#i know i could just. change it independently

[paarksunghoon]

FIXED COMFORT | SUNGHOON

SUMMARY: typically, sunghoon’s the one who takes care of you when you’ve had one too many. but once in a blue moon, he lets his guard down and allows you to care for him the way he does for you.

or, the one where sunghoon’s drunk at a bar and misses his girlfriend a little too much.

NOTES: idk I just feel like someone should let him sleep for six months straight!!!

PAIRING: sunghoon x fem!reader

WORD COUNT: 4.4K (4444 exactly—she’s a shortie).

WARNINGS: fluff on fluff on fluff.

***

“Hey, do you think you could come get Sunghoon from the bar? He’s been asking for you for the past hour.”  

Jay’s phone call pulls you out from a deep slumber on a Saturday night that falls on a day with no plans other than pure relaxation. Sunghoon had been preoccupied with work and classes this past week and wanted to unwind by drinking at his favorite bar with his closest friends and all you wanted to do was sleep the weekend away. 

Since the two of you started dating six months ago after being friends for a little over two years, you both agree on the notion that you’ve found a good balance between time spent together and apart respectively. Nothing fundamentally changed with the exception of kissing and touching one another in the way a couple would. He still respects your independence and you respect his time away from you as well. 

Sunghoon learned quickly that you’re the type of person who values your alone time more than anything else. When he first started developing feelings for you, grappling with your absence wasn’t easy. He initially thought you weren’t interested in getting to know him the way he was with you because you weren’t afraid to decline invitations and telling people ‘no.’ Slowly, over the course of many months of pining and late night conversations, did Sunghoon learn that you’re typically your best self after a moment of isolation. 

Your boyfriend is somewhere in between an introvert and extrovert. He tends to be shy when he meets people he isn’t familiar with while his loud, rambunctious attitude is typically reserved for those who know him best. He likes to keep to himself for the most part, giving some of his personality away when he feels his walls start to crumble naturally. You love that he has a good head on his shoulders and that he’s able to tell you about his feelings while maintaining an air of confidence. He doesn’t inherently need anybody; he likes your company and will do anything to keep it.

Moments like this are when your heart feels softer for Sunghoon than when the two of you were just friends.

“I know you wanted to spend the weekend alone but Hoon’s been saying your name all night,” Jay says. “I’m sorry for waking you up.”

“No, it’s fine.” You’re sure Jay can hear your brittle voice. “Are you guys at the bar near your place?”

“That’s the one. Thanks again and I’m really sorry for waking you up.”

“Don’t sweat it. Cook me something next week if you still feel bad.” 

“I can do that. Chili oil noodles with shrimp sound good?”

“It’s almost like you know me.” He laughs at your sarcasm. 

“Drive safe.” 

When Jay hangs up, you allow yourself a few minutes to adjust and wake up, stretching your body from the warm comfort of your blankets. You change out of Sunghoon’s shirt to put on pajama pants and another one of his stolen shirts, opting not to take a jacket since you figure you won’t be out for very long. 

You thank your past self for filling up your gas tank before tonight after having put it off for a few days. Knowing Sunghoon, he would still scold you for allowing yourself to run nearly empty before filling it up even if he was inebriated. Somehow, knowing this about him brings a smile to your face.

Sunghoon’s the kind of guy who likes to have some control over certain things. He likes order and structure, often waking up at the same hour every weekday to build a routine his body can remember. He’s been like that since you first met him but you think it’s part of his charm. Even from two years ago, when you met him through Jake Sim, Sunghoon has maintained a level of confidence and control that he does now. On the heels of an impressive skating career before pivoting to focus on higher education, Sunghoon had his preferences and will stick by them. 

His discipline is the first thing you noticed when you met him for the first time. Jay, someone you were already familiar with, agreed to cook dinner with your friend group under the condition that everyone helped him shop and chip in for the meal. Sunghoon held Jake back from buying unnecessary things like boxed chocolate milk and candy because Jay had desserts back at his place. He held a checklist of items whereas the rest of your friends ran up and down the aisles without thinking much about what needed to be purchased.

Sunghoon’s near-meticulous behavior is juxtaposed to your chaotic and rambunctious nature. You often follow your gut instead of setting a solid plan because you’re not concerned with meeting deadlines, sans education. Whereas you tend to lean towards a go-with-the-flow attitude, Sunghoon is the opposite. But that’s something he loves about you.  

At a surface level distinction, it didn’t seem like the two of you would get along as well as you did. It surprised Jake when Sunghoon asked for your number so he could text you about seeing a comedy film with him as no one else in the group wanted to see it. Including you at an impromptu study session with him (Sunghoon was organized and neat while your pens were spread all over and your study methods, haphazard) felt like watching two people clash. 

Rather, you and Sunghoon complement one another. 

The idea of letting himself go with someone who wasn’t part of his friend collective was unheard of. Getting to know a girl who didn’t share similar lifestyles didn’t appeal to him before meeting you, and you’re inarguably the most chaotic person Sunghoon knows. But he finds that there’s order within your chaos—you know who you are and what you want, and you will not compromise yourself just to please other people. 

It’s what Sunghoon loves the most about you. There’s a boundary you never let anyone cross under the assumption that your own safety net feels compromised. He’s watched you lose friends for this same reason and has always admired the way you carry yourself like you know you deserve better than people who disrespect you. He’s witnessed the grace you maintain when people who call you a friend voice words of kindness but speak ill about you behind your back. If anything, Sunghoon feels pity for anyone who crosses you to the point of anger. To be envious of another’s confidence is one thing. To make that known is another. 

Sunghoon learns that you let your inhibitions go because holding control over yourself feels like a burden. It feels like setting a standard you will never be able to meet. He never thought of order in that way before getting to know you. Your approach to life sparked a new wave of emotions within him to the point where he was open and willing to let you farther into his life. 

His days were ruled by guidelines he had to maintain and proper etiquette that followed him even off the rink. The poise he carried from his career on the ice bled into his personal life too. Although, he doesn’t mind that it does. Sunghoon values any form of structure because it makes him feel like he has a purpose and that there’s something to be accomplished at the end of the day. 

Most times, Sunghoon’s feels like people judge him for his regimen and can’t fathom why he appreciates control so much. They tell him to let loose and enjoy his time away from his career. People always think he simply doesn’t know how to have fun because he’s set in his ways and won’t let other people coax him into doing something he’s not comfortable with. But not you. Sunghoon has never felt like you‘ve judged how he chooses to live his life. 

Before he knew it, a year had passed and he started to call you one of his best friends. The friendship was gradual. Sunghoon didn’t have many close female friends in the way he does with Heeseung, Jay, and Jake. You’re the first person since ending his career who hasn’t tried to pry into the why. In fact, Sunghoon enjoys that you didn’t bring it up. 

(You did, in the form of cooing over his younger self skating in competitions for the first time or roasting all of the outfits he had to wear. But somehow, all of your jabs made him feel happier than when people complimented his performance.)

