childhood, coming from a broken home (there is that inadequate parent theme again). He genuinely loved his sister and felt protective of her, and whenever he liked someone he wanted them to be happy and feel affirmed. The thing that Queen Diamond does to his mother is awful and he is justified in hating her for it. He is also portrayed as rather sympathetic in Moon Rising. When he asks Moon to find his scroll for him and not to leave him, he is not manipulating her, he is sincerely begging for her help. He is stuck somewhere underground, trapped in darkness, in a space so tiny that he can’t move. He remains that way for months, lonely and sad. If you just focus on these aspects, it’s easy to understand why he has so many fans who want him to see healthy and happy.

On the flipside, while he is dedicated to the happiness of his friends, he doesn’t always go for the most ethical way to achieve it. He tries to brainwash said friends without their consent whenever they exhibit behaviors he doesn’t like, or when he thinks he knows better and wants to “fix” them. He has very little regard for other people’s autonomy, lies to his loved ones with alarming frequency, and is unhealthily attached to the idea of power. Those things are certainly not good, but they are his character flaws. These are his demons; everyone has them and they make him a person. If this was all there was to it, he might still be a villain, but I’d argue he’d not be wholly irredeemable.

But there are things about him that take him beyond the pale. Things that go beyond the realm of just being misunderstood, or easily excusable.

He is possessive. He wants Clearsight and Fathom for himself, and for them to listen to him primarily. When Indigo makes it clear she doesn’t like him and cautions Fathom against trusting him, he deceives his friends and traps Indigo in a wood carving, just so he can isolate Fathom from his support network and manipulate him easier. He alters Clearsight’s mind to make her more agreeable and stop her from holding him accountable for his actions; while he thinks he loves her, he only loves an idealized version of her that is wholly devoted to and unquestioning of him. This is why, when he later forcibly overwrites Fierceteeth’s existence to recreate her (which is another horrific thing), he tries to excise the parts he finds undesirable to create a perfect version of his lover. But this caricature he has created in his head is not and can never be Clearsight, which frustrates his attempts.

He is vengeful. Not against people who have actually wronged him, like Queen Diamond. That would be questionable, but understandable. What makes this unacceptable is his frequent targeting of innocent people who just happen to be related to the person who wronged him in some esoteric way. He enchants a secret murder knife that kills random Icewings regardless of who they are or what they think about the Queen, just because the one who took his mother from him happened to share their tribe. He hates Turtle and wishes death upon him in Moon Rising just because he is a green Seawing, like Fathom was. And then there is the big one: He tries to kill all the Icewings who are alive in the present day, where Queen Diamond is long dead and none of them have ever even met her. Even his mother, who suffered from Diamond’s actions the most and has the most reason to hate her, is horrified and calls him out on that one.

And lastly, he is sadistic. He revels in torturing those he hates. He forces his father to disembowel himself, while the latter is fully aware and powerless to resist AND the man’s traumatized daughter is watching. Later he sends a magical plague to kill every single living Icewing sans one.

It should be noted that Darkstalker possesses virtually infinite magical power; whatever he declares, with very few exceptions, will happen. Even if he wanted them dead, he had the power to prevent unnecessary suffering. He could have said “Arctic, fall dead instantaneously”, or “Every Icewing will fall asleep and pass away peacefully,” but he didn’t. He wanted them to feel pain and pass away in the most wretched, agonizing ways he could imagine.

So what he chose to do instead is—and I want you to picture this for a moment—Darkstalker sat down, calmly, and said “Henceforth every living Icewing, excepting Prince Winter and those of hybrid blood, will fall ill with an incurable disease. This disease will cause heavy internal bleeding and make its victims cough up blood and waste away for a few days, followed by certain death.”

This spell does not discriminate with regards to who its victims are. The book glosses over the implications, but imagine the ramifications. Young children are notoriously frail, how many newborns got infected and died because of this? How many families were torn apart because they couldn’t get the magic earrings fast enough? Or accidentally got one earring less than there were family members and had to decide who has to die?

Most of the Icewings were physically cured by the earrings, but an experience like that sticks with you for the rest of your life. Somewhere surely, a dragonet watched as his mother put the earring on him and then slowly wasted away because she didn’t have one for herself.

It’s really easy to overlook how horrific this spell is because it isn’t shown or dwelt on. But the trauma, grief, and suffering it caused must have been immeasurable.

And none of those victims have ever even met the person Darkstalker wanted to get revenge on. None of those deaths meant anything to anyone.

The attempted death toll and scale of the calamity here puts even Scarlet to shame. The ones who come closest to it were Queen Battlewinner and Morrowseer with their attempted Rainwing extermination. All three of those died for what they did. Gives you some food for thought for sure.

Peacemaker’s burden

Despite just airing all of his dirty laundry and declaring him an irredeemable villain, I actually do have a lot of sympathy for Darkstalker still. His story is really sad. He was a child born with an amount of power that nobody should possess, and it corrupted him to the point where it destroyed his life before it began. His parents were always fighting and no matter how good his intentions were, he was unable to understand why he couldn’t hold on to his friends and relationship. He kept making mistakes, then made bigger mistakes to fix those, until his hands were covered in blood and he couldn’t stop anymore. My belief is that, after he wakes up in the present and realizes Clearsight is dead, he loses his reason for living and becomes completely lost in his grief.

Therefore, my opinion is that it would have been appropriate for him to die. If not to punish him, then to finally grant him reprieve from all that rage and pain, and let him rest. I think that would have been a dignified end.

But instead he got turned into a baby. ... And then they decided to magically erase his father’s blood from him? I don’t know what it is, but something about that Icewing erasure makes my skin crawl?

The thing that turns this baby twist from weird into highly unsettling is the context. Darkstalker’s mind is erased, then modified into a new person via animus magic. This is the technique a lot of this arc’s villains used to victimize Hailstorm, Queen Ruby, Peril, Kinkajou, Fierceteeth, and Winter. The same technique is now used again, by the heroes, which is a dangerous thing to have your protagonists do if you want them to remain morally upright.

It is also very reckless, because in almost all of these instances, animus mind alteration has been shown to be very unreliable. The spells seem to wear down over time and are susceptible to partial breaking upon encountering certain strong stimuli. Hailstorm—while trapped as Pyrite—seems to retain trace amounts of his former memories, which is why Pyrite is subconsciously drawn to Winter and clings to him all the time. Ruby is able to ignore half of her conditioning because her familial love for her son partially overpowers the magic. Qibli is just straight up able to reason his way out of it.

The thing to note here is that spells of this nature require a very meticulous approach; you can’t half-ass your reprogramming or the victim will just think their way past it. If you alter someone’s mind, the wording of the spell must be ironclad, lest you risk it wearing down over time and even break.

Luckily we have nothing to fear in that regard, because the spell that created Peacemaker was written by a Rainwing with a total of four days of literacy training. No one better mention the name Clearsight to the new baby Nightwing, or next month is going to be rather interesting.

But that’s just speculation on my part. Let’s assume that, somehow, this spell isn’t as unstable as all the others. Somehow Kinkajou threaded all the needles, and masterfully dodged every conceivable pitfall to pen the perfect incantation, despite having been illiterate just a few weeks prior. This one is built to last and Darkstalker is sealed away really thoroughly, for good.

That is still absolutely terrible and morally dubious, because now you have Peacemaker, who for all intents and purposes is a COMPLETELY innocent little kid, saddled with this huge burden of being the certifiable reincarnation of a genocidal ancient wizard. He’s gonna grow up thinking things like “Mommy gets real quiet whenever the topic of the Icewing tragedy is brought up,” and “Why does Auntie Moon look at me like that? One time she accidentally called me a weird name, who is Darkstalker?” “What is this ‘Clearsight’ name my mind-reading friends from the village found in Mommy’s mind?”

In a village that will be full of mind-readers soon, eventually the secret will come out, and Peacemaker is going to learn what was done to him. A huge, messy load of undeserved baggage was forced onto this completely separate, innocent entity. He will be devastated. Whether he then chooses to forgive them for this remains to be seen. To be honest, he would be well within his right not to, and turn resentful.

Poor kid.

Qibli’s callousness

I love Qibli, he is one of my favorite characters. This happens to be his book, and the fact that I fundamentally dislike half of it makes me rather sad. If anything, I hope this tells you that I’m not just hating on it for my personal amusement. I really wanted to like this. I tried to, and I couldn’t.

Qibli is really weird in this one, to be honest. He is suddenly made to be co-dependent on Moonwatcher, fawning over her every third paragraph, saying how much he loves her, how he is an incomplete and dysfunctional wreck without her, how it physically pains him to be apart from her, oh if only the stars would grant his wish and split the mountains apart so that he may fly to his princess, his muse, his goddess of ebony wit. It gets so old.

And it’s not Qibli. He never acted this clingy towards Moonwatcher. It’s more intense than even Winter gets about Moon, and Winter was actually depicted with a crush on her in book 6. Qibli was always just a supportive element, eager to befriend Moon but never desperate, like he is going to keel over if he is separated from his true love five minutes longer. These very frequent love declarations feel so forced coming out of him. It strikes me like it was just written in service of the love triangle. Maybe if we make him confess his love every four seconds readers will overlook the fact that they had no proper romantic build-up.

You might rightly accuse me of bias. I have previously admitted I am fond of Qibli/Winter as a romantic pairing, on the surface this seems like I am just not happy with my pet ship being blocked by Moonwatcher. But I assure you, I am actually pretty flexible and accommodating even towards pairings that contradict my preferences. I have no issues with Winter/Moonwatcher, for example, because the possibility was properly established and they have good romantic chemistry in Winter Turning. In theory, I would have no problem with Qibli/Moonwatcher either if it was ever set up as an interesting romantic dynamic. But to me, it seems like Qibli is written as a good, supportive friend to Moon for four books, only to pivot hard into “Moon moon moon moon moon moon swoon” at the last second, and it just reads to me as obnoxious.

I got distracted. This section is called “Qibli’s callousness”, and I haven’t even talked about the main part.

Qibli and Winter have excellent chemstry together, whether you read it as romantic or platonic—both of these interpretations have merit and are set up. They’re always the highlight of any scene they’re in. Throughout the story arc you get the impression that these two really get on each other’s nerves, but they bond and grow into really strong friends who bicker a lot but have each other’s backs when it counts.

Then there is a scene where Qibli casually tells Winter that he wouldn’t object if someone wanted to mind-control away some of Winter’s more objectionable traits.

This is genuinely a terrible thing to say to your friend. Like, it crosses a line and ceases to be harmless banter; you’re just telling them that there is something you hate about them so much that you wish they were someone else. Winter actually WAS mind-controlled earlier and felt (and proably still feels) guilty about having attacked Qibli in that state. And now Qibli says “Hey, I wouldn’t mind if someone did that to you again! Hue hue!”

It is awful, BUT I don’t necessarily object to Qibli saying this here. Qibli is in the middle of his character arc at this moment, so he is expected to be flawed. He is making a mistake by thoughtlessly telling Winter this horrid thing, and it seems like a believable continuation of his current character track. This is a reasonable development as long as the plot acknowledges that it’s a mistake.

Spoilers: The plot doesn’t acknowledge that it’s a mistake. Qibli never has a scene after where he reflects upon what he said and apologizes to Winter. When Darkstalker has Qibli trapped in his mountain jail and mind-wipes Qibli’s grandfather into a toddler (hey, wait a minute), Qibli gets visibly disturbed. Like, this is so off-putting to him that he gets queasy and Darkstalker hastily changes the spell. That could have been a great way to bring this back. Like in the epilogue, have Qibli track down Winter and tell him about disturbing baby grandpa theater and how he realized that wiping people’s minds is actually messed up and should have never said that to him.

But he doesn’t. He just lets Winter go, allowing him to believe he is broken and needs magical intervention to be tolerable. It leaves me to think that maybe he’s still okay with it, and fantasizing about rewriting his friend’s mind. Great.

Moonwatcher’s character death

You will find as this goes on that, I get the impression that the second half of this book takes all of the wonderful, endearing characters I have learned to love throughout the story and replaces them with really mean, or stupid, or otherwise inaccurate caricatures.

Moonwatcher’s relationship with Darkstalker gets plenty of setup and development in Moon Rising. You get the sense that these two could be great friends if their circumstances were a little different. It does a great job at making you think maybe Darkstalker is just misunderstood; maybe Moon should free him from his predicament.

Then at the end of Escaping Peril comes the emotional gut punch. Darkstalker actually IS a villain. He callously admits to Moonwatcher that he used his magic to make his own father gruesomely disembowel himself. Moonwatcher is horrified and disgusted that he would do that. There is no circumstance in which something like that would ever be okay. She ends the scene awash in tears because the person she thought was her friend is a murderer and a sadist. This is good, that is a natural reaction to what she was just told.

A few hours from there, in Talons of Power, Turtle finds Moon again and she is completely cool with Darkstalker walking free, despite crying her eyes out after feeling so betrayed earlier. That may seem strange, but this is still good because later, Darkstalker’s mind control plot is discovered. This scene was obviously written to set that up, Moon is mind-controlled into forgetting that Darkstalker could do something that morally reprehensible, and thus forgives him. This is also completely in line with his characterization in Legends: Darkstalker. It’s a kind of stunt he would pull to get Clearsight to shut up about him slipping into villainy.

In my earlier post I alluded to a moment where Moon is set to narrative auto-pilot and says something so rampantly off-kilter that it does irreversible, permanent damage to her character. It happens here, in the second half of book 10. Qibli gives Moon the Darkstalker protection earring, and Moon, somehow, says “I’m not being mind-controlled, Darkstalker really is my friend.”

I get what the plot tries to do here. It’s taking this concept of mind-control and adding a nuance, in an attempt to flesh out Darkstalker and give his character depth. He is ready to control everyone in the world, but for Moon, who is his best friend in this era, he wants her to remain herself. Perhaps this is his attempt at attonement for playing with Clearsight’s mind and driving her away from him. It is very touching in a way, viewed in isolation.

Unfortunately, it does not work with the full context of all the books. Because Moon is in auto-pilot mode right now, her main character trait is “Darkstalker=Friend,” so naturally she would speak in support of him. But this revelation has devastating retroactive consequences. The earlier scene that was written with Moon under mind-control is now altered into her having been in her right mind! She is completely okay with Darkstalker’s admittance to cold-blooded torture and evisceration, within hours of being so shocked by it that it made her cry and ready to denounce him. That is such a quick turnaround it’s giving me whiplash. And what’s more it turns Moon from a principled, upstanding girl into a sociopath who casually accepts gruesome torture and murder if it is committed by someone she likes.

Did Sutherland forget about the scene two books ago, where Darkstalker’s actions were so inconceivably horrid for Moon to learn of that she started crying? It baffles me that this made it into the final version. Her saying she was never mind-controlled makes Moon come off as so awful. This torture-excusing lunatic is not the same kind-hearted and insightful character I followed in all the other books.

Kinkajou’s character derailment

The world is a sad place when I have to question the way Kinjajou is written. Fortunately she is mostly fine, despite her having the biggest excuse to act out-of-character since she’s the victim of a mind-altering spell. Her only real moment of “what!?” comes at the end.

I already talked about her role in casting the spell that regresses Darkstalker into an infant. But I didn’t mention how her being the source of it is questionable in itself.