Eventually, being around you felt too right. He loved it when you took naps on his bed and felt comfortable raiding your kitchen pantry without permission. Sunghoon could leave you in his apartment without him being in it and feel at ease. In fact, he started to look forward to coming home to you. All it took was seeing you wear his hoodie because you got too cold and forgot your jacket, to make him drop his bag by the front door and ask you to be his girlfriend. He hasn’t regretted anything with you since. 

The weather is cold outside since it’s approaching the middle of autumn. You let your car warm up and blast the heat all the way up while adjusting your defrosting settings before heading to the bar to pick up Sunghoon. You sift through your playlists and settle on soft indie melodies before you drive away from the curb. 

You’ve never seen Sunghoon get drunk to the point of needing extra help. Usually, you’re the one who goes a little too hard whenever Heeseung brings out the alcohol or if Jake offers an edible or two. Sunghoon likes to sit back and stay sober (or sober up by the end of the night) when he notices you having too much fun. He doesn’t mind, though. Sunghoon likes taking care of you because sometimes it gives him purpose. You’ve never understood that sentiment but to each their own. 

The only times you’ve seen him completely wasted are usually when you’re equally as gone, like on your first road trip as a couple. The five of you rented a lakehouse a few hours from Seoul and spent an entire weekend basking under the hot sun and chose to forget about university stress before finals would inevitably kick everyone’s ass. All five of you were cross-faded (but not without Jay and Sunghoon both prepping water bottles and snacks for when the munchies would hit prior to taking anything). You watched Sunghoon relax to the point where he was much quieter than he normally was and when you asked if he was doing alright, he looked you in the eye and told you he loved you for the first time. 

I always have, I think, he said as he brought your hand to his chest. You might not believe me because neither of us are sober but I swear I’ll tell you in the morning. 

Sunghoon gets affectionate when he’s drunk or high, often to the point of asking for reassurance. The rational side of his brain is temporarily disfigured. You don’t mind being there to tell him that he’s the love of your life and you’d never go anywhere when he gets like this. Although, you’re usually just as gone and gush all of your hidden emotionally-charged feelings, which pair well with Sunghoon’s need for validation sometimes. 

Your friends love your relationship. They don’t think it’s too much or too little, going so far as to take photos of the two of you when you aren’t looking. Some are funny like the pictures of you sleeping on his chest with drool pooling out of your mouth. Others are romantic and whimsical, like the pictures of Sunghoon looking at you like you’re the sunshine to his moonlight. They can’t get enough of you two. Your friends love knowing people they care about are deeply in love with one another and your relationship is somewhat of a reminder that true romance does exist. 

Thinking about this makes your heart swell as you park your car and tuck your keys inside your purse. The bouncer checks your ID and lets you inside the bar, and you already spot Jay off to the side. 

“Thanks for coming,” he says as he gives you a loose hug. “And sorry for waking you up.” 

You wave him off. “It’s fine. I’ve probably woken you up for worse.” 

“Yeah, like the time you and Jake wanted ramen at 3am and wouldn’t stop calling me because both of you got a little too high.” 

“Can you blame us?! You were like, two blocks away.” 

“Yeah, but did you need to eat with me?” 

“Duh. You’re like, the best person to eat a late night dinner with.” 

The two of you laugh as he leads you to the group. You see Sunghoon slumped over the table with his head in his arms and the rest of your friend group tries really hard not to seem too excited when they see you standing next to Jay. 

“Fucking finally.” Heeseung stands and gives you a quick side hug before Jake does the same. “Love you guys and all but he started to become unbearable when he kept showing us photos of you.”

Jake snorts. “Poor guy was almost about to cry.” That makes your heart soft. 

“He looks so cute,” you coo, tilting your head to savor this moment. It’s abnormal for you to be the sober one but you’re starting to understand why Sunghoon doesn’t mind taking care of you when you’re like this. 

Jay comes to stand next to you. “He’s not cute when he drank half his weight in alcohol and wouldn’t shut up about how pretty your hair is.” 

“What, do you don’t think my hair’s pretty?” The messy, unbrushed hair is enough to make the guys laugh. 

“Nah seriously, thanks for coming,” says Jake. “We felt bad calling you but he refuses to get out of his seat.” 

“It’s fine.” You wave him off and step closer to your boyfriend, who still hasn’t moved from his position. 

“Do your thing and we’ll be here if you need help bringing him to the car.” Heeseung smiles gratefully at you. 

Even the back of Sunghoon’s head is unfairly gorgeous. His hair always looks nice, although you credit that to his younger sister introducing him to a world of hair care products during his skating years. It feels soft to the touch as you stroke the back of his head until Sunghoon slowly comes to. You feel his body start to stir.

“Baby,” you say quietly, bending down until you’re next to him. “Wake up for me.” 

“Hm?” Sunghoon mumbles from his arms. He feels the sensation of your fingers carding through his hair and pulls himself from the table, wiping the spit from the corner of his mouth before realizing you’re standing next to him. “Y/N?”

“I’m right here.” 

He pulls his head up until he’s sitting upright in the booth, squinting up at you to adjust to the bar lights that disappeared when he closed his eyes. Your boyfriend looks so innocent like this. He looks at you with a wide, round gaze as if you’d appeared out of thin air and he’s trying his hardest to figure out how you’re standing in front of him. 

“Is it really you?” Sunghoon asks in a quiet voice. His tone makes your heart flutter and you reach your arms out until you’re cupping his jaw and rubbing the pads of your thumbs over his cheeks. Sunghoon melts into your touch and you feel his body start to relax. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too, bug. Did you have fun tonight?”

He nods in your hands, “Mhm. Just tired now.”

“Jay said you were asking for me.” 

“I always ask for you.” Your cheeks heat up and you try to ignore the snickers from behind you. 

“Why don’t we go back to my place, yeah? You can sleep in my bed instead of this bar.” 

“Can we? I love the guys but I just missed you.”

“Simp,” Heeseung whispers before coughing into his fist. 

Sunghoon stands from the booth once you’ve taken a step back to give him the space to move. He’s surprisingly able to stand on his own and clutches onto his jacket as he makes his way to the door. 

“Sorry guys,” he mutters to the guys. 

“Yah, it’s fine,” Jay says as he waves Sunghoon off. 

“Get home safe,” Heeseung says as he opens the door for the two of you. Sunghoon waves behind him until you guide him to the car. 

“Can you put your jacket on for me?” You catch it in your hands after he nearly let them fall from his grasp. 

“Shit, sorry.” You watch Sunghoon put on one arm and then the other. He looks so childlike in this moment as he concentrates his hardest to put the jacket on without stumbling. 

It reminds you that he doesn’t show you this side of him often. Sunghoon, ever the poised individual who likes to know what’s ahead of him, has let his inhibitions down. Seeing his figure slowly push his body through the warm fabric has you biting back a smile. 

“Need help?”

Sunghoon looks down at his hands that are trying to zip his jacket up to no avail. He feels like his hands are too big and the zipper is too small. “Please.”

Your steady fingers cover Sunghoon’s and take over the tedious task. The metal is warm from his fingertips. You can feel him looking down at you and you temporarily fumble with the zipper, which makes him laugh.

“Silly,” he mutters. “Ah, fuck. I don’t know if I can open the door.”

You roll your eyes and open it for him. “You’re funny.” 

He slides into the seat as gracefully as he can without hitting his head on the roof. Sunghoon struggles, but manages to buckle himself in and grins up at you when he hears the click of the buckle. When you look down on him, the lamp post from above casts a soft glow on his face. He looks so youthful at this moment. Sunghoon has let go of his thoughts and couldn’t think about anything but the present moment even if he tried. 

He waits for you and mumbles about how cold it is when you turn the engine on. The warm air starts to uplift his spirits and he looks at you with us head pressed to the headrest.

“I’m sorry you have to see me like this.”

“What?” you ask. “Why?”

He shrugs. “Dunno. Usually I’m the one taking care of you.”

“You don’t always have to be brave, you know.” 

Sunghoon doesn’t say anything. He reaches out to envelope your hand in his and squeezes it until he’s holding it loosely in the quiet of the evening.

“I love you.” 

Your heart blooms. “I love you right back.” He seems satisfied with your response and lets go of your hand so that you can drive back to your apartment. 

When you park on the curb, Sunghoon’s sober enough to unbuckle his seatbelt and wait for you to turn the engine off before opening his door carefully. He steps outside and leans back on the car door until you walk around the hood of the vehicle and grabs your hands to pull you into him. 

You feel his lips on your before you register what’s happening. He tastes faintly of pineapple soju and beer, and his mouth is warm. Despite his inebriated state, Sunghoon’s able to hold you between his hands as he moves to place them on your hips to balance your body after you’ve stumbled into him. 

The kiss itself is slow. In fact, it feels as though Sunghoon has slowed time around so that the two of you could enjoy the late night kiss uninterrupted. You can barely hear anything besides the ringing in your ears after being caught by surprise due to your boyfriend’s abrupt movements. Your mouths move in slow tandem and Sunghoon nearly pushes his tongue inside your mouth before pulling away to rest his forehead against your own.

“My baby,” he whispers against your lips before giving you another quick peck. 

“You are so cute.” You blurt out this confession like you’re still pining after him. “Let’s go inside, yeah?” 

The apartment is warm compared to the environment outside and Sunghoon slips off his shoes in favor of wearing his designated slippers. He doesn’t let go of your hand the entire time he does so, letting you pull him into the hallway until the two of you reach your bedroom. The hardwood floors feel better than the uneven pavement from outside.

He loves it here. It’s a sanctuary away from his apartment with the friends he will probably invite to his wedding. But something about your green comforter and hand-painted artwork adorning your walls makes Sunghoon feel like he would live by your side for the rest of his life. The scent of your room–warm peaches and vanilla–tugs at his heart strings. This is where he belongs. 

Likewise, you love seeing Sunghoon behave like this. It’s not commonplace for him to let people take care of him in the way you are now. He’s used to people looking out for his career and best interest but he struggles with allowing others to handle him with such care. After a decade of enduring harsh criticism and physical endurance, Sunghoon struggles to relax and allow others to take the reins. It’s partially why he loves taking care of you. Being able to provide that kind of love and support makes him feel wanted and needed, even if you tell him he’s more than enough a thousand times over. 

You leave him in your room to change his clothes taken from his designated drawer while you prepare skincare and the works. You hear him shuffle outside and fall onto the bed once, prompting you to hold your laughter in as you wash your hands and pull out hair clips for him to use. 

“I can’t lie,” Sunghoon says as you emerge from the bathroom to see him in a big t-shirt and pajama bottoms, “I’m really looking forward to you doing my skincare.” 

You snicker and pull your desk chair into the bathroom. “Now you know exactly how I feel every time I beg you to do mine when I’m drunk. Sit and close your eyes, please.” 

He follows your instructions and leans his back against the furniture. Sunghoon doesn’t fuss when you pin his hair back until it’s secure and allows you to make him feel pampered in a way he typically wouldn’t. 

“Did you have fun tonight?” 

Sunghoon hums. “Yeah, I did. The guys picked me up from my place and we had lunch at that seafood spot we’ve been meaning to try.” 

“Was it any good?”

“So good.” He licks his lips. “God, I’m still thinking about that shellfish soup. We ordered enough food to feed a village but it was so worth it. I wanna go with you.” 

“We can go wherever you want.” He smiles at your soft tone. 

“We also went to the beach and met some guys at the skate park by the highway. They were pretty nice and let us use their boards for a little. Heeseung got along with them the best, I think.”

“Heeseung makes friends with everybody.”

“He says he’s not social but that’s a lie.” Sunghoon twitches his nose when he feels a damp washcloth on his face. “We went to the bar afterwards and split it by round. I got the first and honestly, I don’t remember much after that.” 

“How are you feeling now, though?” you ask as you finish patting his skin dry. “Do you still feel dizzy?” Sunghoon opens his eyes and watches you apply a serum before dabbing it all over his face. 

“Not as much as before. I think I’m just tired.”

“And clingy, apparently.” 

Sunghoon smacks the back of your thighs. “Shut up. You love it.” You silence him by kissing his nose. 

While he brushes his teeth, you situate yourself underneath your plush covers and allow the weight of the blanket to fall on top of you. The sweet promise of a good night’s rest feels imminent, especially when you see your boyfriend emerge from the bathroom. He turns off the light and walks towards the empty side of the bed before he’s slipping himself beside you. 

Sunghoon’s an equal opportunist when it comes to sleeping positions. He loves it the most when your head is on his chest and when your arms are tangled in one another because he likes knowing that the two of you yearn for each other equally. But when he gets like this, Sunghoon takes initiative to maneuver himself until half of his chest and head are on top of you. He situates his arm around your waist and pulls himself closer to your body until a deep, satisfied sigh comes from the back of his throat. 

He hums in appreciation when your fingers begin to massage his scalp. Sunghoon’s hair is soft and silky and on most days, you’re the only person who gets to touch it. The slowness of your movements paired with the soft kiss you place on his temple makes his eyelids feel heavy. 

“Sorry you had to come pick me up,” Sunghoon mumbles against you. “I know we agreed to give each other some space this weekend.” 

“You should know by now that I’d do anything for you.” He feels you kiss the crown of his head. “Plus, we both know you’d do the same for me.” 

Sunghoon nods. “I would. You’re my girlfriend. Duh.” His sleepy nonsense makes you laugh. 

“You can go back to hanging out with the guys tomorrow if you want.” He shakes his head. 

“I want to get breakfast with you.” Sunghoon finds your free hand and presses a sleepy kiss to the back of it. 