The clue is in the first paragraph of this section: She herself has experienced the effects of invasive mind-alteration. She was cursed by Anemone in the previous book to be in love with Turtle, and kind of half-struggles kind of not with it, it’s really strange. Turtle is appropriately horrified and acts like really awful things are happening, but then it’s mostly played lightly for some reason. My assumption is that Sutherland introduced this plot point, but then realized how uncomfortable this premise really is and tried to downplay it until the story got to a point where it could get done away with.

But I think the takeaway is still supposed to be that this was a horrid thing to do (which it absolutely is), and that Kinkajou will have to spend a lot of time trying to untangle her real emotions from the fake ones the spell created.

The point is: Kinkajou knows first-hand how awful it is to do something like that to another person. Ideally she should never even conceive of the idea to cast a spell like that, but if we’re really set on this Darkstalker baby thing and it has to happen, she should at least be a bit hesitant about it. And afterwards she should struggle with the guilt of having resorted to it. Not celebrate it and be proud, like it’s funny.

The assassination of Winter’s future

Now we come to the part I’ve alluded to previously; the part where all of these threads converge to utterly destroy one character and drive him to the brink of ruin. Let’s talk about Winter.

Prince Winter is the son of Tundra and Prince Narwhal, hatching in the same clutch as his sister Icicle. He spent his formative years being unfavorably compared to said sister—who easily took to traits that Icewing royalty considers desirable—whereas Winter struggled greatly to embody those same ideals. He was just a little too kind, too merciful, too gentle. As a result he often had to endure abuse from his parents, who made him feel like he was defective.

Because he was young and didn’t have any other frame of reference, he embraced this abusive narrative and began to drive himself with a vigor unreasonable for someone of his age. He scraped and cloyed for every bit of credit he could get, obsessing over advancing up the circle rankings in an attempt to “purge” the wrongness out of himself. To make his parents as proud of him as they were of Icicle.

This never worked. He was always seen as the runt, poised to embarrass the family name. Whatever he did, no matter how hard he strived, there was always something he could have done better.

The only real source of love and affirmation in his life was his older brother, Hailstorm. Where everyone else only saw what Winter wasn’t, Hailstorm embraced his brother despite of his “failings” and was openly affectionate with him. When Winter was with him, it was okay to not think about rankings all the time, and just be himself for a bit. I assume Hailstorm fulfilled a similar role for Icicle as well, which is why both of them love him dearly, and Icicle destroys her own life to bring him back.

Winter also has a fascination with scavengers, possibly because they are small and perceived as useless, like he himself is. He likely feels a kinship with them and observes them being craftier and more adept than everyone else sees them. This is therapeutic for him, to see that a thing can have merit even if no one wants to see it.

One day, he and Hailstorm sneak into Skywing territory so Winter can catch a scavenger as a pet. This excursion turns hostile when they are discovered by a roaming Skywing troop and faced with the prospect of capture, possibly execution. In a gambit to save Winter from this fate, Hailstorm mirrors the words of his parents, calling Winter pathetic and useless, so the Skywings will not think of him as a threat and show mercy. His act succeeds in convincing the Skywings, but it also convinces Winter, who does not understand Hailstorm only said these things to save his life. He returns home—believing his brother hated him all along—to face the wrath of his furious family for losing them “the desirable son”.

For all of his life, these themes have repeated themselves and haunted him. “I was born wrong and defective,” “I am unlovable,” “No one wants me.”

A few months after the war ends, Winter is one of the five Icewings enrolled in the newly founded Jade Mountain Academy. Shortly after departing, he unexpectedly returns home, having successfully rescued his older brother and bringing him back. He is made to believe that this erases his mistakes, his mother even pays him a backhanded compliment, an uncharacteristically “nice” gesture. He is promoted to the top of the rankings, finally his parents are proud of him.

But of course it is all a trick. The “adoration” afforded to him was all a ploy. Secretly, his parents abused power and tradition to arrange for Winter’s death. They force him into a lethal trial they intentionally rigged against him, all to finally erase that stain on their family’s honor.

Winter finally realizes the true nature of his parents’ opinion of him. Even when he succeeds, and does everything right, he is still defective, unlovable, and unwanted. He will never be anything else to his family. And so he leaves his homeland, pretending he is dead, resigned to live in hiding forever.

During this time, while at the brink of despair, Winter is able to draw strength from one source: His new friends from the academy. He vocalizes that, for all the abuse he suffered at the hands of his birth family, he fervently believes that THEY would never do anything like that to him. They chose to stuck with him, even when he was awful, and told him he was not hopeless. He was not a mistake; he could be deserving of love.

So naturally, he returns to them; they accept him readily, are willing to be his new surrogate family. When he almost burns to death at a later point, they fear and weep for him. When Qibli sets out to confront his own abusive family, Winter, despite being mind-controlled into a placid potato at the time, feels concerned enough for his friend’s safety to insist to come along (returning the favor of them accompanying him in his time of need in book 7). When Darkstalker’s mind control forces Winter to attack Qibli, he is shown ashamed and guilty of it once the control wears off again.

They bicker and struggle, and make mistakes, they break up but always come back together again. Time and time again the one thing that is always reinforced: When the cards are down, Winter loves his friends, and they love him. They would never intentionally hurt each other, or give up on each other.

I want you to keep in mind how wholesome, and loving, and mutually supportive this ramshackle band of misfits has been portrayed to this point... Because we’re moving on to the arc 2 finale, and it will do everything it can to corrupt all of it and consign Winter to a life of misery.

We arrive at aforementioned scene, where Moonwatcher receives her earring. Just a little bit prior, Winter had learned that Darkstalker unleashed a magical plague onto his people in an attempt to wipe them out. Now here is Moonwatcher, revealing that she is not under any spell, and has aligned herself with this guy willingly, speaking fondly of him as if he was a dear friend who never did any wrong. Winter takes this badly and accidentally breaks a vase; the narrative lingers on this moment and really tries to sell us on how unreasonable Winter’s reaction is, how he is overreacting, but let’s examine that interpretation for a moment.

Moonwatcher doesn’t yet know about the attempted Icewing genocide, but she DOES know about Darkstalker being okay with casting spells to inflict immeasurable torture upon those he hates. WE know that she knows this, so her stance here is already suspect. Yet she goes on to praise Darkstalker and refer to him as a friend. Look at this from Winter’s perspective. This “friend” of Moonwatcher just tried to kill his entire tribe, and he actually succeeded in killing his aunt, Queen Glacier, a person Winter greatly respects. Winter is currently unable to return to his homeland for fear of being branded a traitor. Even if he could return, he knows his obstinate and spiteful family would prevent him from attending the funeral, meaning he is not even afforded the basic dignity of saying farewell to his aunt. The aunt whom Darkstalker murdered by making her vomit her own blood until she withered away in her bed. And here is Moon, absolving the person who did this to Glacier from his appalling actions, despite knowing full well what Darkstalker is capable of and choosing to look away.

I don’t know about you, but I think I can forgive the grieving, emotionally overwhelmed boy for shattering a little pottery after hearing his trusted friend—who held his hand when he was dying—say that the guy who makes people disembowel themselves and wipes out entire countries may be misunderstood and not so bad. I think I would have a similar reaction. In fact, I would never want to talk to her ever again.

There is no way I can read this scene in which Moon doesn’t come off as either an absolute lunatic, or critically stupid and callous. In fact, based on her earlier behavior I half-expect her to get over the news of the attempted Icewing massacre in a couple hours, saying “Eh, it’s kinda bad, but you just have to do these kinds of things sometimes, you know? I’m sure he had his reasons.”

Then there is the part where Qibli makes his off-color comment about how Winter’s brain could really use a good wash. I already went into how it could have worked but didn’t. But with the timing here, we’ve already had Moon spit on their friendship, so as Winter’s other closest friend, it naturally follows that Qibli also craps on his feelings.

Consider the context: Winter comes from an abusive household where his parents forcibly tried to change him away from who he was to purge the “wrongness” from him. When they betray him and he narrowly escapes their attempt on his life, he re-affirms his belief in his friends, and the knowledge that they wouldn’t treat him like that gives him the strength he needs to keep going. But now, Qibli asserts that Winter DOES need to be altered, thereby AGREEING with Winter’s abusive parents, rendering Winter’s affirmation from book 7 erroneous. Qibli WOULD treat him like that if it made Winter less “intolerable”.

Neither Moonwatcher nor Qibli ever make an attempt to repair this rift. Winter is left betrayed and alone.

Stuff happens, and the forces of the Nightwings and Icewings come to blows over Jade Mountain. With his two closest friends having written him off and his support network eroded, Winter relapses into thinking he is worthless, seeks validation in unquestioning patriotism, and realigns himself with his abusive family by throwing himself into the battle. Nobody wants him to, in fact his parents still hate him for it, but whatever. His father dies and his mother blames him for it.

Meanwhile Turtle, Anemone, and Qibli are cooking up a solution to the battle problem. They have the idea to make everyone’s minds connect in a huge empathy wave for a few moments, which I think is a pretty interesting idea for what it’s worth. But then they teleport both armies back to their homes, and the spell sweeps Winter up with them, taking him out of the rest of the finale and bringing him to the Ice Kingdom. The characters say “whoops” but aren’t further concerned with the situation. It’s all a big laugh.

Let me remind you that Winter is currently considered not welcome on Icewing territory. His family, whom he was sent back with, is extremely abusive and vindictive. His friends know this. Said parents have previously arranged for him to be killed, and are still on record as wanting him dead. His friends KNOW this. And now he is alone with them and a gaggle of other royal Icewings who all are extremely pissed off at him for ruining their sacred trial site.

It is very possible that he is being torn apart and mauled by an enraged mob right now. He could be forced into captivity and flayed. Maybe the interim regent is sentencing him to death and getting the rope ready. There is a million different horrible things that could be happening to Winter right now, while he is trapped alone with people who hate him, things his friends would be reasonably able to anticipate. And nobody is doing anything to get him out of there, to suggest bringing him back, even though it would only take a single spoken sentence to do so! They aren’t even concerned!

Then the climax happens, strawberry thing and all, and we get the coup de grâce. After all is said and done, the group decides that Winter is untrustworthy, and that they must protect the secret of Darkstalker’s fate from him, because they fear if he knew he would kill Peacemaker.

Moon, who read Winter’s mind in book 6 and reached out to him about how the “ruthless Icewing warrior” persona in his head is a facade and how she sees he has a gentle and good heart... Moon, who in book 7 finds out about Winter’s secret deal to kill Glory and STILL trusts him, who calls out his bullshit to his face because she KNOWS how kind-hearted Winter is and that he would never resort to murder... Moon who, again, held his hand while he was dying... thinks that the dragon she has reminded of his compassionate nature time and time again would kill an innocent child.

This is disgusting. Moon believing that is so far off the mark with regards to anything this group has embodied or done for any of the last 4 books, that my only conclusion can be that these are different characters. Maybe the Nightwing library collapsed on top of original Moon, and when Darkstalker magiced her back to health she came back wrong or something. I don’t know.

So after all of this, Winter is left alone. He somehow escaped from the Ice Kingdom; luckily there is a timeskip so we can just gloss over the horrible situation he was put in by his friends. He thinks about Jade Mountain. He reflects on everything that happened, how his parents never really loved him... How they hated him so much they tried to kill him... How he despaired, but found solace in his friends who loved him for who he was.... How those friends then betrayed him too and magiced him away... How they didn’t care about what happened to him... And he decides he is done. He won’t bother going back. A few people, probably Sunny, reach out to tell him he is welcome back, but he says “it wouldn’t be fair to other Icewings if an exile took up a bed”. The decision isn’t hard to make, after all there is nothing left for him there. Everyone has written him off, moved on and left him behind.

Kinkajou visits sometimes, tries to stay in touch, but that’s just how she is. Maybe the others sent her to check on whether he’s going to become troublesome. They don’t trust him. Better to keep an eye on him, he might kill the baby.

With nowhere else to go, Winter moves to Sanctuary, a place for rejects like him. I picture him standing there, at the edge of a cliff staring blankly into the distance. He is completely alone; no one wants to go near him or talk to him beyond the bare necessities. He could probably make new friends with the Talons of Peace if he tried, but there is no point. Why should someone like him have friends? It wouldn’t work. They’d just decide he is too inconvenient to be around. Sooner or later they would just tell him to leave anyway. It's better not to try, so he doesn't get hurt again.

And slowly it dawns on him. His parents had been right all along. It was never them, or the others, it was him. He is the problem. The Icewings said it, Qibli said it, Moonwatcher said it. There is just something fundamentally wrong with him.

He is defective. He is unlovable. Nobody wants him. He will never be anything, or have anyone. And so he stands at the cliff, looking over the broken vase fragments of his life... This is who he is. Prince Winter. A mistake.

And quietly, where no one knows or cares, he does the only thing he has left to do... he begins to weep.

As it is written, the tale of Winter is the story of a boy who is told he is wrong for being alive. He closes his ears and tries to keep walking forward, desperate to prove that he is not an error, that he has merit. But this book comes out and it unmistakably says that he doesn’t. He is nothing, and he deserves to have nothing.

And I just cannot accept that.

Why did this have to happen?

I think that the author was really struggling with the ending of this book. I’ve said before how much of a corner she wrote herself into with such an invincible villain. I think she came up with the strawberry idea as a solution to this problem. But as she was writing it, the characters kept fighting her. It was not a natural solution, not a decision the characters—as they were established—would ever make.

So concessions had to be made to force the issue. Established traits had to be bent slightly to make this plot work. The farther she went, the worse it got. The concessions piled up and turned into contrivances. Eventually the characters were no longer acting like themselves. Their bonds got stretched too far and some snapped. It’s a very tragic pitfall that occurs with long-running series.

I think Sutherland must have also been tired. Writing an entire book is a monumental task, and writing 6 connected ones even moreso. She also comes out with these things really quickly. Maybe she was burnt out? Maybe she wanted to be done and her attention lapsed. Maybe that’s why she forgot that Moon knew about the disemboweling. It seems reasonable to believe when you consider that the next story arc would make a relatively clean break from the problems of this arc, especially with regards to the magic system.

But I don’t know what ultimately happened, so I can only speculate. I reiterate, I bear no ill will against Sutherland for writing this. Even if I kind of hate everything about this finale, and very vocally wish it would be different, I don’t want this examination to generate (or reawaken) any hatred towards her, or to attack her personally. I understand the pain of an artist who gets trapped with something for too long and has to find the means, any means, to see it through to the end. I criticize the story, but I could never hate anyone for that.

But for me, I do not consider this half of the book as part of the story. The characters act too unnaturally for it to have happened. So to me, it didn’t. We don’t know what happened, maybe Darkstalker is still out there. Maybe they dealt with him. Maybe what actually happened is my crappy and self-indulgent rewrite of the ending which I will never show to anyone because it would be really embarrassing.

But whatever actually ended up happening, I am sure Winter never ended up at that cliff, pondering how worthless and meaningless his life was. He is currently at Jade Mountain, surrounded by friends who love him, and bickering with Qibli about the correct solution to their advanced calculus assignment that is due tomorrow.

Is there anything left to say?

Probably.

I didn’t talk about Anemone yet. You know, in the epilogue she enchants herself a bracelet that makes her “not be so mean all the time”. I find that creepy. To me it reads as Anemone voluntarily brainwashing herself with magic to erase her negative traits instead of growing past them naturally because she finds them undesirable and wants to work to change for the better. I would ordinarily assume that this is an overreaction on my part, and I’m just reading the scene wrong. But no, we just got through a part where the heroes brainwashing someone is treated as an unequivocal good and worthy of celebration, so I think my reading may actually be spot on. Why are we letting the little kid alter her own brain without supervision? Hello? Tsunami? Someone intervene maybe? This cannot be healthy.