“Whatever you want. We can get breakfast.” 

“If we wake up early enough.” 

You laugh again. “Yes, if we wake up early enough.” 

Sunghoon mumbles a few incoherent words that you can’t quite make out because of your own tiredness. When your own eyes start to droop, Sunghoon feels your fingers start to falter and looks up at you to see you’ve fallen fast asleep. 

He kisses the underside of your chin and falls asleep too.

***

comments and reblogs are appreciated! x

[itneverendshere]

reader maybe having a dad, like jj’s? very manipulative and controlling, sometimes it’s physical. and he comes out unexpected while rafes there

okay so i was planning to write off her parents as dead but this made me change my mind a little, hope you enjoy <3

wash the sins out of that house - r.c

pairing: rafe x pogue!reader (bartender!reader universe)

The sound of cartoons played low in the background, mixing with the faint clink of a fork against a plate. 

Rafe leaned back against the worn-out couch in your sister’s living room, watching as you flipped pancakes at the kitchen counter. Your sister’s kid, Milo, was glued to your leg, like always, babbling about some superhero show. The smell of breakfast filled the house, making it feel more like home than his own ever did.

Every little thing you did just made him fall more, if that was possible. He was always looking at you like that, like you were some kind of miracle.

It wasn’t just how good you were with Milo or how much you cared about everything and everyone. It was how much weight you carried without ever complaining, how you made everything seem easy even when he knew it wasn’t. You’d been staying here ever since the storm ripped through your house a few months back. 

Your sister was cool. Single mom, strong like you, but in a quieter way. She worked double shifts, and left you to help with Milo most of the time. Not that you ever complained, even after the long shifts, you loved to babysit. You were used to this shit—being the rock. Probably why you hadn’t freaked out when your house got leveled. You just rolled with it, found a place with your sister, and moved on like it was no big deal.

He’d been staying over more and more, crashing on the couch when he was too tired to drive back to Tannyhill. At first, it was just because he wanted to be near you when you couldn’t sleep over at his. But now… it felt like more. Like he could see himself living with you right away.

You glanced over your shoulder, catching him staring like an idiot. “You good?”

“Yeah,” He cleared his throat, leaning forward. “You need help or something?”

You laughed, shaking your head as you flipped another pancake. “You? In the kitchen? That’s rich, baby.”

“Hey, you never complain about my pancakes.”He shot you a grin, but it faded when Milo tugged at your shirt, asking something in that tiny voice of his. 

You crouched down, your voice soft as you reassured him, “Mommy will be back soon, okay? Just a couple more hours.”

You looked so at ease like you’d been raising kids your whole life. It did something to him—watching you like that. This tough, independent woman who wouldn’t take anyone’s shit, just… melting when you talked to Milo.

Rafe swallowed hard, not really knowing what to say. Every time he tried to picture your future together, it got fuzzy. Not because he didn’t want one. He already told you he did. But because he wasn’t sure if he deserved one with you. His life had been a mess half the time.

He’d hurt people. Done things.

But when he was around you, he didn’t feel like that entitled spoiled guy anymore. He felt like someone who could be better. For you.

The front door slammed open, and immediately, something was off. Rafe’s eyes shot from Milo’s cartoons to the guy who’d just staggered in. He could smell the booze before he even saw his face.

Who the hell?

You froze. The spatula in your hand hung mid-air as you stared at this man like you’d seen a ghost. But this wasn’t a ghost. This guy was real, and from the way he was swaying on his feet, he was about to make himself a problem.

“Some fucking daughters y’all are,” the guy slurred, his voice rough and soaked in alcohol. “Not inviting your old man over while he’s in town.”

Your dad? That was your dad?

Rafe’s mind spun. You never talked about your parents and he’d never asked because he wasn’t stupid. He could tell it was a touchy subject, just like his own dad was sometimes, so he never brought it up. He assumed they were gone and you only had your sister. He never imagined this. 

Not once had you mentioned your dad. And now here he was, stumbling through the door like he owned the place.

Rafe shot up from the couch, every muscle in his body tightening. Who the hell did he think he was, barging in here like that? You didn’t say anything right away, but your whole posture changed—your back straight, your pretty face like stone. You looked like you were bracing for something, and he didn’t like that one bit.

“Dad,” you said, flat and cold. “What are you doing here?”

He gave this ugly laugh, a mix of drunk and mean. “What, can’t a father check in on his daughters? Or are you too good for your family now?”

You didn’t even flinch. Didn’t say a word. Just stood there, still as a statue, while Milo clung to your leg, eyes wide, just as confused as Rafe felt.

Rafe stepped forward, putting himself between him and you. He didn’t care if this guy was your dad. He was drunk, stumbling, and saying things no father should be saying to his kid.

“Who the hell are you?” Her dad’s eyes flicked to him, narrowing, like he was sizing me up. “Rich boy? Boyfriend?”

He squared his shoulders, staring him down. “Rafe.”

“Rafe,” he repeated, laughing like it was some kind of joke. “Of course. She’d find herself a rich boyfriend. Always looking for the easy way out, huh?”

He had some fucking nerve walking in here, talking to you like that. Like Rafe was ever going to let someone run you down. He didn’t know anything about your relationship with your parents, but from the look in your eyes and the way you were gripping the edge of the counter, he was starting to get the picture. This wasn’t the first time your dad pulled something like this, clearly.

You grabbed his arm before he could take another step. “Rafe, don’t.”

Your voice was low, almost pleading. Not because you were scared, but because this was deeper than just a drunk guy running his mouth. This was something you’d been dealing with for years, and your boyfriend was just now getting a front-row seat.

Your dad sneered at you. “That’s right. Tell your little boyfriend to back off. You’re not so tough now, are ya? Always thinking you’re better than me. Always looking after your sister’s kid like you’re some kind of hero. But you’re not. You’re just like your mother. Weak.”

That’s when Rafe felt it. That surge of anger, that need to hit something.

No one talked to you ike that. No one.

He could feel his fists clench, chest tightening. He was ready to throw your dad out himself. But your hand tightened on his arm, and he looked at you. Really looked at you. You seemed tired, like you’d been through this a thousand times before, and you didn’t need him to step in. Not right now.

“Let him go,” you said quietly. “He’ll leave when he’s done.”

Rafe didn’t want to back off. Every instinct in him was screaming to throw this piece of shit out on his ass. But something in your voice, something in the way you were looking at him, made him stop. You weren’t asking for help. You were asking him to let it go. For now.

He swallowed the anger and stepped back, though he kept myself between you and your dad. He wasn’t leaving you alone with this guy, no way in hell.

Your dad’s sneer didn’t falter. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.” He swayed a bit before heading for the door, muttering under his breath. “Ungrateful little—"

The door slammed behind him, leaving the room dead quiet. The kind of quiet that made you realize just how loud things were a minute ago.

You exhaled slowly, like you’d been holding your breath the whole time. You turned back to the counter, flipping the pancake like nothing happened. But Rafe could see the way your hands shook just a little.

He stood there for a second, still running through everything that just went down. He’d never seen you like that before. And he didn’t like what he saw.

“Baby,” he said quietly, stepping closer.

You didn’t look at him. “He does that sometimes. Shows up, drunk, says whatever he feels like saying. Then he leaves. Same thing for as long as I can remember.”

Rafe didn’t know what to say. His mind was racing, trying to wrap around the fact that this was your life. You’d been dealing with that guy for who knows how long, and you never said a word about it.

“That’s not okay,” he said finally, his voice rough. “That’s not normal.”

You sighed, finally turning to face him. “Yeah, well. Now you met the whole family.”

You didn’t know what else to say.

There wasn’t much to say. This was just how things were for you. Your dad was a mess, and you’d learned to deal with it, ignore it even. There was no fixing this. Not really. At this point, it didn't affect you or your daily life that much.

“I should’ve asked,” he said, his voice thick with guilt. “About your family, I mean.”

I shook my head, feeling the weight of it all. “I wouldn’t have told you,” I admitted. “Probably would’ve said he’s dead.”

You didn’t want to be that girl—the one with family baggage so heavy it crushed everything good in your life. You didn’t want Rafe looking at you like I were fragile or damaged. It was bad enough that you were as broke as it got. You’d just gotten used to him wanting to help, to be a little less independent, to let him take care of you and spoil you every once in a while.

This though? You never wanted him to find out. 

But now… he knew. He knew what you came from. And you couldn’t hide it anymore.

“I don’t care,” Rafe said suddenly, breaking the silence. Like he was trying to convince you and himself at the same time. “I don’t care about your dad. I care about you.”

You could feel his eyes burning into you, but you couldn’t bring yourself to look at him. Instead, you kept your focus on the pancakes, the routine keeping you distracted. But your hands wouldn’t stop shaking, no matter how hard you tried to stop it.

“I just… I didn’t want you to see that,” You finally admitted, your voice small and raw in a way you hated. “I didn’t want you to know how messed up everything is.”

Rafe moved closer, his body warmth seeping into your side as he leaned against the counter next to you. He didn’t try to touch you, though, and you were grateful for that. You weren’t ready for that.

Not yet.

“Messed up? Baby, have you met me?” He let out this soft, disbelieving laugh, but there wasn’t any humor in it. 

You glanced up at him, finally meeting his eyes. And there it was—that soft, almost sad look he got sometimes when he thought about his family. About how his mom left and how his dad never really let him in. Ward Cameron was friendly enough with you, and he wasn’t a complete asshole to his son, but he was absent, not really caring about keeping a constant connection with his kids. It hit you then that maybe you two weren’t so different after all.

Maybe that’s why you worked.

But still, the shame stayed. The feeling that now that he really knew you, the ugly parts you kept hidden, he might not stick around. Guys like him didn’t stick with girls like you, right? Despite him doing the exact opposite until know.

“This changes nothing, okay?” he said, his voice softer now, almost like he was trying not to spook me. “Not with me.”

He wasn’t looking at you like he was about to leave. His eyes were steady, clear. He didn’t look freaked out or like he regretted being here. He just looked… real. Like he meant every word.

 “This is a mess, Rafe. You saw it.”

“I don’t care,” he said, like he needed you to hear him. “I don’t care about any of that. None of it changes how I feel about you. I love you.”

You bit your lip, turning your attention back to the pancakes because if you didn’t, you were afraid you might cry. You weren’t the crying type, but after everything, your dad showing up like that, and Rafe not running for the door—it was a lot. Too much, maybe.

“I don’t want you to feel like you have to fix anything,” you said softly, flipping the last pancake and turning off the stove. “You can’t fix my dad or the way things are. I don’t want you to try.”

“I’m not trying to fix anything,” Rafe said, stepping closer to you now. “I’m just… I’m here. With you. That’s all I want.”

You felt his hand brush against yours, hesitant at first, like he wasn’t sure if you were ready to be touched. But when you didn’t pull away, his fingers laced through yours, and the warmth of it broke through the dread thad settled over you since your dad walked in.

Finally, you turned to face him, and there it was—that look in his eyes again. The one that said you were more than enough, that he saw you, really saw you, and wasn’t running for the hills. You knew him like the plam of your hand now, and he wasn’t bluffing. He never lied to you.

Your heart did this weird thing, like it flipped and dropped all at once. It was still a little scary to hear him say that. Scary because it meant he was sticking around, and as much as you it scared that was exactly what you wanted. For him to stay.

Because you loved him just as much, and you didn’t mind reminding him every day.

Milo broke the silence, tugging at your shirt again. “Is time f’pancakes now?”

You couldn’t help but smile at the innocence in his voice, the way he had no idea what had just gone down. You bent down to scoop him up, holding him close, the warmth of his growing body keeping you sane in the moment.

“Yeah, buddy,” you said softly. “It’s time for pancakes.”

Rafe watched you, a soft smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. This is why he knew you’d be a good mom one day. He kept that thought in the back of his mind every day since you gave him the bracelet on his wrist.

The way you picked up Milo and smiled—it calmed him down. The whole scene was so you—taking care of things, keeping it together even when everything around you was a mess.

“Eat up, kiddo,” you said, ruffling his hair as he dug in with way too much syrup. 

Then you glanced at Rafe again, your smile still lingering but more reserved, like you were still processing everything.

Milo was halfway through his second pancake, syrup smeared all over his little face, when he looked up at Rafe with those wide, innocent eyes.

“Hey, Rafey, can we go to the park after this?”

You were clearing the plates from the counter, and Rafe caught the quick glance you shot his way. You had a shift starting in an hour, and Milo probably knew it too, even if he wasn’t saying it.

He leaned back in his chair, wiping a bit of syrup off Milo’s cheek with the corner of a napkin. “The park, huh? What’re you thinking, swings? Slide?”

Milo grinned, syrup dripping down his chin. “Both! And the big jungle gym! You said I was big enough for it now, remember?”

He laughed, remembering the time a couple weeks back when Milo had looked at that massive jungle gym like it was Mount Everest, and Rafe told him he was totally ready to conquer it. “I did say that, didn’t I?”

You shot him a look as you grabbed your bag, ready to head out for your shift. “You sure about this?” you asked.

Rafe waved it off. “Yeah, no problem. Milo and I got this.” He grinned at the kid. “We’re gonna hit the park and maybe even stop for some ice cream after if your mom’s cool with it.”

Milo’s face lit up like Christmas morning, and you laughed softly, shaking your head. “You’re spoiling him, baby.”

He shrugged, trying to play it cool, but deep down he liked how easy it felt, like this was where he was supposed to be. “Eh, he deserves it.”

You walked over to where Rafe was still leaning against the counter, and without overthinking it, you leaned in and gave him a quick kiss on the lips.