Turtle stands out to me as the one bright spot in all of this. He (and Peril, but she’s mostly out of focus) remain as the only main characters of this arc who don’t have any mind-boggling out-of-character moments or sudden streaks of uncharacteristic callousness. I really like the part where Qibli goes to free Turtle from his captivity and plans to give him an earful about the comically unhelpful messages he’s been sending him. But when Turtle asks if what he did was helpful, Qibli sees how beaten down and exhausted Turtle is, and wordlessly drops his frustration to tell him “Yeah, they were helpful.” That is the true Qibli shining through for a moment, showing that he cares about the well-being of his friends.

Do I hate the pairing of Qibli/Moonwatcher? No. Well, I DO hate how it happened in the book, and how the story tried to assassinate Winter’s character to resolve the love triangle and make it happen. I don’t hate it on principle though. If you are a fan of Qibli/Moonwatcher and want to write fanfics about it, please do! I absolutely encourage you to do that! Maybe you can fix this mess and turn it into something that’s actually properly handled!

Mightyclaws keeps the power that Darkstalker granted him past the finale. That means all the spells that Darkstalker cast are technically still active. Does that mean the Icewings have to wear earrings for the rest of their lives? Do they get sick again if they take them off? Is Peril forever cursed to think of Darkstalker as a cool old uncle and has to somehow reconcile how everyone else thinks of him? How did the Nightwings relinquishing their powers work, do they have to wear the earrings forever too now?

And there is one more thing to mention.

My confession

You may have already intuited this, if you’ve been following the content of my blog. It is very heavily skewed towards the first and second arcs of the series. I would now like to confess something.

When I read the second half of book 10, I found it so disillusioning, Winter’s fate so upsetting... that I put down the series then and there. And I haven’t picked it back up since.

That’s right, I have not read arc 3. I don’t know if that makes me a fake fan. I know pretty much everything that happens in it, the controversial twist at the end, Pyrrhia coming back into the story later, Snowfall getting brainwashed by a piece of jewelry until she cares about a plot that had nothing to do with her or the fate of the Icewings, etc..

It’s not out of malice, or because it’s a new continent. The opposite in fact; I would have greatly prefered a clean break with a new setting—Bug-themed dragons in a slightly more contemporary, developed environment sounds fascinating and full of potential. I don’t hate Pantala or the new characters.

I just... I can’t really do this again. I can’t handle the thought of Pyrrhia coming back post-Darkstalker, with Winter showing up and talking to these guys again like nothing happened, seeming like a different person, joking around with them like his entire character wasn’t dragged through a mountain of manure to make the plot bend a certain way. I think as long as this is the ending that the story is continuing from, seeing that would just make me miserable.