“Ewwww!” Milo groaned dramatically, scrunching up his face like he just witnessed the grossest thing ever. “Why do you always gotta kiss him like that?”

You and Rafe both burst out laughing, and Rafe shook his head, ruffling Milo’s hair. “Get used to it, bud,” he said, still smirking. “She’s gonna keep doing that.”

“Not in front of me,” Milo said, still looking completely disgusted but clearly loving the attention. “It’s so gross!”

You grinned and gave Rafe a playful tap on the chest. “Guess we’ll have to start sneaking around now.”

Rafe chuckled, pulling you in for another quick peck. “I can live with that.”

Milo let out an exaggerated groan, dramatically slapping his hands over his eyes. “Ugh! I’m never getting a girlfriend if that’s what you have to do.”

“Good,” you said, shooting him a wink. “No girlfriends until you’re thirty.”

Rafe laughed again, and Milo just sighed, completely over it. “Can we just go to the park now? Please?”

You shook your head, smiling at how easily the moment turned light again. “You two have fun. I’ll see you later.”

You headed out the door, the sound of your nephew still groaning in the background making you smile as you went, promising yourself you’d answer whatever questions Rafe had about your parents, the second you two snuggled up in his bed at night.

[foreverisntenough]

‘Act II’

Summary: Attraction is like a gravitational pull that is undefinable and unavoidable. Unbeknownst to you, Jude had been keeping an eye on you since he caught a glimpse on his best friend’s girlfriend’s Instagram but he’s been loving his single life. You always were independent and know how to swim on your own but maybe you have been just treading water. Could the tides change on a holiday in Greece when you finally meet? It might get a little rocky but maybe you could be his paradise.

Index

Warnings: This series is 18+ MDNI

Note: Thank you for reading! Please be sure to like, comment, or message me what you think of the series! ‘Act II’ is interconnected to the 'You’re Mine' and 'Ours' Series but can read it independently.

Chapter 9 - His Angel | ‘Act II’

word count - 12k

One evening, while at a friend’s party, things boiled over. Jude was already on edge, his emotions raw and barely contained. Toby had been trying to talk him down, saying it wasn’t worth getting upset over, but it only fueled Jude’s frustration. 

“She was probably just waiting till you filled her wardrobe up,” Toby said casually, taking a swig of his drink, not fully understanding the depth of Jude’s turmoil. Jude froze, the words striking a nerve he hadn’t even realized was so exposed. He narrowed his eyes, the anger building inside him. 

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” he asked, his voice low and dangerous.Toby shrugged, not sensing the shift in Jude’s mood. 

“I mean, come on, mate. You think she’s ignoring you because she’s heartbroken? Girls like that move on fast. She’s probably prepping for the next season—new baller, new clothes, new Instagram posts. You know how it is.” Toby chuckled a little like this was obvious. 

“Are you serious right now?” he growled, stepping toward Toby. “You think she was just some girl using me? Using me for fucking social media clout?” Jude snapped. His fist clenched, the frustration of everything—the uncertainty, the silence, the way you left—pushed him over the edge. Toby looked taken aback by Jude’s sudden aggression.

“Hey, relax, mate. I didn’t mean it like that. I’m just saying...the whole thing’s been, what, a holiday fling? You’re just trying to make yourself feel better because you’re finally realizing what this was. You’ll be fine, bro. Take a breath and move on. You said yourself you’re still the same lad… before and after Y/N.” The words hit Jude like a punch to the gut. The idea that this was just a fling, something temporary, something you’d move on from, sent him into a blind rage. He shoved Toby back, his voice rising as his emotions bubbled over. 

“You don’t know anything about her or what we have!” Jude shouted, his face twisted in anger. “It’s not some fling, yeah? I fucking love her!” The room went silent. Toby stared at Jude, wide-eyed and speechless. He had never seen Jude like this—so raw, so vulnerable. It was clear this wasn’t just some casual relationship for Jude. His feelings for you ran deeper than anyone had realized, maybe even deeper than Jude himself had admitted before.

“You...you love her? Wow.” He asked, his voice soft, the shock evident in his tone. Toby blinked, trying to process what Jude had just said Jude, still seething, ran a hand over his face, realizing what he had just admitted in the heat of the moment. His chest heaved, the intensity of his emotions crashing over him like a wave. 

“Yeah,” he muttered, quieter now, almost like he couldn’t believe it himself. “I love her.” For a moment, neither of them said anything. Toby, still stunned, finally nodded, understanding dawning on him. 

“I didn’t know, mate,” he said softly. “I didn’t realize it was like that.” Jude slumped down on the couch, his anger subsiding into a heavy, aching feeling in his chest. 

“Yeah, well...I fucked it up so now the girl I love left.” His voice cracked slightly, the weight of his own words settling in. He had messed up. He had pushed you away, and now you were gone. And for the first time, he was admitting—out loud—that he was in love with you, and he might have lost you for good. Jude got up and left the room, his heart racing and his mind spinning. He found an empty bedroom down the hall, pushed open the door, and sat heavily on the edge of the bed. His hands raked over his hair, pulling at the roots as if that would somehow release the pent-up frustration. Everything inside him was burning—anger, regret, sadness, but more than anything, pain. Moments later, the door creaked open. Toby hesitated for a moment before stepping in, the awkward tension filling the air. He cleared his throat. 

"Do you... do you really love her, mate?" He asked. Jude didn’t look up, his shoulders hunched as he stared at the floor. Toby, trying to lighten the mood, let out a small, nervous laugh. "I mean, I never thought we’d get past having school crushes. You know? Didn’t think you’d actually—"

"Shut up, Toby," Jude snapped, his voice thick with emotion. The lightheartedness grated against the rawness he felt. This wasn’t a joke. Not to him.

"Sorry, man. I didn’t mean—" Toby's smile faded. 

"It’s not funny." Jude’s voice cracked. His chest heaved as he tried to gather the words, his hands gripping the edge of the bed tightly. "You don’t get it. You don’t understand how much it hurts being apart from her. It’s like...it’s like breathing is harder when she’s not around. Everything is harder." His voice broke, the vulnerability he had tried to suppress for so long spilling out now that the dam had burst. Toby stood in stunned silence, his eyes widening as he watched his usually composed friend unravel. He had never seen Jude like this—so utterly broken. He wasn’t sure what to say. Jude continued, his voice softer but filled with despair. "When she’s around, everything feels lighter, man. She... she’s this perfect angel, and when she’s there, she makes everything easier. I didn’t realize how much I relied on her until she left." His fists clenched, and he let out a shaky breath. "I pushed her away. I hurt her, and now she’s gone, and I don’t know how to fix it." Toby took a cautious step closer, seeing the tears welling in Jude’s eyes. He had always known Jude to be strong, unshakable, but now? Now he was witnessing the depths of Jude’s emotions, the sheer gravity of what this relationship meant to him. Jude blinked rapidly, fighting to keep the tears from falling, but they slipped down his cheeks anyway. "You don’t know what it feels like. My heart... it’s in so much pain, and it’s my fault. I did this." His voice cracked again, the weight of his guilt crushing him. He wiped his face with the back of his hand, but the tears kept coming. Toby finally sat down next to him, completely out of his depth but trying to be there. He placed a hesitant hand on Jude’s shoulder. 

"I had no idea it was like this, man. I’m sorry, bro. I didn’t realize she meant so much to you." Toby spoke. Jude shook his head, his voice barely above a whisper. 

"I knew. I knew and I ignored it... until it was too late." He let out a deep, shuddering breath. "I’m in love with her, and I pushed her away. Now, I don’t know if she’ll ever come back." Toby sat there, unsure of what to say, but knowing that this was the most serious, the most real, he had ever seen Jude. The magnitude of what had just unfolded between them was undeniable. Jude wasn’t just heartbroken—he was devastated, and it was clear that losing you was his worst fear coming true. Jude sat on the edge of the bed, his emotions swirling like a storm. He took a deep breath, trying to compose himself, but the weight of it all was too much. His hands gripped the duvet beneath him, knuckles white with frustration and sadness. Toby wasn’t sure if he should stay or leave. Jude—the cool, calm guy who always had it together—was now unraveling in front of him, and Toby had no clue how to help.

"So… love her? You sure? Maybe you’re just.. I don’t know, mate. Just take a breath here, yeah?”  Toby spoke, this time softer, without the nervous laugh from earlier. He thought maybe Jude was stressed, maybe he had drinks Toby didn’t see, he wasn’t sure. This felt foreign.  Jude didn’t answer right away. He just stared at the floor, eyes glassy with unshed tears. 

"You don’t know her, Toby." Finally, he spoke, his voice barely above a whisper, but every word was loaded with meaning. 

“What do you mean? I’ve met her. She seems nice. But you know, maybe—" Toby frowned, confused by the response

"No." Jude cut him off, looking up at Toby for the first time, his eyes blazing with emotion. "You don’t know her." He wiped his face roughly, trying to rein in the tears that kept threatening to fall. "She’s...she’s not what you think. Not just some girl I picked up while on holiday, not some girl after my lifestyle. You have no idea." Toby stayed quiet, realizing Jude wasn’t just venting. He was confessing something very real. Jude shook his head, his voice thick with emotion. "She’s so much more. She’s strong, yeah, but... behind that strength, behind this thick wall she puts up, she’s soft, man. So soft. It’s like... like there’s this glass around her, and you’d never know how delicate she is unless you’re lucky enough to be let in. And I was." His voice cracked again, but he kept going. "I was the lucky one. She let me in, and I didn’t even realize how much of a privilege that was. I took it all for granted." Toby was silent, his earlier casual attitude completely gone. He could see now that this wasn’t just about a girl or a fling. This was something deep, something Jude had been hiding, maybe even from himself. Jude rubbed his temples, frustration clear in his every movement. "She’s... she’s perfect, Tobs. I mean, not in the way you’re thinking. Of course, she’s fit but she’s perfect in all the little ways that matter. The way she smiles when she thinks I’m not looking, the way she laughs at my dumb jokes, even when they’re not funny. And when she talks about something she loves, it’s like the whole world disappears. I’d be lucky to even have a chance to hear her talk about a painting for hours." Toby shifted, unsure of what to say, but Jude wasn’t done. His voice grew more intense as he continued. "You don’t know what it’s like to have someone like that. Someone who makes you feel like... like you’re not just another guy, like you’re special and not special in the way the whole world perceives you to be. Special in a way because of everything but that. And I messed it up. I pushed her away because I was scared. Scared of how much she means to me." Jude’s fists clenched, his breathing ragged as the emotion took hold again. "You don’t get it, Toby. When she’s not around, when she’s not there to lighten the load. She’s... she’s my angel, man. And I don’t know if I’ve lost her for good."Toby’s eyes narrowed at the weight of Jude’s words sinking in. Jude wasn’t just in love—he was consumed by it.

"Mate..." Toby started, trying to find the right words. "I really had no idea. You should’ve said something. I’m sorry I piled on. You’re Jude though, girl stuff always works out for you.” He gave him a sympathetic smile. Jude shook his head in disagreement. You were not another girl and he should’ve told you that because he knew it. Toby could feel his despair radiating off him. “I know I give you shit but you should’ve told me. I would’ve listened, I… I would’ve… I don’t know maybe treated her a bit differently knowing she wasn’t just passing through. I didn’t know you two were like that… honest.” Toby sighed a bit consumer by guilt that he hadn’t seen it.  

"Of course you didn’t," Jude muttered, shaking his head. "No one did. I kept it hidden because I didn’t want to seem weak. But now? Now, it’s all crashing down, and I don’t know what to do. I’ve hurt her, Toby. I’ve hurt the one person I’d do anything for." Jude’s eyes filled with tears again as he confessed, "I’ve never felt like this before. It’s not just about her being beautiful or smart or whatever. It’s about who she is when no one’s watching. How she holds everything together, how she let me in when she didn’t have to. And now… fuck." Toby couldn't wrap his head around this. A big part of it being that Jude had been playing two roles. One for everyone else and one for you. He sat next to Jude listening as his friend poured his heart out. Jude wiped at his eyes again, trying to stop the tears from falling. "I love her, Tobs," Jude said, his voice trembling with emotion. "I love her so much that it hurts. And now she’s gone. I really fucking love her." Toby squeezed Jude’s shoulder gently, realizing that this was more than just a rough patch. Jude had found something rare, something deep, and in his mind, he had lost it all.

The stillness of the gallery felt almost oppressive as you sat there, staring at a message from Aurelian. The silence that had once been comforting now seemed suffocating. The familiar hum of the city outside didn’t reach you here, not in this moment. The world outside carried on, but in this space, in this moment, everything felt frozen. You hadn’t even realized you were holding your breath. Your hand trembled as you clutched your phone, reading and rereading the message.

‘Hey, chérie. Haven’t seen you around lately. Thought you disappeared or finally wised up and left Jude xx’

The words played on a loop in your mind. What was meant to be a lighthearted joke carried the weight of something far heavier. The irony, the bitter truth woven into those casual words, twisted something inside you. It wasn’t the joke itself—it was the reality behind it. You had left Jude. You had wised up, hadn’t you? You’d finally done what was necessary to protect yourself, hadn’t you? But why did it feel like anything but wisdom? You leaned back in your chair, staring blankly at the paintings in front of you. The half-finished piece seemed to mock you, its vibrant colors dulling in the dim light of the gallery. Your mind wandered back to Madrid, to the moment you stormed out of Jude’s house, his voice ringing in your head, the anger, the hurt, the finality of it all. It felt like a lifetime ago, yet the pain was still fresh, still raw. Your phone buzzed again, pulling you from the spiral of thoughts. Another message from Aurelian.