Maybe I will just stay in the parts of the story that I fell in love with. And imagine a version of reality in which Pantala is allowed to exist on its own, where Swordtail was the fourth POV character of arc 3, where Queen Wasp stayed the villain throughout, and Snowfall got her own legends book about how she reformed Icewing society and fixed all the shit that poisoned Winter’s life, so future generations don’t have to suffer through the same stuff he did.

~~~~~

If you’re still with me, thank you for reading this far. I think this is everything I ever thought about the finale of the second story arc, so now I never have to talk about it again. Writing this was difficult. I found it crushing at times. This will probably stand as the only overtly negative post I have ever made on this blog. I love Wings of Fire, and I want to celebrate it. To add to it, not tear it down.

I hope this wasn’t too boring, or painful, or frustrating, or soul-crushing to read through. I’ll see you later, hopefully with a more constructive post.

#wings of fire #dragon #wof #digital art #wof art #flawseer art #flawseer talk #flawseer reply #wof winter #long post #long winded

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phoenixyfriend · 3 days

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Weird Egg?

Okay so in theory, Obi-Wan was plausibly on Mandalore when Anakin was born, right?

(this is technically a variation on a few other fics and AUs I've seen, and I'll list the stuff that came to mind at the end.)

While on Mandalore, Obi-Wan finds An Egg while hiding in a cave with Satine. And he doesn't recognize it, and Satine doesn't recognize it, and even Qui-Gon doesn't recognize it.

Which makes it weird, at the very least, and probably rare. It's the size of his HEAD and even though there's no parent around, the egg is… warm, now? He didn't notice at first, but it's definitely producing at least some of its own heat.

So Obi-Wan brings the egg with him, which is a pain in the ass in terms of maneuvering, but they do seem to have better luck avoiding Death Watch than before, which uh. Given that the egg feels warmer when they're getting lucky, and seems to glow in the Force, they think might not be a coincidence. A lucky rock, except it's alive.

Mission ends. Obi-Wan plans to take the egg back to the temple for study in case they just discovered Something, and as he's saying goodbye to Satine… the egg Hatches.

It is a dragon.

The dragon can project words into Obi-Wan's mind. It's not quite capable of complex thoughts yet, but it's a he (probably), and has a name (Anakin!), and considers the person who's been carrying him and protecting him and keeping him warm for the past six months to be his mom!

Obi-Wan protests at this. Qui-Gon decides to make his life harder with the 'correction' that Obi-Wan would be a dad, not a mom.

So now Obi-Wan has a small dragon which will be growing to the size of a house, that imprinted on him and is following him home and calling him dad and insisting on sleeping in his bed

Idk if you've ever read Septimus Heap, but… the MC of that found a Fancy Rock, put it in his bag, carried it around for a YEAR because he kept forgetting to take it out of his bag, and then it hatched into a dragon. And I kept thinking about that the whole time I wrote this.

In Obi-Wan's defense, he does Have A Plan.

Until the dragon hatches, turns out to be a sapient as a toddler (with promise of growth), and calls him Dad.

And now the plan is gone.

He just wanted to bring a cool egg back to the Temple for study!

And now the Mandalorians are pulling out old books about whatever the fuck this is because these things APPARENTLY went extinct around the same time as the underwater dragon-adjacent thing that is the Mythosaur.

Obi-Wan learns that supposedly the eggs are inert until something with the Force interacts with it in a Purposeful Manner.

Which includes "probing it a little to see if whatever is inside is actually alive."

Anakin's a standard western dragon that can breathe fire because Flyte. Also this post.

Weeeee okay small text for the references I mentioned.

Obviously, first up is the Septimus Heap series by Angie Sage, specifically Magyk and Flyte.

The fic series I was thinking of initially that kind of jumpstarted the AU process was Boga Service Varactyl AU, but specifically Kenobi Kafé Service Animal Boga AU.

I've been seeing a couple of dragon shapeshifter AUs, including that post I linked earlier from @ahsoka-in-a-hood, @bubblew0lf1's dragon shapeshifter AU, and @squad-724's Dragon Jedi AU has been all over my dash for the past few days.

Stubborn to the Bones by @tideswept, which was part of what had me connecting the various dots of Obi-Wan Finding Animal Anakin on a mission, though our outcomes are admittedly very different lol. (Their fic is shippy, and mine is more decidedly gen/familial with a slight nod to Obitine.)

#star wars #dragons #dragon au #anakin skywalker #obi wan kenobi #qui gon jinn #satine kryze #animal au #references to:#septimus heap #phoenix talks

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kaleldobrev · 3 days

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Aren't You a Little Young? (4) — The 15 Year Problem Series

Pairing: MOC!Dean Winchester x F. Reader

Feat. Character(s): Reader & Dean Winchester

Series Summary: Needing help on a poltergeist case, you ask fellow hunter Sam Winchester for help. Despite having a broken arm, Sam agrees to help you. But, just as he’s about to head out and meet you, Dean tells him that he’ll take his place and help instead.

Chapter Word Count: 1.8k

Chapter Warnings: Cursing (2x), Age Gap (15 years), Sexual tension, Asshole Cop & Sassy!Reader

Authors Note: A prequel series to the Old Man Universe (OMU) on how Dean and reader met | Takes place a few days after Dean is cured from being a demon in 2016 (please read this post for reasonings why it’s 2016, not 2014) | A little bit of a shorter part | As always, thoughts are in italics and the "POV's" switch between Dean & Reader | If you liked this, don’t forget to like & reblog. I really appreciate it! Feedback is always welcome ♡

⋆ The 15 Year Problem Masterlist ⋆

⬸ Go Back & Read Chapter 3

The first night (well, night was a strong word, as when the pair of you ended up finally going to bed, it was close to sunrise) sharing a bed with the older Winchester brother wasn't as awkward as you expected it to be, but the entire time you were afraid to move a muscle, as you didn't want to accidentally roll over and spoon him. But you couldn't help but wonder what he would have done if you did that. What kind of excuse would you have come up with? Would he have believed you?

You kept your back toward him, and from your peripheral, you noticed that he also kept his back toward you. You wondered if he usually slept on his side, or just stuck to that way of sleep in order to give you as much sleeping space as possible.

When you woke, it was almost 9 in the morning; a lot later than when you usually woke when on a case, but you figured you must of needed the sleep because you got four hours instead of your usual two.

You reached out your hand at the empty spot next to you, and it was still slightly warm. You felt a slight sadness, hoping that Dean hadn't left you alone in the motel room. You hoped that he would have waited for you to get up before doing anything. Then again, you didn't completely know how the man operated.

The sound of shower going on made your heart skip a beat, and you felt weirdly giddy knowing that Dean hadn't left you alone in the motel. But as you heard the shower running, you could hear something else coming from the bathroom. Is he...humming? You questioned, and then you smiled, thinking how adorable it was that someone like Dean sung or hummed in the shower.

Rolling onto your back, you looked up at the ceiling for a moment, smiling at the situation. For the first time in a long time, you felt at peace; you were happy. But that happiness and smile quickly faded when reality started to sink in. Dean was not your boyfriend, and he was never going to be. Once this case was done and over with, you'd have to go back to your apartment to your actual boyfriend. A boyfriend who you were planning on breaking up with the moment you stepped past the threshold.

Dean was barely able to get any sleep because of you. Not because you were tossing and turning, but because of how close you were to him and there was absolutely nothing he could do about it. You were barely a foot away from him, and all he wanted to do was reach out and touch you; bringing you close to his chest and feel your skin against his. He wanted more than anything to just stroke your cheek and give you a forehead kiss. Maybe when the case was done and over with, he could somehow find an excuse to hug you at least.

He needed to stop with the fantasies of you and him together. It was never going to happen. You were never going to actively choose to be with him, or someone like him. Maybe if he wasn't a hunter, then maybe he would of had a chance with you. Then again, if he wasn't a hunter, maybe he would have never met you in the first place. That's when he started debating with himself about whether or not meeting you was the best thing to happen to him in a while or the worst thing to happen to him in a while.

Dean sighed, shutting off the water as he prepared himself to face you this morning. He was lucky when he woke up, because you were still sound asleep next to him. You were completely curled up, and you looked so peaceful.

The ride to the police station was quick, yet painful, as he was in another confined space with you. Your perfume or whatever you wore that smelt citrusy and woodsy at the same time kept hitting his nose throughout the drive. At one point, he held his breath so he couldn't smell you, because you smelt absolutely intoxicating to him. The urge to pull over and kiss you kept hitting him.

But that was not the only part of the drive that was torture for him. During the drive, you sang along to whatever music he had playing: Zeppelin, AC/DC, Johnny Cash, you name it. You knew every single word to every single song that he played. Did Sam put you up to this somehow to make him feel better after months and months of being a demon? He shook that thought quickly out of his head, as you being a siren made the most sense to him. Then again, Sam did like to fuck with him sometimes...

Out of nowhere, you turned to him, a soft smile on your lips. "So, I was thinking, after we go talk to some of the cops and hopefully get some files at the station, we go back to that diner and actually have a sit down meal together?" You asked. The question you asked him was so innocent, but yet, he sensed a slight romantic intention behind it. Were you flirting with him? No, you couldn't have. You were dating someone and you were 15 years younger than him; there was no chance that you were. But in order to survive, he needed to say no, as much as he wanted to say yes.

"Sure," he said, and mentally cursed at himself.

"Awesome," you said, keeping that same soft smile on your lips. You turned back to the window and looked out, resting your chin on your hand as you continued to quietly hum to Deep Purple.

"Hi, I'm Special Agent Shaw, and this is my partner Special Agent Hanniger. We're here in regard to the three murder victims you've had in the last month," you stated, both you and Dean flashing your respective badges.

The officer looked at you and Dean a few times, before a confused look formed on his face. "Aren't you a little young looking to be a federal agent ma'am? You look to be jailbait to me," he said, half chuckling to himself.

All you wanted to do was roll your eyes at this jailbait comment, and reprimand him to making such a comment, but you had to keep your composure. Unfortunately, this was not the first time you had heard such a comment, and it probably wouldn't be your last.

Out of your peripheral, you noticed that Dean was about to speak, but you quickly started talking, as you felt defending yourself would sound better coming from you, than him. "Why thank you Officer. I really appreciate that comment, because I can tell that my skin care routine is really doing wonders. But, just so you're aware, the minimum age to be a Special Agent is 23, and since I first applied when I was 23, and have been a Special Agent for the past five years, I am not what you call jailbait by any means. You can even ask my partner here, as he's been my partner all five of these years."

You flashed the officer a smile, the kind of smile you gave people to let them know that you were not going to be dealing with their bullshit. Silence fell between the three of you, and out of your peripheral, you could see Dean smirking, like he was impressed by you. "Whenever you're ready, we'd like to see those case files," you said.

"Um, right, right. Uh, this way Miss...I mean, Agent. Agent," the officer said, stumbling over his words, embarrassed by the confrontation that he probably wasn't expecting from someone like you.

Dean couldn't help but experience such an intense amount of joy in the way you spoke to the officer; as he couldn't have been more proud. There was a part of him that wanted to give you a pat on the back or give a thumbs up, followed by a 'that's my girl,' but he knew he couldn't do that. You weren't his girl; you weren't his anything.

“This is Special Agents Shaw and Hanniger,” the officer said, introducing you and Dean to the coroner. The officer looked at the two of you again. “Jones here can answer any questions you have,” he said, directing his comment to you and smiling.

“Thank you,” you said nodding, as the officer headed back up the stairs, leaving you, Dean, and the coroner alone in the basement.

“Special Agents?” Jones questioned, placing his pen down on his desk. “Why does the FBI have an interest in these cases? They’re pretty cut and dry.”

“If they’re so cut and dry, why haven’t you released a cause of death yet to the public?” You questioned.

The coroner sighed. “We’re trying not to worry the public by releasing the causes,” he explained. But you weren’t taking that as an answer, as you felt that there was a deeper reasoning behind it.

“Meaning?” Dean asked, joining the conversation.

“I’m assuming the both of you read my reports,” Jones said, eyeing the two of you. You did, but you weren’t sure if Dean had the chance to glance at them at all before he switched places with Sammy.

“Yes, but your files didn’t have a whole lot of detail to them,” you stated.

“Not much I can write when the cause of death is something that’s completely unnatural for the body to do,” Jones said. “How do you explain to three separate families, that their loved ones had all of their blood drained from their bodies with no forced entry, no signs of a struggle, and no markings to indicate where the blood was drained from? If you know, I’d love to hear it.”

“Can we see the bodies?” You asked, and the coroner shook his head. “No?”

“They’ve already been cremated,” he said, almost sounding disappointed.

“Already? It’s an open serial murder investigation and the last murder happened not even three days ago.” You found it strange that there was not even one body that you and Dean could examine for yourselves.

“Although we have no leads, we wanted to give the families closure,” Jones explained. “Or do you not believe in closure Agent Shaw?”

“I do. But I’m not sure how you expect us to help you, when we don’t even have a single body to look at to see if you missed anything.” You were starting to become frustrated, annoyed at the coroner, even though you knew he was just trying to do his job — even if it was a lousy one.

You took a deep breath, and Dean took that as his cue to continue the conversation. “Can you give us copies of the autopsies you performed?”

“Yes, I can make copies for you,” Jones said, getting up from his desk. “The witness statements as well?”

“We’ll take anything that’ll be useful in finding a possible lead,” Dean said, and Jones nodded, leaving the room so he could retrieve copies of the reports.

Once the coroner left, you turned to Dean, slightly sighing. “I could really go for a beer right about now. How about you?”

⤑ Move Forward & Read Chapter 5 (Not yet available)

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#dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x you #spn #supernatural #spn imagine #supernatural imagine #spn one shot #supernatural one shot #dean x you #dean x reader #female reader #reader insert #the 15 year problem

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the-ancient-dragons · 15 hours

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Meet the SwiftScales!

They're a Fantribe designed by myself and the wonderful @oh-dear-charlie (they exist solely because of her, so if you liked my first fanfic series you have her to thank!)

Details, explanation, and closeups below; otherwise, next week are the PineWings! See you then!

Fun fact: the SwiftScales came about because my friend and I mistook the "design a fan character" contest for book 10 for a "design a fan tribe" contest. We did this and one thing led to another and all of a sudden I was staring at a 100k Word doc...

I might do the proper WoF-style dragon guide description later, since I'm planning on redoing their base, so for now I'll just give you the quick basics:

Built for tight turns and deep dives, the grey-coloured SwiftScales are masters of both sea and sky. Hunting trips can last months long as they fly the seas in search for food. When they find a suitable shoal they join birds in diving for fish. They catch just about anything they can carry, from huge nets of mackerel to the largest tuna. Their sense of direction is never wrong, so no matter how far they stray from home they can always find their way back.

Home for SwiftScales used to be on Pyrrhia, before the Scorching, but they were driven out when neighbouring tribes wanted their territory. The SwiftScales, who spent more time out at sea than on the continent, didn't have any qualms leaving. They landed on a new continent on the other side of the world. They named it 'Ventus' after the frigid winds that never seemed to stop blowing.

They stayed there undetected for five thousand years (I was great at planning when I was 14) until... well, I could explain, but then we'd be here forever. You can read the full 5-book story here, but that is completely optional. Like I said, I was 14 when I started writing this, so the quality isn't the best until maybe the third book.

That's enough off-topic. Like I said, I've got more life studies coming your way next week, with a fantribe called the PineWings. Perhaps you remember a certain Hemlock? >:)

#wings of fire #wof #wof fantribe #wings of fire fantribe #art #digital art #wof art #my art #wof fanart #fanfic #Ventus AU #The Five Dragons #SwiftScale

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prettygirl-gabi · 2 days

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Partners-In-Crime

---

Rating: General Audiences

Warning: angst (like very substantial amount), fluff, happy ending

Category:F/M

Fandom: Seventeen (SVT), boyband

Relationships: !idol Mingyu x !idol f reader

Summary: In a whirlwind of fake dating to avoid breached contract lawsuit, Mingyu and Y/n navigate growing feelings, blurring lines between pretend and real.

Trope: Fake dating

---

Hiiiii everyone who is reading! Welcome to the ninth installment of my new mini series called "Oi! Not this again!" They do not have to be read together or in order! I hope you all enjoy!

I never really thought I’d find myself in this situation: fake dating one of the hottest idols in South Korea. Yet, here I am, sipping an iced caramel macchiato in a corner cafe, pretending that being next to Mingyu from SEVENTEEN is the most natural thing in the world. In reality, my heart is racing, and not in the good way.

“Y/N, could you, like, pretend to be happy?” Mingyu whispers through a tight smile, his voice barely audible over the ambient music and chatty customers. His dark eyes flicker with a mix of annoyance and desperation.

“I am happy,” I snap quietly, struggling to adjust the fake smile plastered on my face. “Well, as happy as I can be, considering I’m fake dating you.”

A little louder than intended, I notice a few heads turn our way. I can feel the pressure mounting. We’re supposed to be the doting couple everyone envies, yet the tension between us is thicker than the whipped cream on my drink.

His fingers drum impatiently on the table, the dull thud echoing my pounding heart. “This was your idea, remember? To throw off the media frenzy surrounding both of us.”

Sure, using the classic “fake dating” trope to divert media attention seemed brilliant in theory. We both had enough scandals and rumors hovering around us to last a lifetime. Pairing up would squash at least half of them.

Mingyu suddenly leans in, looking intently at the menu stuck between the salt and pepper shakers, but I know he isn’t paying attention to the array of overpriced sandwiches. “Y/N, if we don’t pull this off, Dispatch is going to have a field day. Again.”

I sigh, slumping back in my chair. “I know, I get it. But couldn’t we have found another way?”

He opens his mouth to argue but instead, a genuine laugh escapes his lips. “Like what? Publicly announce we’re focusing on our careers and ask for privacy?” The sarcasm in his voice isn’t lost on me.

“Okay, fair point.” I roll my eyes but can’t help a small smile. “So what’s the plan now, Mr. Perfect?”

His grip tightens on the table edge before he looks up with a smirk. “We’ve got a photoshoot tomorrow morning for a ‘couple’ branding campaign. We just need to act like we’re head-over-heels for each other, got it?”

I groan inwardly. Nothing like forced intimacy to kickstart a beautiful, fake relationship. “This is going to be a disaster.”

“Only if you make it one,” he teases, his smirk widening. He leans back in his chair, crossing his arms smugly. “Or maybe you’re just afraid you’ll actually fall for my irresistible charm?”

I snort. “Keep dreaming, pretty boy.”

The next morning arrives faster than I’d like. The cosmetics studio is buzzing with activity. Staff members rush around, juggling makeup palettes and camera equipment, their energy palpable.

“Y/N! Mingyu! Over here!” the director waves us over to a pristine white set, where we’re expected to coo and swoon

“Showtime,” Mingyu whispers in my ear. His peppermint breath sends an involuntary shiver down my spine. This fake boyfriend thing is harder than it looks.

I force a smile, slipping my fingers through his as we pose for the cameras. Each flash feels like a dagger, reminding me this isn’t real. But for the sake of our careers, we plaster on the affection.

“Y/N, could you look at Mingyu like he’s the best thing that ever happened to you?” the photographer instructs, eyes focused behind the lens.

Like he’s the best thing that ever happened to me? Easy. I turn, my gaze softening as if on cue. As much as Mingyu frustrates me, he’s also been my confidant and partner-in-crime through this chaotic idol life. Maybe this won’t be so hard after all.

Mingyu meets my eyes, his expression unexpectedly tender. The lines of his face soften, making the acting feel less like an act.

We’re mid-pose when Mingyu decides to speak. “You know, you’re not as bad at this as I thought you’d be,” he says, his voice just loud enough for me to hear.

I raise an eyebrow, still maintaining my “loving” gaze for the photographer. "What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Oh, nothing. Just that maybe we should fake date more often. You’re adorable when you’re pretending.”

I falter, the smile slipping slightly. “Watch it, Mingyu.”

The hours pass and the shoot finally wraps. We receive a round of applause for our “chemistry,” and Mingyu pulls me into a side hug, his hand resting on my shoulder. Pretending becomes so much easier with each click of the camera.

“Good job today,” he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper, tinged with genuine warmth.

For a moment, I almost forget we’re pretending. Almost.

“We pulled it off, didn’t we?” I muse, pressing my temple against his arm briefly before pulling away.

“Yeah,” he admits, his eyes locking onto mine. “We make a pretty good team, Y/N.”

Something in his gaze makes my heart stutter. It feels like he’s trying to say more, like he’s testing unfamiliar waters.

“Yeah, well don’t get used to it. This is still a temporary arrangement.” I remind myself more than him, with a fleeting half-smile.

Weeks roll by, and the line between fiction and reality starts to blur. Mingyu and I are inseparable, seen at award shows, interviews, seen leaving our "shared" house, and even the occasional late-night ramen shop. The media loves us. Fans dub us “the power couple of the decade.”

One evening, as we rehearse a choreographed routine for an upcoming awards show performance, the tension boils over. Mingyu’s patience breaks first.

“Y/N, you’re a step behind!” he snaps, frustration evident as he stops mid-spin. “We’ve done this a thousand times, what’s going on with you?”

Anger flares in my chest. “I’m sorry if I'm not perfect like you, okay?”

He throws his hands up in exasperation. “It’s not about being perfect, it’s about working together!”

“You think I don’t know that?!” I shout back, breathless. “This whole thing...it's draining, Mingyu. Maybe fake dating wasn't the best idea after all. Maybe…”

“Maybe what?” he challenges, stepping closer. “Maybe we should just end it? Announce it was all a prank?”

The space between us crackles with unspoken words, and I take a small step back, my chest heaving. “Maybe.”

His eyes search mine, the anger simmering into something else entirely—something raw and real. “And what if I don’t want it to end?”

Time stands still as his words hang in the air. The intensity in his gaze makes my heart race for an entirely different reason.

“What exactly are you saying?” I finally ask, needing clarity even if it feels terrifying.

He takes a deep breath, before lifting my head with his thumb on my chin and two under. “I’m saying...I don’t think this was ever just fake for me. And I don’t want it to be.”

My breath catches. Neither of us moves. The air feels charged and heavy with possibility.

“Me neither,” I admit, my voice barely a whisper, finally understanding the depth of my feelings.

A slow, almost relieved smile spreads across his face, and he reaches for my hand, linking our fingers together much like the first time we “acted” in love. Only now, it feels unforced, genuine.

The journey to real from fake has been messy, fraught with disagreements and tension, but standing here, looking into his eyes, I realize it was worth every moment.

“Looks like we’ve got a new script to follow,” Mingyu murmurs, his thumb caressing the back of my hand.

I smile, leaning into the comforting warmth of his presence. “Yeah, and this time, we don’t have to pretend.”

■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■

‐Thank You For Reading!🩵🩶

-prettygirl-Gabi✨️🎀

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imfoive · 2 days

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The Youngest Son - Chapter 10 | END

Minho x Reader (fem.) Genre: non-idol au!, Suspense, Angst, Romance, Mature Warnings: tw-descriptions of car accident, mentions of blood, cursing, attempted m*urder, implied death, somewhat proofread WC: 6.8k A/N: I literally can't believe this series has finally come to an end. I had such fun creating this word, the characters and the story. I truly hope everyone who read this, enjoyed it as much as I liked writing it! Feedback is always welcome, enjoy! ── MASTERLIST

Synopsis: The youngest son of the Lee family was stubborn, he was arrogant, he was conniving. Hiding it all behind the mask of a calm and collected man, the youngest son was a master at mind games. Playing a dangerous game where trust is a luxury and betrayal lurks around every corner. He had sworn once, to not let family ties or any feelings hold him back. Yet, against all odds, she had him completely wrapped around her fingers, and he had no desire to break free.

Missed a chapter? - Chapter 1 / Chapter 2 / Chapter 3 / Chapter 4 / Chapter 5 / Chapter 6 / Chapter 7 / Chapter 8 / Chapter 9

CHAPTER 10 ───────────────────

The youngest son had never known what a life of normalcy would look like. Not having to double, triple-think about what to say, what to do. Not having to distinguish what those expression on the faces of his so-called family members meant, were not things Minho had ever thought about.

The youngest son had always lived with his eyes peeled open. His gaze sharp, his actions calculated.

His heart, guarded.

The chairman’s lessons were engraved in his mind. Love has no place in business. Love was distracting, it hinders one’s ability to think with a sound mind, unbiased. A conniving businessman didn’t need those useless emotions.

The youngest son didn’t know what love was, he had never cared to find out. Yet he found himself already drowning in it even before he could realize.

Lee Minho had started to dream of normalcy.

The night he kissed Y/N the first time.

Perhaps even back when he drank that salt-laced water.

The loud bass of the music, bounced off his ear drums, vibrating the very ground he stood on. The vibrant colors, bright against the dark of the club.

His eyes scanned for just a few moments before he was drawn to her figure. Like a moth to a flame, hypnotized by her. He stood rooted to his spot, unable to look away, no matter how much his mind told him to leave. He was stuck.

Like an insect in a spider web. One she had intricately woven around him as she broke down his walls.

And deep down he knew he had no intentions of trying to break free.

The birthday girl swayed to the music, eyes shut, serene almost in the chaos of the club around her.

He inhaled sharply.

Minho didn’t plan on showing up. God, he should have just turned off the light and went to sleep that night. Yet when he had caught a glimpse of Y/N in that photo, uploaded by some other person amongst her group of friends, his breath hitched. Eyes scanned over her. Her smile, her figure, her dress.

He found himself moving on his own.

He found himself at the club, trailing behind her as she staggered her way off the dance floor, eyes searching for friends who she failed to recognize amongst the crowd in her drunken haze. Her words were jumbled, yet fingers easily clawed at whatever shot of alcohol was handed to her.

Minho’s body moved on it’s own.

The alcohol burned down his throat. A silent hiss escaped his lips as he slammed the glass down. Staring at her big eyes that glared at him.

Some accusatory words were exchanged, he couldn’t even recall it anymore, his mind had been fixated on the fact that her lips had engulfed his ones. On the kiss, the hot and wet kiss, that had sent alarms ringing through his head.

He should have never held her. Should’ve never allowed his fingers to cup her jaw, returning the kiss almost instantly, desperately.

He shouldn’t have allowed her to tie him in her web. Shouldn’t have loved her.

Minho shouldn’t have dreamt of normalcy.

───────────────────────

There was a chill in the air, the night enveloping the chaos that had occurred in its darkness.

Minho’s car a few feet away, slammed against the guardrail.

The larger, white car that had hit it stood alone in it’s own scrappy mess.

Lee Joohyeon’s senses were reeling as he gasped against the deflated airbag, the suffocating smell of smoke and the taste of his own blood made him groan. Made him nauseous, his head spinning.

His glasses lens was shattered, the frame digging uncomfortably into his temple. His neck throbbed painfully, and every movement sent sharp reminders of the impact coursing through his body. A constant hissing noise hitting his ears.

Slowly, he peeled himself away from the airbag, his hands trembling from pain, and aftershock as he gripped the wheel.

Reality crashed down on him with brutal force almost instantly.

He had caused this.

The realization made his stomach churn, his breath hitch. Joohyeon leaned back into the seat, staring through the wrecked windshield, shards of glass casting shattered patterns across his view.

The chaos around him was surreal, aftermath of his violent collision. His car was a twisted mess, the front of it crumpled and the engine smoking.

He was lucky to even be alive. Lucky to have seemingly minimal injuries.

But even before he could take a sigh of relief, he stared mortified at the other car.

The sight of Minho’s car.

The younger brother’s totaled vehicle, sent a fresh wave of horror through him.

Joohyeon’s eyes traced the damage, a new fear tightening in his chest. He had struck Minho’s car with almost full force, driven by a storm of emotions that had instantly disappeared as he looked at this scene.

Was it truly worth it?

The words of his grandfather, Park Hyunmin, echoed in his head. Their words of dismissal, of being deemed unworthy compared to his favored brother, Minho.

Lee Minho was capable.

Lee Minho was worthy.

Lee Minho deserved to become the next leader.

They had called him useless, not worth their time, while Minho basked in their praise and expectations. Raising in ranks, falling in love.

Being happy.

Anger had simmered beneath Joohyeon’s surface for years, fueled by resentment and the constant feeling of being overshadowed. Things he had suppressed in attempts to keep his facade as a capable son.

But today, something snapped.

He hadn’t planned this. No. It was just a mere coincidence.

Truly. The older man’s actions were not premeditated.

A wrong-place-at-the-wrong-time kind of situation.

But perhaps this was exactly the right opportunity for Lee Joohyeon. To soothe the anger that coursed through him.

When he had spotted Minho’s car on the road, triple checking the license plate, the make and model, a sudden surge of fury had consumed him. A fury that drove his actions without conscious thought.

He remembered the moment vividly.

The white-hot rage that had coursed through him as he stomped on the accelerator. In that brief, reckless instant, nothing else had mattered but the desire to lash out, to take a revenge he didn’t know he wanted. Nothing else had mattered when he was determined to hit the car. But now, all that was left was fear. Only one thought repeating in his mind over and over again.

That he was absolutely fucked.

Slowly, the second grandson gathered his senses, his trembling hands tracing the cracked frame of his glasses. Struggling against the pain, Joohyeon managed to pry open the door that rattled at the slightest touch, wincing as he stumbled out onto the pavement. He leaned heavily on his shredded vehicle, his breath catching in his throat as he limped towards the crumpled remains of Minho’s car, praying that he hadn’t actually ended up killing him.

As he drew closer, he realized Minho’s car was much more of a wreck up close, its passenger side a mangled mess. His wide eyes scanned, peering inside.

He froze.

There, amidst the shattered glass and twisted metal, lay Y/N Park. Her serene stillness and the stark contrast of her blood against her once-white dress, blood running down her face, sent a chill down Joohyeon’s spine.

He suddenly wished he did kill Minho.

Joohyeon staggered back, his mind reeling with disbelief and horror. He swallowed hard, tears mixing with the blood on his face, panic setting in. The ringing in his ears drowned out the distant sirens approaching the scene. He was still in pain, but he knew that he should just consider himself dead now. There was no way Park Hyunmin would let him out of this alive.

So the second grandson of the Lee family, did what he does best after creating a mess.

He ran away.

But of course he doesn’t think about the cameras, the witnesses that watched him do so.

Because after all, he wasn’t worthy of leading anyone, forget L Corporation. A dimwit indeed.

The news of Lee Joohyeon’s reckless actions and the tragic aftermath of the car accident spread swiftly through the media, overshadowing what should have been a joyous occasion celebrating the civil marriage of the youngest Lee son and the Park heiress, which had barely been announced before tragedy struck.

Breaking News.

This just in.

What should have been a happy day for the couple.

Brother attacks brother.

The headlines flashed across screens, capturing the attention of viewers nationwide. Among them, Chairman Lee stared at the broadcast, his face drained of color, eyes wide with shock and disbelief. The reporters at the scene of the accident were mere feet away from the twisted wreckage, their voices somber as they described the scene.

Secretary Cha entered the room hastily, but his steps faltered when he saw the stunned expression on Chairman Lee’s face. He approached cautiously, concern etched on his features as he realized the impact of the news on his superior.

Chairman Lee could feel it again. That pain in his chest. But this time, the pain struck him suddenly and fiercely, stealing his breath. He groaned in agony, the pressure in his chest unbearable.

“Chairman!” Secretary Cha exclaims, holding onto him before he collapses.

Amidst the chaos, another alert flashed across screens.

Breaking News: Chairman Lee of L Corporation has a heart attack.

Then there was Park Hyunmin.

Y/N’s father was beyond pissed. The kind of fury that could only be extinguished by seeing Lee Joohyeon pay for whatever chaos he had left behind in his recklessness.

Just this morning the father had seen his daughter, giddy and glowing. Radiant. She had hugged her mother, dressed up more than usual. Exclaiming she had a surprise for them, one she would bring home that same night. An inkling that it had something to do with Minho.

Yet the only surprise he received was a phone call. The kind no parent wanted to get.

He stormed through the house security and kicked down the doors of the Lee Residence, wielding a katana.

Inside, the remaining members of the Lee family were gathered in the living room, visibly shaken by the day’s events. The Chairman’s two older sons had rushed him to the hospital, while Jihoon sat among the women, who were in hysterics over the family’s misfortunes.

“Where the fuck is Lee Joohyeon?!” Park Hyunmin roared, his fury unmistakable, seethed through clenched teeth.

Joohyeon’s mother rushed to him, her voice trembling with desperation.

“I’m so sorry Director Park, my son has done something so terrible. He didn’t mean to hurt Y/N. Please. Please forgive him.” She pleaded, tears streaming down her face.

Park Hyunmin shot her an angry glare.

“Even if he didn’t mean to hurt Y/N, his original plan was to harm Minho. My son-in-law. He’s had it out for him—even going as far as airing out his illegitimacy!” He spat, his voice laced with venom.

His words took the members of the Lee family and Minho’s so-called mother off guard, bewildered. Unaware of exactly what kind of misdeeds her competent son had been stacking behind their backs.

Now, with a sword in hand, Y/N’s father was searching for the man he had treated with kindness only hours earlier. Even going as far as pretending his nonsensical babble over their brief encounter, was nothing but drunken words.

“I don’t care if I get arrested. Only god can save that son of yours. Because if I see him.” He warned, leaning in, his voice dropping to a menacing whisper.

“I will end him.”

It wasn’t a threat. It was a promise.

───────────────────────

Minho’s eyes snapped open, his chest rising and falling rapidly, breath coming out in ragged exhales as he adjusted to the blinding hospital lights. The sterile smell of the hospital overwhelmed his senses, as his eyes darted over the pale ceiling, trying to figure out exactly where he was.

And almost instantly his thoughts were consumed by Y/N. The image of his bride, who had smiled so brightly at him, the image of her bloody figure slumped limply at just an arms length away, came surging back to him.

But now Minho was alone. In the room that smelled heavy of antiseptic and the loud, sharp ringing of machines. He was alone and his new wife was nowhere to be seen.

The youngest son grimaced as his hands attempted to push himself up, wincing in pain at the sharp sting he felt on his left arm, realizing it was in a cast. Struggling, he still managed to sit up, another surge of pain shot through him, making him groan.

His body was a patchwork of bandages, perhaps even cuts and bruises he hadn’t gotten a chance of looking at, the cast on his hand felt heavy. But not heavier than that anxious feeling weighing in his heart.

He glanced around at the emptiness of the room he was in a daze, confused, panicked.

The door slid open, Secretary Kim, who Minho hadn’t seen since the day he found out about his mother, entered the room. Upon seeing him awake, the younger man rushed in, his face etched with a mixture of relief and distress.

“Sir!” Yongguk exclaimed, hurrying to Minho’s side.

Minho attempted to rise, a sudden rush in his actions. But his legs felt weak, and he nearly toppled over before Yongguk steadied him. Minho’s eyes, filled with a desperate and pained intensity, searched for answers. Fingers clawing at the fabric of Yongguk’s jacket.

“W-where’s Y/N?” Minho’s voice cracked as he barely managed to whisper, the horrifying image of her bloodied form haunting him.

Yongguk hesitated, his face falling as he braced himself to deliver the crushing news. “Miss Park… she’s—”

“She’s what!?” Minho’s voice was a raw, desperate plea as he gripped Yongguk’s jacket with a tighter grip, his tears spilling over.

“She hasn’t regained consciousness.” Yongguk said softly. “The impact of the accident was on the passenger side. She sustained critical injuries. Miss Park has been unconscious since the accident.”

The weight of the words crashed over Minho like a tidal wave. He slowly sank back onto the bed, his face a mask of pain. After a long silence, he wiped away his tears, his gaze piercing as he looked up at Secretary Kim.

“Who did this?” Minho’s voice was barely more than a whisper, quivering with dread.

Minho knew.

His mind raced, fearing that this was no mere accident. His grandfather? Because he decided to leave? Or Jungshin? Getting revenge on him for the overseas slush funds? Perhaps even his uncle?

“Lee Joohyeon.” Secretary Kim’s voice was grim.

Minho was surprised.

No.

He didn’t see this coming. He thought he didn’t ever have to worry about that idiot. Thought he took care of him, sending him away with his tail between his legs. But now the only person that Minho cared about was hanging between life and death because of him.

“He had fled the scene.” Yongguk continued, his voice heavy with frustration.

“The authorities are trying to track him down, but he’s vanished.”

Minho’s hands clenched the bed sheets with white-knuckled fury, his eyes burning with a dangerous intensity.

“Release the CCTV footage from the yacht.” The superior ordered, his voice a low, dangerous growl.

“I want Joohyeon found. I’ll kill him myself.”

Yongguk swallowed. His form rigid as he took in the sight of his superior’s cold expression. He nodded, suddenly understanding the gravity of Minho’s command. Understanding the “risky” tasks he had been warned about.

“I’ll take care of it, sir.” He found himself stating.

A sudden silence ensued. The secretary wondering if he should bring it up or not.

“There’s more.” Yongguk added, hesitating.

“The Chairman had a heart attack after hearing the news.”

The chairman’s youngest son stared at nothingness as he processed the additional news. For a moment there was an unreadable emotion in his eyes before his gaze darkened.

“That old man won’t die. He’s as stubborn as they come.”

Minho was right.

The Chairman wouldn’t die so easily.

As if Minho’s recovery was his medicine. Chairman Lee’s resilience was remarkable. Despite the heart attack, the news of Minho’s waking up, mostly fine and alive, seemed to invigorate him anew.

The old man sat in his hospital bed, reading the news. He was angry, but after Secretary Cha came in with the news that Minho had woken up, the father felt fine, as if his heart was healed.

Though it was a pity that Y/N Park was still in such a critical condition. As long as Minho was okay, it was solace enough for the greedy Chairman.

“Secretary Cha.” Chairman Lee’s voice, though weakened, was still cold, authoritative.

“Has Joohyeon been found yet?”

“Not yet, sir. He’s injured, so he can’t stay hidden for long.”

“Find him.” Chairman Lee ordered, his voice carrying sharply.

“Yes, sir.” The secretary responded promptly.

“Find him and deal with him.”

Secretary Cha blinked, a little taken aback. Even after working over thirty years for the Chairman, it was a first that the superior had ordered him to harm his own blood. But Lee Joohyeon had already been on thin ice because of his hand in Jae’s demise.

“I will not tolerate anyone who harms my family.” Chairman Lee declared, his voice unwavering.

“Especially someone who attempted to kill my son.”

The Chairman’s words were cold. As if the man in question wasn’t his grandson. But some scum that was a threat to their lives.

The scum, Lee Joohyeon was painfully aware. Of course Joohyeon knew.

Fully aware of the gravity of his situation, Minho’s awakening and the Chairman’s recovery had sealed his fate.

Oh, the things Minho had probably planned to do to him. The older “brother” knew what the youngest was capable of.

Chairman Lee had recovered and most definately would bury him alive.

Even Park Hyunmin wanted his head.

Lee Joohyeon had managed to anger three people that were capable of demolishing him. The threats against him were overwhelming.

He was better off in Japan. Exiled.

The second grandson made a fateful decision. A decision driven by fear. By his lack of choices, cornered.

Probably the best one in his pathetic life.

Wounded and desperate, he limped into the police station. He would rather surrender, than live with the relentless fear of being hunted down by his enemies.

At least he had some sense in him.

───────────────────────

Minho gazed at his new bride, a sight that shattered him every time.

She wasn’t in the beautiful white dress she had chosen just for him. Instead, she lay in this hospital bed, littered in cuts and bruises, stitches and castings. An oxygen mask obscuring her face, while the relentless beeping of the heart rate monitor echoed in the oppressive silence.

Five agonizing days had passed, and still, Y/N hadn’t awakened.

The doctor’s words echoed in his mind. The longer she remained unconscious, the slimmer the chances of her waking up.

That thought terrified him more than he’d ever thought possible. He leaned closer to her bedside, taking her limp hand in his. Gently, he pressed his lips to her cold fingers, trying to hold back his tears. She looked so peaceful, almost serene in her stillness, a sight that only deepened the clench in his heart.

Still, an anger festered within him. Fueled by the knowledge that Lee Joohyeon had surrendered to the police while he sat here, helpless.

He should’ve found that man first. Should’ve taken Joohyeon’s life for snatching away Y/N’s radiant smile.

Minho should’ve protected her.

Another promise he failed at keeping.

The Chairman’s heart attack ignited an inheritance battle between his two sons, unaware that neither had even been favored by the old man.

The two sons sat down with the Chairman’s attorney, their greed barely masked by their feigned concern. They demanded the reading of the old man’s will. Even though he wasn’t even dead yet.

Those greedy bastards.

“I’ll just tell you myself.” A voice came from the doorway.

Mooyoung and Doyoung were surprised. Chairman Lee, seated in a wheelchair and pushed by Secretary Cha, entered the room. His expression contorted in annoyance and disdain.

“You ungrateful fools couldn’t even wait for me to actually die.” He spat, his disappointment palpable

“Father!” Mooyoung rushed to his side, his younger brother trailing behind.

“It’s not like that.” Mooyoung stammered, trying to salvage his dignity.

“We just wanted to take precautions.”

“Yes, brother is right.” Doyoung chimed by his side, attempting to justify their greed.

“Especially with everything that’s happened this week.” The brothers shared a glance.

The Chairman’s glare was unyielding, unconvinced. He looked past his sons to Attorney Goh, who stood by, waiting for instructions.

“Attorney Goh.” The Chairman started.

“Please, go ahead and tell them what I’ve decided. You have my permission.”

Although the lawyer didn’t have the document on him, he was familiar with its contents, especially after the numerous revisions. He had been relieved when he was told that the final draft was indeed final.

“Chairman Lee has decided to give seventy-percent of his assets and shares of L Corp. and all businesses tied to L Corporation, to Lee Minho.”

The old man watched the expressions on his two sons’ faces fall. The shock on Mooyoung and Doyoung’s faces was immediate and profound. Their expressions darkened with disbelief and resentment.

“Twenty percent will be divided between Lee Mooyoung and Lee Doyoung, with five percent allocated to Lee Jookshin, to her son, Chairman Lee’s great-grandson, five percent. Should something unfortunate happen to Lee Minho without an heir, the remaining assets will be sold, and the proceeds will be donated to charity.”

This new information shocked Mooyoung and Doyoung even more, hittling them like a sledgehammer. Anger flared in Mooyoung’s eyes as he turned to his father in his wheelchair.

“Father, how could you do that!?” Mooyoung’s voice trembled with fury.

Doyoung, though silent, was visibly seething. Falling into a silence as he began to ponder.

“You built everything from the ground up. How can you just give it away to charity?” Mooyoung’s voice cracked with a mix of outrage and disbelief.

The Chairman’s eyes flared with anger. Already thinking about the what-ifs of Minho’s death.

“Someone in this family tried to kill Minho. How else am I supposed to protect him?” He demanded with a glare.

Lee Mooyoung’s brow furrowed deeper, his frustration evident in his expression. “Why do you need to protect that bastard?”

The venom in Mooyoung’s words only served to further enrage both his fake father and The Chairman, his real father.

“He’s my blood, Mooyoung.” the Chairman said with a chilling calmness.

The intensity of his gaze silenced Mooyoung, who took a step back, his anger turning to sullen defeat.

Lee Doyoung, however, was already plotting his next move.

“You’ve made a very wise decision, Father.” He said with a grin, clearly scheming about the potential shift in power, the change of ranks within the family.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself.” The Chairman said coldly.

“If you think you can continue to exploit Minho, you’re a fool. He’s no longer the boy you could keep pressed under your thumb.”

Secretary Cha began to wheel the Chairman towards his bedroom.

“He surpassed you a long long time ago.” His words seemed final.

Of course, Lee Doyoung didn’t grasp the gravity of his father’s words. He was, indeed, a fool. A fool who had made his way to the hospital where Minho sat by his new bride’s side. The new husband still clung to Y/N’s unconscious hand.

The hospital door slid open with an intrusive screech, jolting Minho. His gaze shifted from Y/N’s still form to the entrance, where Doyoung’s imposing figure appeared.

“I knew I’d find you here.” The “father” declared, his eyes briefly flickering to Y/N before settling on Minho.

Yongguk ran closely behind, halting at the door and bowing deeply.

“I’m sorry, sir. I tried to stop him but—”

“It’s okay. You can go.” Minho interrupted, his voice firm.

Doyoung’s eyes narrowed in irritation as he watched Yongguk exit. “What kind of secretary did you keep, that disrespectful fool—”

“You’re the disrespectful fool.” Minho cut in, his tone icy and unyielding.

Lee Doyoung’s face twisted in disbelief. “How dare you speak to me like that!” He snapped, his anger bubbling over, suddenly recalling Chairman Lee’s words from earlier.

Minho was pissed. How much more shameless could he get?

“How dare you barge into my wife’s hospital room like this?” He said, his voice low, rage simmering beneath his calm exterior.

“Oh. You must have heard about the Chairman giving you seventy percent of the shares. That’s why you’re so cocky now, talking to your father so rudely?” Doyoung came to his own conclusions.

Minho’s eyes darkened further. And without warning, he shoved Doyoung against the door, the impact echoing through the room. He pinned Doyoung with his good arm, his face a mask of intense fury. The man under his grip stared back with bewilderment. A shock that made his face grow almost pale.

“I don’t care about the shares of L Corp., Lee Doyoung.” Minho said, his voice a chilling whisper.

Doyoung’s eyes widened with shock at the way Minho addressed him. The intensity of Minho’s words left him momentarily speechless.

“You’re not my father. You never were. The man you look up to so much, the one you’re so terrified of, set you up twenty-eight years ago and you didn’t even realize it.”

Doyoung’s anger surfaced on his face, shoving the injured man back.

“You ungrateful brat! The Lee family has taken care of you for all these years, and this is how you repay us?” He poked Minho’s chest, his voice dripping with venom.

Minho’s laughter was a bitter sound that filled the room, almost in disbelief.

“Take care? You must be joking.” He said, his laughter abruptly stopping as his expression hardened.

“The Lee family made a mess of itself. Don’t blame me. Rather, you should be grateful I had been there to clean up your messes. Or you would have fallen a long time ago.”

Doyoung’s realization that Minho was no longer a pawn but a force to be reckoned with was dawning on him. A realization he made after being humiliated. He suddenly understood, Minho would no longer be controlled, instead would be the one in command now.

“Son, listen—” Doyoung began, his voice trembling.

“I’m not your son, Lee Doyoung.” Minho cut him off coldly.

“And I don’t want to hear your rambling.”

Doyoung’s face paled with sudden anxiety as he looked up at Minho, who now seemed towering over him.

Minho leaned in, his breath hot against Doyoung’s ear.

“Make sure to tell that pathetic Joohyeon, that I was the one who sent those threatening texts.” He whispered, pulling back to watch Doyoung’s face contort with shock and horror.

Minho’s laughter, dark and menacing, filled the space as he opened the hospital room door and forcefully shoved Doyoung out. The door shut with a faint slam, and Minho closed his eyes, his jaw clenched in frustration.

It was one thing after another. The reporters wouldn’t stop calling him, Chairman Lee kept trying to contact him, the company couldn’t get anything done without him.

All he wanted was Y/N to be by his side.

Awake.

“Min...ho.” A soft, fragile voice called out.

His eyes flew open, and he turned to see Y/N slowly turning her head toward him. His heart leaped as he rushed to her side. She weakly tugged at the oxygen mask, removing it with trembling hands.

“Y/N!” Minho’s voice cracked with emotion, tears pricking in his eyes.

She tried to smile despite the pain, her tear-filled eyes meeting his as he held her hand to his lips, letting out a sob of relief.

“I thought I was going to lose you.” He whispered with his cries.

“You’re not getting rid of me that easily.” She murmured, tears mingling with her smile as she watched him break into a vulnerable chuckle, crying into their loose grasp of entangled fingers.

───────────────────────

The youngest son of the Lee family might have been on the lowest ranks when it came to the members of the family, but he was now the only one capable enough to run L Corporation.

Lee Minho was the only one left. Mooyoung and Doyoung guessed it correctly, their times of pushing around Minho had come to an end. They were forced to acknowledge Minho’s authority, bow down to someone decades younger than them.

Bow down to their younger brother. Though they never found that out.

The youngest son had been ready to leave behind the Lee family and L Corp. altogether. But after the accident, a realization dawned.

Without the power and influence that came with his role, he could not truly protect those he cherished.

Protect Y/N.

The Chairman had practically begged Minho to return. His declining health, suddenly made him desperate perhaps. He could not bear to watch L Corp. crumble because of the rotten sons he unfortunately fathered.

His company. His child.

Minho went back.

But of course it came with clauses.

There were going to be significant changes in the dynamics of the so-called family he grew up in. A revenge in its own.

A change that amused the youngest son plenty, unable to hide his sinister smile as he stared at the faces of all those who looked down at him. The disgust-laced gazes were suddenly filled with desperation. A look he enjoyed the sight of.

Lee Jihoon, who had always wanted to live his life away from the spotlight of the Lee family, was free to do so. He took that opportunity to leave for his next trip to South America. Last anyone had heard from him, he was road tripping through Brazil. Though he did keep in touch with Y/N from time to time.

Lee Jookshin didn’t interact much with anyone in the Lee family following her brother’s fall from grace. Her interactions became sparse, her presence a distant figure.

Lee Jungshin, tainted by the scandal of the slush-fund fiasco, chose to disappear after learning of the potential prison sentence for money laundering. He fled overseas, with his mother in tow.

As for Lee Joohyeon, his fate was sealed with the weight of multiple crimes. Convicted not only of attempted murder but also of manslaughter in Jae’s death years earlier, Joohyeon’s downfall came swiftly.

Prosecutors received an anonymous email with the yacht CCTV footage. Then a few days later, the chip containing Lee Jae’s car dashcam evidence showed up on the lead detective’s desk.

As if it all came with the wind.

Minho’s ascend to the presidency of L Corp. was solidified with the success of The Rose Garden Resort, a testament to his leadership and vision. His victories affirmed his place as a formidable figure in both business and the family.

Chairman Lee rejoiced, as if he had planned everything from the beginning.

Except he didn’t plan another heart attack.

This one however, kept him tied to the hospital bed for the next three years.

───────────────────────

Lee Minho walked into his new office, its grandeur evident in the bright white walls and gold-framed paintings. His fingers brushed over the crystal plaque bearing his name.

Chairman Lee Minho.

He paused, feeling the weight of his new title settle around him. Uncertainty and pride mingled within him. He did not know how to feel. He had once wanted this position. Only for the sole purpose to drive the company to the ground.

Yet, now that he was here, he found himself hesitating.

A knock on the glass door drew him from his thoughts. He turned to find Secretary Kim, greeting him.

“I’ve declined the invitation from the directors for a celebration as you requested.” Yongguk reported.

The new chairman nodded, looking out of the large window once again.

“There’s also a gala hosted by the Director of Yeom Arts tomorrow evening. I’ve arranged your schedule around it.” Yongguk continued.

Minho turned with a raised eyebrow. “Yeom Arts…Isn’t that where the Hwangs married into?” He tried to recall, to which his secretary nodded.

“Their second son Hwang Hyunjin married Director Yeom earlier this year.” Secretary Kim clarified.

Minho let out a nonchalant “hmm”, already lost interest.

“Madame Park has arrived and is waiting in the lobby.” The secretary continued.

The mention of Y/N brought a genuine smile to Minho’s face. The only one he wanted to celebrate with.

His family.

Heading to the lobby, Minho’s heart lightened at the sight of Y/N. Her presence already made him relax into a familiar comfort. She beamed as he approached, and Minho’s smile widened in return. Then his gaze flickered down to the approaching patters of small feet.

“Daddy!”

Minho instinctively crouched down to catch his two year old running towards him, into his arms. Her laughter erupted as he scooped her up, his grin wide.

“Did you miss me princess?” The father asked, his voice full of warmth.

Y/N approached the father-daughter duo, reaching over and gently brushed back the little girl’s hair.

“She got really excited when I told her we’re having dinner outside today.”

Minho laughed, holding his daughter close before reaching for Y/N’s hand.

“Let’s go.” He smiled softly.

There was a time the youngest son had doubted his capabilities as a father. But now, looking at the admiration in his daughter’s eyes as she played with his tie, made his heart swell.

Minho didn’t know what being a good father looked like. He had never seen a true example of one in his life.

The father figures, the fake, the real, had never embodied the qualities of a good father that Minho had glimpsed throughout his life of other children, of his siblings.

But he swore. To himself, to his then unborn child in the quiet of the night when Y/N had long drifted into her slumber.

He would be a good father. He would try to be a good father. He would do everything his fake father, his real father, hadn’t done.

Minho read the baby book. Studying it with such intensity that it felt like he might tear it apart.

Y/N would giggle, brushing back his hair as she pulled away the glasses that had been perched on his nose. A soft graze of her fingers that brought him out of his thoughts.

“Are you planning on getting a PhD on newborn babies?” She laughed, settling on the edge of his desk.

Minho shook his head, closing the book before staring at her with a new intensity. His eyes darted from her soft expression to her stomach. Deep in thought once again.

“Don’t be so nervous. We have plenty of time to prepare. I’m sure everything will be alright.” His wife’s words were reassuring, her smile unwavering.

He rolled his chair closer, sighing as he took her hand into his, attempting to thin his lips into a smile as he nodded.

But Minho was afraid. Still afraid that he wouldn’t be a good father. That he couldn’t be a good father. He was a mess of a man who was the outcome of a disastrous family line. An embarrassment he didn’t have the courage to even admit let alone bring up.

Minho knew he would be protective, just as he was with Y/N, the love of his life, the only person he truly cared for. He knew he would stand by his child’s side, watching over them and keeping them close. But he wasn’t sure if he could truly love them.

The youngest son had always claimed he didn’t know what love was. For a long time, he didn’t understand what it felt like to be loved. Not until Y/N had entered his life.

Even then, he didn’t know that the feeling clenching in his heart whenever she hurt herself, whenever someone spoke ill of her was protectiveness.

The sour taste in his mouth when hearing her name connected. To another’s, seeing her attached to someone else, was jealousy.

The overwhelming fear of losing her was, in fact, love. Nothing but love. Something he took too long to recognize, nearly losing her in the process.

But perhaps the cries were all he needed to hear.

The pure, innocent wails of a newborn that echoed, loud in his ears. A call to the world that she was finally here. A part of him, a part of Y/N. Evidence of the love he swore he didn’t know about.

And all his worries, his nervousness that he had bottled up during the months before she had arrived, melted in an instant. And the new father suddenly knew that he was going to be fine.

Lee Minho would make an excellent father, one that he had never known.

───────────────────────

Lee Minho was an excellent father. But he could never be a good son.

He would never be a good son. Both to the fake and the real.

The former Chairman had been bed bound ever since his second heart attack. The stillness of the hospital room was both suffocating, but serene.

Secretary Cha entered quietly. Like he did every day, a routine he had fallen into over the past three years. But this time he had a somber expression on his face.

The old man lay in bed, his movements slow and breaths labored, an oxygen mask over his nose.

“Did Minho refuse to visit again?” The old man asked in a raspy whisper.

Secretary Cha’s silence answered him. The former Chairman managed a small, knowing smile.

“Call him for me.” The old man requested, his voice strained.

Secretary Cha made the call. Minho didn’t pick up the first time, nor the second. By the fourth ring on the third attempt, his voice finally came through, cold and detached.

“Chairman Lee, your father wanted to see you. He wanted to congratulate you in person.”

Minho’s silence was followed by a laugh, harsh and dismissive.

“Tell the old man to stick to the deal we made. Don’t contact me for such trivial matters.”

The call ended abruptly. Secretary Cha looked at the former Chairman, who continued to gaze at the ceiling. A faint smile spread across the old man’s face.

“My son.” He murmured, his voice a mix of pride and resignation.

“He’s achieved what he set out to do... reach the very top.”

The old man coughed, turning his head to meet Secretary Cha’s sympathetic eyes.

“Perhaps it’s time for you to retire, Cha Wonshik.” Former Chairman Lee said softly.

Secretary Cha hesitated before nodding, his pity evident. “Go prepare for you granddaughter’s wedding.” The Chairman added weakly.

After a heavy silence and Secretary Cha’s hesitant exit, the room fell silent once more, the only sound the steady beep of the heart monitor.

The former Chairman stared up at the ceiling again, at the bright light and slowly whispered to himself.

“My youngest son…is stubborn, he is arrogant, he is conniving. But he’s always done a very good job hiding it all behind his mask. He’s a master at mind games.” He attempted to chuckle to himself.

His laughs morphed into labored coughs. Former Chairman Lee took a strained deep breath, and whispered once more.

“Lee Minho is…”

His voice trailed off into silence, the heart monitor’s beep stretching into an unending, haunting note.

Minho walked into the private dining room of the restaurant, his gaze softening as he saw Y/N and their daughter seated at the table. He placed his phone down and slid back into his seat.

Y/N looked up from her meal, her eyes curious.

“Who was that?” She eyed the phone he had discarded atop of the table.

Minho gave a reassuring smile, shaking his head.

“Not important—How’s the food?” He easily changed the subject.

Y/N had always been one to easily read Minho’s expressions, his body language. And although she was aware that it was more than just a “not important” phone call, that his shrug as he sat down was to shake off her worries, she just smiled in return, nodding as she took another bite.

Minho’s gaze shifted to their daughter, who was happily making a mess with her food. Pasta sauce smeared across her lips which made her father chuckle, his eyes creasing into crescent-moons. Y/N watched as her husband leaned over to gently brush back their daughter’s hair and wipe the mess from her face, his eyes filled with the same warmth and affection he showed when he was with Y/N.

She watched Minho with a tender smile.

Lingering.

And for a split second, her expression wavered.

Y/N’s smile faltered.

Just for a fleeting moment though.

A millisecond of uncertainty.

A millisecond of something else.

Her husband glanced back up at her, hand reaching over to caress hers. Minho smiled. The genuine ones she loved seeing on him, one that she returned with her own wide grin.

Lee Minho is… just like his father, isn’t he?

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ end.

── thanks for reading! - @minh0scat, @qwonyoung23, @tsunderelino, @thecutiepieme, @candyquokka

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frudoo · 17 hours

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Bells Ring (2)

Title: Bells Ring

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

Warnings: Mentions of self-harm (scratching), blood. One slap. Ewan is a warning of his own lmao.

MDNI

You’ve never succumbed to torture, but you can only imagine it hurts about as much as watching Ewan devour his overcooked steak without a care in the world, as if you haven’t just discovered that he has done the worst thing a spouse could do to you, his wife. It is pure agony being the only one to know of his affair. You’re not even sure if he’s noticed your lack of appetite or the pain in your expression. You’re not sure any of them have.

The prongs of your fork scrape against the fine china plate with a piercing screech, and three sets of curious eyes fall upon your flinching figure. You feel about as small as a junebug and just as inferior. The small grin you had seen on your husband’s face while he ate disappears when he looks at you, replaced by an annoyed downturn of his lips.

“Ye wuid be wise tae mind yer manners,” Ewan hisses, cold eyes narrowing at you before returning to the meal in front of him.

“My apologies, Your Highness,” you whisper, biting your lip to hold back the tears that threaten to spill from your red-tinged eyes.

“Wha’s gotten intae ye anywey?” Your husband questions, and you stiffen, the room suddenly suffocating, making you gasp for precious breath as your silverware drops onto the table with a clang.

“A-apologies, may I… I should like to cool down in my chambers,” you ramble, quickly standing from your chair and nearly tripping yourself in the process.

Ewan’s booming, irritated voice follows behind you as you rush through the halls, but you ignore him, desiring nothing more than to curl up beneath your duvet and cry your shriveled little heart out. Unfortunately you were not quick enough. Your husband slams his hand down on your shoulder and spins you so that you’re facing him, his dark eyebrows pinched together and pupils so shrunken you’d think he was about to berate a naughty dog. Perhaps that is how he sees you and precisely what he plans to do.

“Ye listen t’me,” you can feel the hot puffs of air escaping his nose like an irate dragon breathing fire, and fleetingly you wonder if the princesses locked up in those towers far, far away were not quite so miserable.

Despite his crystal clear demands, your mind does not process a single word your husband is saying, even as he presses your back against the wall and traps you in—funny, that very gesture used to make giddy heat blossom in your lower belly, and now it just makes your head pound with irritation and despair. You see his stubbled mouth moving and distantly recognize them as words you’re familiar with, but it’s as if no sound makes it to your ears.

“I read your letter,” you blurt out, causing Ewan to stop in the middle of his lecture.

A kaleidoscope of emotions twist in his oceanic eyes before settling on a devastating display of fear and rapidly heightening anger. Your husband scoffs, stepping back to cross his arms like a petulant child told they cannot open their Christmas present early. He’s utterly speechless, and perhaps you shouldn’t say anything more, but slippery words spill from your mouth before you can gather the sense to stop them on your tongue.

“I know it was not my place-”

“Ye’re reit, it wasnae yers tae-”

“Your Highness, please, just allow me to explain,” your bottom lip puckers as you reach out to place your hands on his chest, but he jerks away from your touch with a grimace. “I know it was not my place to read something of yours, but the fragrance on it was one I did not recognize. At first, I believed it may have been a relative of yours I was not made aware of, but that is not true, is it?”

Ewan’s gaze falls to the floor beneath his feet, but no effort to speak is made. His silence tugs at your heartstrings, and for once, it is not grief you feel but anger. Betrayal.

“Who is Coralie?” You question, pushing your foot between his to startle him into meeting your eyes once again. “As your wife, you owe me that.”

Still, no sound makes itself known from his traitorous lips, and it is enough to prove your suspicions as though the evidence had not already revealed itself to you. When you turn on your heels to continue the journey to your chambers, he does not dare follow you. There is no need to glance over your shoulder to know that he is still stood in place with that same dreadful expression on his face.

Your hands are shaking when you sit at the edge of your bed. Your nerves feel like they have been set ablaze, sharp pinpricks dancing across your skin viciously. Your senses are overwhelmed, your head is pounding, and the tremors swimming through you are the breaking point. A raspy scream rises from your throat, ricocheting off of the walls and startling the maids as well as yourself. You try to claw the pain away, digging your nails into your skin and scraping as hard as you can until blood cakes beneath the keratin.

An infinite amount of hands come rushing toward you from all over the palace, holding you down or giving you something to drink so that you can relax. The taste of honey and tart cherries runs down your aching throat before your body finally exhausts itself and you cannot fight them off any longer. In your chambers remain the nurse and a couple of laundresses who could not bear to leave you in this state.

The elixir you’d been given must have finally worked its way into your body, as sleep comes easy for you while the nurse cleans your wounds and bandages you up. She ties off the last tourniquet expertly, patting your hand fondly before pulling away to look you over. You are at peace in your sleep, no thoughts of your husband’s adultery making their way into your dreams, no fits stirring you from your slumber. It is the best sleep you have had in months.

Ewan is not quite so lucky, nervously shifting on both feet in the presence of his father. King MacTavish looks ready to have his head served up on a silver platter, his knuckles white from how tightly they grip his chair. Before your husband gets the chance to speak, his father inhales deeply, gruff voice rumbling lowly.

“Ah’ve tolerated this… quarrel ‘tween ye and yer wife fer long enough, now, but the state she is in—the state ye put ‘er in—is shameful,” John frowns, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration. “Wha’ were yer vows tae yer wife?”

“Da, ah dinnae understand-” John interrupts the baffled younger man, raising his large hand with a flick of his wrist.

“Mus’ ah repeat such a simple question? Answer me, no’ as yer father, bu’ as yer king.”

“Tae have an’ tae hold, fer better fer worse, fer richer fer poorer, in sickness an’ in health, tae love and tae cherish, till death do us part,” Ewan sighs, head lifted slightly to look at his father for approval.

“Continue,” John raises an eyebrow, displeased with the pathetic look on the prince’s face.

Ewan sucks in a deep breath through his nose, biting the side of his tongue to avoid raising his voice to the older man the way he so desperately desires to. Even upset, he knows better.

“Wit’ this ring ah thee wed, wit’ mah body ah thee worship, an’ wit’ all mah worldly goods ah thee endow, in the name of the Father, an’ of the Son, an’ of the Holy Ghost.”

“Ye made those vows ‘fore God, aye?” The king questions, fingertips tapping along the armrests of his seat.

“Aye, sir,” your husband nods, eyes darting all around the room nervously.

“Then why is yer wife bed-bound wit’ only the nurse tae keep ‘er company?” The king frowns. “Did she no’ make the same vows? Was she no’ there fer ye when ye fell ill some time ago?”

“Aye, she was, bu’... Father, we are no’...” Ewan hesitates, pulling at the hangnails adorning his fingertips.

“Speak, boy. Ah ken there is somethin’ ye’re keepin’ from me.”

“Ah’ve fallen fer another,” Ewan mutters, and the room falls silent—if someone were to drop a quill, the sound would resonate throughout the entire area.

“Pardon?” John speaks after an uncomfortable amount of quiet, his ordinarily blue eyes nearly black with emotion.

“When ah wen’ tae Paris, ah met a lass, an’... we fell in love.”

The king shuts his eyes and nods shortly, rising to his feet and slowly approaching his son. The prince flinches when John gets close, and rightfully so—he does not hesitate to slap the younger man’s cheek with the back of his hand, hard enough to leave red marks on both of them. Shocked, Ewan grabs his affected cheek and looks at his father with perched eyebrows and a hurt pout on his lips.

“Father-”

“Ye are nae son o’mine,” John spits, jaw clenched so tightly that his teeth grind, the dull ache overlooked in the midst of his rage. “Return tae yer chambers. Ah dinnae wish tae see ye a moment longer.”

Now playing the part of the kicked dog, Ewan follows orders and sits at the edge of his bed, seething.

#call of duty #cod #cod mw2 #johnny soap mactavish #john soap mactavish x reader #soap x fem!reader #john mactavish x fem!reader

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daffi-990 · 3 days

Note

Daffi, beloved 🌼

Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers! Spread the self-love ✨

Ohh thank you for this!

stuck now so long, we just got the start wrong

aka rival firefighters 🚒

This baby is 85k and I adore her so much. If I can encourage anyone to read one of my fics it’s this one. It’s just SO GOOD (yes I’m tooting my own horn).

Summary:

Probational Firefighters Evan “Buck” Buckley and Eddie Diaz meet on a call which ends with them at odds with each other.

As the months roll by, they keep running into each other on the job, much to Eddie’s dismay and Buck’s delight.

Can they put aside their first opinions and misunderstandings and allow the seeds of friendship, and possibly something more, to take root?

LA Lonely

My latest fic which has all the feel good and rom-com vibes. I really adore this one.

Summary:

Buck meets Eddie one night at a bar and sparks fly. Buck feels an instant connection but after Eddie leaves in a rush the next morning, he puts it down to his imagination because he’s only good for one night, no one wants him for keeps.

Cue him running into Eddie almost everywhere he goes, like the universe keeps putting Eddie in his path. And Eddie is kind and never makes their interactions feel awkward and the way he smiles at Buck has something warm fluttering to life inside him.

Is his crush unrequited or is there a chance Eddie feels the same?

remember to remember me

aka the lightning amnesia fic. And my first fic. This one is very special to me and I’m so proud of her and I really wish she got a bit more hype.

Summary:

Buck and Eddie finally get together only for lightning to strike a few days later, leaving Buck with no memories of them ever becoming a couple.

I’ve been sleeping so long in a 20 year dark night (now I’m wide awake)

Now this one is part of a series called Daylight, but can be read as a stand alone. It’s cosy and soft and lovely and yes, I do have plans to continue the series, I’m just waiting for the writing beans to return from war.

Summary:

Buck is tired of the fame, fortune and loneliness of a life that doesn’t even feel like his own, so he packs his bags and runs away, ending up in the small beachside town of Hartlan Shore where he decides to begin his life anew.

turns out freedom ain’t nothing but missing you

A little angsty fic that came out of nowhere. It has a happy ending like all of my fics do <3

Summary:

To protect his heart, Eddie pulls away from Buck when he starts dating Natalia. When he decides to move to B-shift, Buck finally confronts him and certain feelings finally come to light.

Thanks again Hippo for this ask! ❤️

#daffi gets mail #daffi writes #buddie #buddie fic #buddie fic rec #911 fic

26 notes · View notes

insolemi · 2 days

Text

New Beginnings

cate dunlap (gen v) x (hopefully)gn!reader

summary: cate's life takes a series of turns when she gets to God U, and you're at the center of all of them

genre: fluff, potential angst

inclusions: language, awkward situations, touchstarved and socially awkward!cate, overly-excited and outgoing!reader, ooc cate fs, this is more a few different scattered scenes that it is a full, single plot fic so be aware, my first attempt at a fic so please lower expectations

wc: 4.4k

hiiii… y’all i am so sorry this took me seventy years to get posted, i had the strangest series of events happen, but here it is and i hope you enjoy it !!

Godolkin is an entirely new environment.

It's not like Cate hadn't known that going into it, hadn’t known that her life would be completely different from the moment Indira Shetty had shown up in her room and offered her a way out of her childhood bedroom turned prison. She doesn’t think she’d ever be able to repay her for that. For getting her out of that house, out from under the echoing emptiness of the four walls of her bedroom and the occasional sound of her online homework videos.

For being the reason she met you. Her pretty, sweet little roommate.

Move-in day hadn’t been particularly good or bad, the large crowds of people and their chattering were overwhelming but calming at the same time, knowing the voices weren’t in her head but out loud, around her this time.

She made her way down the hall, brushing through smaller crowds of students and their parents as she counted the different numbers above the doors. 415, 417, 419. She reads the number, coming to a slow stop outside of the dorm room with the number written on the piece of paper in her hand, her name labeled right next to your name. The thought alone of it makes her nauseous, having to share a bedroom with an entirely new person she’d never met before and hope that they get along.

Whatever. It’s fine. She can do this. All she has to do is walk into the room, introduce herself to you, and try her best to not embarrass herself. That’s easy enough, no? It’s not like its rocket science or a hostage situation (although the way her heart is beating loudly in her ears might say differently), all she has to do is walk in and say ‘Hi, I’m Cate’.

She stands in the doorway, just staring at your back for a moment, her eyes wide, the leather of her gloves creaking around the strap of the bag she’s holding in her hands (one of the only things she’d even brought with her) as she works up the courage to just open her mouth and talk as the only thing running through her mind is that everything is fine, she's got this, all she has to do is say–

Fuck.

The second her mouth opens, you turn to face her from the desk you’d been arranging things on and any words she’d been carefully planning in her head die on the tip of her tongue immediately at the sight of you.

She hardly has any time to let the thought cross her mind and register it before you’re in her space, introducing yourself with an excited note to your sweet voice and wrapping your arms around her in a brief hug, your chin pressed against the side of her shoulder, the palm of your hands braced on the back of her shoulders, the other hand around her neck. You pull back from her and rest your hands above the back of her elbows, your face still in her direct orbit as you smile at her, your mouth opening to continue speaking. “You’re Cate, right? My roommate?” There’s a pretty little sparkle to your eye that she has to tear her own away from.

She can’t think about anything but the sound of your voice ringing in her ears and the feeling of the heat of your hands over her sleeves, but she somehow manages to get the words out of her mouth to finally introduce herself. “Uh, yeah, hi,” she forces out, her head spinning so fast that she can’t think properly and she stumbles back a step, pulling out of your grasp, unable to handle the warmth of your touch. She awkwardly tucks a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “I'm, um… Cate.” It’s been so long since anyone touched her so enthusiastically, without any ounce of hesitation, and now here you are, all smiles and casual touches, and she can barely keep it together.

But she does. She doesn’t want to come across as weird, a freak, so she smiles and nods along with your excited chattering, your energy far off the charts of anything near the realm of what she’s used to. “Thank god,” you laugh, clapping your hands together as you look her over for probably the first real time since she entered the room. “I was so worried I was gonna get a total bitch, but you seem sweet, so, again, thank god.” Another bell-ringing laugh.

“You have a nice laugh.” Fuck. Again. Her and her big mouth. “Sorry! I didn’t–”

“It's fine! Thank you," you keep the pretty smile on your face as you continue to look over Cate, a tint to your cheeks appearing briefly before you’re back to talking, something she’s starting to get the sense you do a lot (not that she minds, not if it means she gets to keep hearing your voice). "Oh, your hair is so gorgeous," you lift a hand from where it’s clasped in front of your chest to briefly lift a strand of Cate's blonde hair, admiring the clips she has in place.

Cate feels her pulse quicken. “Uh... thanks. It’s just, you know... hair,” she laughs nervously, unsure what else to say. Your touch, though brief, leaves behind a warmth that spreads through her chest, and it’s making her head spin

You smile brightly, seemingly unaware of how much you're affecting her. “Y’know, you and me? We’re going to be best friends. I can already tell.”

Cate’s face flushes instantly. "Oh, um... yeah! That’d be cool." Her voice cracks slightly as she tries to match your enthusiasm, and she winces inwardly. You sound so sure of yourself, have so much conviction in your voice that Cate can hardly do anything other than believe your words. It’s overwhelming, in the best way, but she feels like she’s drowning in it. She’s not used to this kind of attention directed at her. You’re all smiles, your energy is infectious, and it’s making her feel out of place for not being able to respond how she wants to. She knows what she wants to say, but that’s almost never what leaves her mouth.

Still in the back of her head, there’s a wiggling part that kinda smarts at what you say. Best friends. That’s exactly what she needs, she thinks, a genuine best friend, though that thought directed at you makes her chest tighten in a way she doesn’t know how to handle, for reasons she doesn’t want to think about.

“You seem... really sweet, too,” Cate admits, biting her lip the moment the words leave her mouth. She hates how transparent she’s being but with you... it’s hard to hide how much she’s already attached.

Your smile grows even warmer. “Good! ‘Cause I’m not going anywhere. You’re stuck with me, Cate.”

Cate lets out a nervous laugh, trying to mask the overwhelming flood of emotions that sentence sparks. "Yeah... I’m okay with that." More than okay, she thinks, but she can’t say that out loud.

—

It’s late, and the two of you are sitting on the loveseat couch in your dorm room that you’d somehow managed to acquire (somehow being you sweet-talking a frat boy out of one, not that anyone else needed to know that), mid-way through watching some animated movie Cate can’t remember the name of but you’d forced her to watch (‘forced’ meaning you asked her once to watch it and she caved) once you realized she’d never seen it. You’ve been leaning against Cate’s side for most of it, your head resting on her shoulder, legs thrown over the arm of the couch, and she’s been tense the whole time, back ramrod straight, trying her best not to move too much, not to let her nerves show. She’s terrified that if she moves, you’ll realize how fast her heart is racing.

It’s silent in the room until you let out a soft sigh, shifting slightly where you’re laying basically your entire body against her side. Cate can’t help but somehow stiffen up more. This doesn’t escape your notice, just like anything else that has to do with her, and you lift your head, turning it to look at her.

“You okay?” The concern in your voice makes her heart squeeze and she makes a conscious effort to relax a little.

“Yeah,” she slips you a tight smile, her eyes darting back and forth between the screen and your face. More than okay if she’s being honest.

You nod, a soft hum of contentment leaving your lips as you lay your head back down on her shoulder, pulling your legs closer to you on the couch and loosely wrapping an arm around hers. Cate’s breath hitches despite her best efforts to focus on anything other than your bare palm on her arm. “Yeah,” you echo, the sound full of a kind of relaxation Cate desperately wishes she could hit.

It falls silent in the room again, the neon colors on the screen glowing brightly around the room, casting long shadows where the light can’t quite reach. There’s almost something either poetic or ironic in that, Cate thinks. Maybe she could figure it out if she could think about something other than the heat of your skin or your breath fanning out over her arm, your eyes still focused solely on the screen.

She feels like she should say something more, but the words get stuck in her throat, but all she can think about is how warm you feel against her, how much she wants this moment to last forever.

You glance up at her again, noticing the distant look on her face, and nudge her with a playful grin. "You’re still watching, right?" you tease, your voice light but laced with affection. “This is my favorite part.”

Cate blinks, momentarily startled, then forces a sheepish smile. “Uh, yeah. Totally.” But in reality, she hasn’t processed a single frame of the movie. How could she, when you’re so close? When your every movement sends ripples of warmth through her?

The movie continues to play, but all Cate can focus on is how natural it feels, how right it feels, sitting next to you like this.

—

It’s been a few weeks since you two moved in together, and Cate is slowly starting to feel more comfortable around you. She’s still a little awkward, old habits die hard (especially ones like hers), but she’s not as jumpy as she used to be. Especially not now when, where there used to be hard spots of tension in every silence between you two, are now small, quiet moments that are more comforting than they are terrifying.

So today, when you suggested grabbing coffee at the campus café, Cate agreed. Even if the thought of spending time alone with you, even if it is in a public space, still makes her heart race, she just couldn’t find it in herself to say no this time. She’s sitting across from you, absently stirring her drink as you talk about anything and everything, your hands doing most of the speaking for you when you bring it up.

“So…” She can already tell you think you’re taking a risk bringing it up, which makes her stomach twist a little. “There’s this little hangout thing – not a party!” You reassure immediately, hand coming up to stop any protests she might have, already well aware that parties aren’t her thing; too many people, too much noise, too much of a risk of something bad happening. “It’s not a party, it’s just, like, five or six people, I swear.”

“You should come with me!” you say, your eyes lighting up. “It’ll be fun, I promise.” It’s a long shot, asking her to go to a party (or anything, really), and you both know it, but you never skip asking her anyway, despite her numerous rejections. It makes her feel… warm? That you never give up on her. That alone makes her reconsider her usual knee-jerk reaction of saying ‘no’.

Her fingers toy with the rim of her cup, buying her a moment to think. “I don’t know...” she begins, her voice hesitant. “Parties aren’t really my thing.” She glances up at you, biting her lip. “But... maybe.”

You nearly spill your coffee as you sit up straighter, eyes wide and a hopeful smile on your face. “Wait—really? You’d come?”

Cate feels her heart skip a beat at your genuine surprise and excitement. A small, tentative smile pulls at her lips, and for once, she lets herself enjoy the idea. “Yeah,” she shrugs, trying to sound casual even though her heart is racing. “Why not, right?”

You grin from ear to ear, letting out a little squeal of excitement, making her feel a little braver for saying yes. “This is awesome, Cate! You won’t regret it, I swear.”

She hopes you’re right.

—

Later that night, Cate stands in front of the mirror, adjusting her shirt nervously for what feels like the hundredth time. She’s never been comfortable with events like this, even if it is nothing big, just a small gathering with some people from your class like you’d said. Despite the anxiety gnawing at her, she’s determined to at least try, especially since it means spending more time with you outside of classes. She tugs at the sleeves of her shirt, her eyes lingering on her gloves.

Your soft knock on the open closet door pulls her from her thoughts. You poke your head around it, a playful grin on your face. “You ready?”

Nope. She is absolutely in no way prepared for this. At all. Cate takes a deep breath, her lips quirking into a small, hesitant smile. “Yup,” she chirps, though there’s still audible uncertainty in her voice.

You walk over to her, gently reaching out to fix a stray strand of hair that’s fallen out of place. Your fingers barely graze her skin, but it’s enough to send her pulse racing. “You look great, Cate.”

Cate’s breath catches at the compliment, and she gives a soft, nervous laugh. “Thanks,” she murmurs, her cheeks flushing ever so slightly. “You too. I mean, you also look great.” She's not entirely sure that covers it.

You grab your bag, slinging it over your shoulder. “Don’t worry,” you say reassuringly, “I’ll be right there with you the whole time.”

For some reason, that promise makes all the difference. Cate takes another steadying breath and follows you to the door, feeling just a little braver with you by her side.

Maybe tonight, she’ll finally stop holding herself back.

—

A few weeks later and the two of you are lying on your beds, the lights dimmed, just talking about anything and everything. These late-night conversations have become a nightly routine since moving in together, and Cate is starting to feel like she can really open up to you in ways she hasn’t with anyone else. There's something about the quiet of the room, the gentle rhythm of your voice, and the way you listen without judgment that makes her feel... safe, she thinks.

You stretch out, letting your arm dangle off the edge of the bed, glancing over at her. “Hey, Cate,” you ask softly, “what’s your family like?”

Cate hesitates, staring up at the ceiling. She’s never been good at talking about them—the weight of her past always feels too heavy, too personal. But with you, it doesn’t feel quite as suffocating. There's something about the way you ask, like you’re genuinely interested, but not pushing her to share more than she’s comfortable with. She still isn’t sure how much she wants to reveal, but the silence that follows your question is patient, giving her room to breathe.

She finally speaks, her voice low. “My family’s... complicated.” She shifts slightly on her bed, pulling at the sleeve of her shirt. “I don’t really talk to them much anymore.”

You turn your head to look at her, your voice soft and full of understanding. “I’m sorry, Cate.”

Cate swallows, feeling a familiar tightness in her chest. She doesn’t want to go too deep, doesn’t want to drag the mood down, so she shrugs, trying to make it seem like it’s not that big of a deal. “It’s okay. I’m... kinda used to it by now.” Her voice wavers slightly, betraying her attempt at nonchalance.

The room falls into a thoughtful silence. It’s not uncomfortable, just heavy with the unspoken weight of everything Cate has never said aloud. You don’t push for more, just let her words hang in the air, like you’re giving her the space to share if she wants to. After a long pause, you break the silence with a soft chuckle.

“You know, I think we’re kind of like family now,” you say, the warmth in your tone unmistakable. You roll over on your side, facing her, your face half-lit by the soft glow from the window. “I mean, we live together, we spend a lot of time together, grocery shopping... pretty much checks all the boxes, right?”

Cate turns her head slightly, surprised by your words. The idea catches her off-guard, but not in a bad way. It’s just... new. “Yeah?” she murmurs, her voice uncertain. “You think so?”

“Definitely,” you say with a grin. “And you don’t have to think about any of that shit with your family right now. You've got me.” You scoot a little closer on your bed, giving her an earnest look. “So... if you ever wanna, like, talk about it, I’m here. But if not, that’s cool too. It won’t hurt my feelings or anything.”

Cate’s heart skips a beat. It’s not the words themselves that get to her—it’s the sincerity behind them. The way you say it, like it’s the most natural thing in the world, makes her feel like maybe she’s not as alone as she thought.

A small, genuine smile tugs at her lips. “Yeah,” she murmurs, feeling a warmth spread through her chest. “I guess.”

You flash her another warm smile, your voice light. “See? I’m not so bad to have around, right?”

Cate chuckles softly, the sound easing some of the tension in her shoulders. “Eh, you’re alright,” she teases gently, heaving an exasperated sounding sigh. “Guess I could do worse.”

You laugh, a playful glint in your eye. “Wow, thanks, I think? High praise coming from you.”

Cate rolls her eyes, but there’s no denying the smile that’s still on her face. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

“Too late,” you reply, your grin widening as you settle back into your pillow. The easy banter between you both feels like a balm, soothing the heaviness of the earlier conversation.

—

You and Cate are sitting on the bed, talking like usual, but there’s something different about today—something a little heavier in the air. Cate’s been quieter than normal, her gloved hands resting tensely in her lap, fingers curling and uncurling against the fabric. You can tell something’s bothering her, the way her gaze keeps flicking down to her hands, then back up at you, as if she’s debating something in her head.

You wait for her to speak, sensing that there’s something she wants to say but is struggling to get out. Finally, you reach over and place your hand on top of hers, your thumb tracing gentle circles over the soft leather. “Cate... what’s going on?” Your voice is full of care, inviting her to share what’s going through her head, even when you both know you already know.

It’s silent in the room for a moment before you speak again. “It’s about your gloves, right?” A gross underestimation and you both know it. “You don’t have to wear those if you don’t want to. Not around me.”

Cate’s breath hitches, her eyes widening as she pulls her hands away instinctively. “I– I do,” she whispers, almost like she’s trying to convince herself as much as you. “You don’t understand. If I touch someone, tell them to do something... they have to. I can’t just take it back. What if I say something I don’t mean? What if I hurt you without even realizing it?”

Your expression softens as you scoot closer, your knees brushing against hers. “I trust you, Cate,” you say firmly, but with a gentleness that makes her heart ache. “C’mon, I know you’d never hurt me. Not like that.”

Cate bites her lip, her gaze dropping again to the gloves. She’s heard those words from you before, but it’s hard to believe them, especially when the memories of what happened to her brother still haunt her. “It’s not that simple,” she mutters, her voice tight. “I could slip up. All it takes is– is a touch and a word, and I could—” She stutters through her words before they break off, biting her lip. The thought of losing control terrifies her.

You lean forward, holding her hands tighter, not letting go this time. “I do know,” you say softly, your eyes searching hers. “I know, Cate, what you can do, what happened to your brother, but I also know you. And I’m not scared of you because I know it wasn’t your fault. Not even a little.”

Cate’s breath catches, her heart pounding as she stares at you with wide, searching eyes. No one’s ever said that to her—not like this. Not with so much confidence in her. She wants to believe you, wants to trust that she won’t make a mistake... but the fear of losing control, of saying something she can’t take back, always lingers at the edge of her thoughts.

She looks away, her voice trembling. “But what if—”

“No ‘what ifs,’ Cate,” you interrupt gently, moving her hand up to your cheek, even with the glove still on. “You can take them off. I want you to. Please?”

Cate’s heart pounds, her fingers trembling beneath the leather. She hesitates for a long moment, her mind racing with a hundred different reasons why she shouldn’t. But something about the way you’re holding her hand—like it’s nothing, like you don’t see the danger—makes her want to try.

Slowly, almost hesitantly, she reaches for the edge of one glove, pulling it off with trembling fingers. Her hand feels exposed, vulnerable, but you don’t flinch. You just hold her gaze, calm and patient, as if this is the most natural thing in the world.

She pulls off the second glove, her bare hands now resting in yours. She waits—waits for something to go wrong, for the fear to take over. But nothing happens. You don’t pull away. You don’t flinch. Instead, you gently lift her hand back to your cheek, letting her feel the warmth of your skin.

“See?” you whisper, your voice gentle. “You’re in control, Cate. Nothing bad is going to happen.”

Cate’s breath hitches, her chest tight with emotion. She can hardly believe what’s happening—she’s touching you, skin to skin, and it’s okay. It’s more than okay. It feels... right.

“I never thought I’d be able to do this,” she whispers, her voice barely audible. “I was so scared I’d mess up... that I’d say something and lose you.”

You smile softly, still holding her hand against your cheek. “You don’t have to be afraid, not with me. I trust you, Cate. I always have.”

Cate’s heart swells, the weight of her fear slowly lifting. For the first time in what feels like forever, she feels safe. Not just because of your touch, but because of the way you believe in her—like she’s more than just her power, more than her fear.

“I... I trust you too,” she finally whispers, a small smile tugging at her lips. She holds onto your touch, the warmth of your hand grounding her in a way she’s never felt before. “Thank you. For believing in me.”

And in that moment, with your hand in hers, the fear that’s haunted her for so long feels just a little bit lighter. Light enough to get everything else off of her chest.

Cate swallows hard, feeling like her heart’s going to burst right out of her chest. She tries to steady herself, but the weight of everything she’s been bottling up is too much. She glances down at her hands, then back at you, and before she can stop herself, the words start to spill out—awkward, messy, but real. “I... I’m scared because... because I care about you. Like, a lot. More than I’ve ever cared about anyone, and... and the thought of hurting you... it just—it freaks me out.”

She looks away as soon as she says it, like she’s half-expecting you to laugh or push her away. But you don’t. Her heart skips a beat when she hears your voice, soft and closer than she expected.

Your heart skips a beat at her confession, but you don’t pull away. “Cate, you’re not gonna hurt me.” You lean in, your voice a little quieter, a little more vulnerable. “I care about you too... more than you know.”

Her head snaps up, eyes wide as she stares at you like she can’t believe what she just heard. “Wait... you—you do?”

“Yeah.” You nod, looking just as nervous but still smiling a little. “I’ve felt like this for a while. I just... didn’t know how to say it.”

Cate opens her mouth, but all that comes out is this weird little half-laugh, half-gasp sound, like she’s trying to process it all. “You’re serious? You like... you’ve liked me?”

“Yeah. For a while now.”

There’s this awkward pause where you’re both kind of just staring at each other, unsure of what to say next. Cate lets out a shaky breath, her fingers twitching in your grasp, and she looks down again, her voice barely a whisper. “I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you.”

Your smile softens, and you reach out, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “You don’t have to think about that. I’m not going anywhere.”

Cate’s throat tightens, and she feels her eyes starting to sting. She blinks quickly, trying to hold back the tears, but it’s no use. They’re not just tears of fear anymore. It’s everything—relief, hope, something she hasn’t let herself feel in a long time. She leans in without really thinking, her forehead resting against yours, her voice barely audible, trembling just a little.

“Promise?” she whispers, her breath warm against your skin.

You nod, your eyes closing as you hold her just a little tighter. “Promise.”

In that moment, Cate finally lets herself believe it might be okay.

#this fic kicked my ass but it’s also my baby #gen v #cate dunlap #cate dunlap x reader #gen v x reader #𓆩♡𓆪 my works #𓆩♡𓆪 navi

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