'Jude never said anything, so I wasn’t sure if you two were still a thing. I just wanted to let you know I’m having a party for my birthday. You should come. Jude’s invited too, but I figured you’re your own person, right? No pressure, just thought I’d throw it out there.'

You read the words once, twice, then a third time. It felt strange—foreign, almost—that Aurelian would reach out. You barely knew him beyond the surface level. He was Jude’s teammate, someone who existed in Jude’s world, not yours. Yet here he was, extending an invitation like none of that mattered. Like you mattered outside of Jude. A strange mix of emotions churned inside you—nausea, confusion, a flicker of something resembling hope, but mostly a gnawing emptiness. You weren’t sure why, but something about Aurelian’s message made your chest feel heavy. Maybe it was the idea that people already saw you and Jude as over, as if the relationship had never really meant anything. As if it was nothing but a fleeting moment in time. But it wasn’t fleeting for you. You hadn’t moved on. You couldn’t. Every time you closed your eyes, you saw his face—those dark, cheeky, expressive eyes that told you more than his words ever could. You saw the way he looked at you, the way he touched you, the way he said your name like it was something sacred. And now, all you had left was this void—a gaping hole where he used to be. You glanced back down at the screen, your finger hovering over the reply button. What could you even say? Did you even want to respond? Aurelian’s message, innocent as it was, brought everything crashing down on you all over again. You thought you were coping, thought you were getting through the pain, but the reality was you had simply buried it deep enough to pretend you were okay. And now, it was all bubbling back to the surface. You stood up, pacing the small gallery space, the echo of your footsteps the only sound in the room. Aurelian’s words replayed in your mind. 'Finally wised up and left Jude.' Was that how it looked to everyone else? Like you had made the smart, rational choice? Like leaving him was the right thing to do? But it didn’t feel right. It felt like a mistake—a colossal, gut-wrenching mistake. And now, here you were, standing alone in New York, trying to figure out where everything had gone so horribly wrong. You sank back into the chair, a wave of exhaustion crashing over you. Your hand moved instinctively to your phone, pulling up Jude’s Instagram. He hadn’t posted much since you left. Just a few cryptic photos—training shots, some scenic views of Madrid. Nothing personal, nothing that gave you any insight into how he was feeling.  You clicked back to Aurelian’s message, staring at the text. Your finger hovered over the keyboard, unsure of what to say or if you should even say anything at all. But then, almost without thinking, you typed a response.

'Hey, thanks for the invite. I’ve been back in New York for a while now… just needed some space from the fun in Madrid. Have had a lot of work to do.'

You stared at the message, fingers trembling. It wasn’t the whole truth, but it was enough. You hit send, heart racing as you watched the message deliver. It was a small step, but it felt monumental. 

'I hadn’t heard about the party from Jude…'

You carefully added, hoping the implication was clear enough for Aurelian to realize that you weren’t in touch with Jude. That you weren’t even in Spain. You made sure to emphasize you were definitely your own person now. The reminder, more to yourself than to Aurelian, stung. You had almost let Jude take that from you—your independence, your sense of self, your confidence.You didn’t know about the party from Jude. In fact, you didn’t know what Jude had been doing at all. You had been intentionally distancing yourself from him, avoiding his social media and keeping your phone at arm’s length. But it was impossible not to indulge in the pain of checking his match results. You still couldn’t help it—typing and deleting messages to congratulate him on an assist or a goal, as if some part of you was still tethered to him, as if a simple 'good game' might somehow fix what was broken. When Aurelian had messaged you about his birthday party, you felt a sudden pang of confusion mixed with something else—an ache, maybe, or a resentment toward the situation you were in. The sting of realizing that Jude hadn’t told you anything about it cut deep, but you quickly reminded yourself that you weren’t in Madrid anymore. You weren’t part of that world, part of his world. Not anymore. When Aurelian responded again, the message caught you off guard. The tone was familiar, comfortable, but there was something about it that made you pause. Flirty? Maybe. Or maybe you just wanted it to be. 

'City's not as fun without you around. You’re your own person so just wanted to extend the invite to you but it was a stretch. I’ve always known you were in a league of your own.'

It was a compliment, for sure, and your heart fluttered a little. You weren’t sure how to feel about it—how you should feel about it. There was a part of you that felt guilty, as if entertaining the idea of anyone else, even casually, was some kind of betrayal to what you had with Jude. But there was also a part of you that felt validated, like you needed to hear that someone—anyone—still saw you as more than just the girl Jude had left behind.

'If you find yourself in Madrid for my birthday, it’d be the best present if you came through.'

You stared at the message, unsure whether to laugh or feel conflicted. He was obviously joking—at least, that’s what you told yourself. But the words lingered, hanging in the air, teasing the idea that maybe you weren’t just a footnote in Jude’s life. Maybe you could still be seen, desired, wanted, even in this limbo you were living in. What really stopped you in your tracks, though, were the last few lines. Aurelian switched to French, and the words hit you in a way that English never could. 

'J’espère que tu vas bien. Tu me manques, ton accent, tes blagues, nos conversations.' [I hope you are well. I miss you, your accent, your jokes, our conversations.]

Even though French was spoken around the world, it still felt like a secret code between the two of you.You reread the message, your heart twisting in your chest. French had always been a part of you—a piece of your identity that grounded you, that reminded you of home, of your family, of everything that existed before Madrid, before Jude. And now, here was Aurelian, using it to reach out to you in a way that felt intimate, like he understood more than you thought. You closed your eyes, letting the words wash over you, the familiarity of the language wrapping around you like a comforting blanket. There was something nostalgic and bittersweet about it, like you were being pulled back into a part of yourself that you had forgotten. Or maybe, a part of yourself that you had abandoned.

'Tu me manques.' [I miss you.]

You missed him, too. Not in the way you missed Jude, but you missed the life you had in Madrid—the conversations, the lightheartedness, the easy camaraderie with people like Aurelian, who didn’t make things so complicated. It felt simple, effortless. And right now, you were craving simplicity. You stared at your phone for what felt like hours, the cursor blinking in the empty text box. What could you even say? The idea of going back to Madrid seemed impossible, a fantasy. The thought of running into Jude again—of reopening those wounds—was too much to bear. And yet, the thought of staying away, of cutting yourself off completely, left you feeling hollow. Your fingers hovered over the keyboard, unsure of how to respond. You wanted to tell Aurelian that you missed the conversations too, that you missed speaking French, missed feeling like yourself. But the words wouldn’t come out. Instead, you typed something simple, something safe.

'Thank you for the invite. I’m not sure if I’ll make it back to Madrid anytime soon, but I appreciate it. Hope your birthday’s a good one. Joyeux anniversaire, beau garçon.' [Happy birthday, handsome boy.]

You sent the message before you could overthink it, and then you sat back, letting out a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding. The weight of everything—Madrid, Jude, the mess you left behind—settled back into your chest. You didn’t know what was next, didn’t know how you were supposed to move forward. But for the first time in a long time, you realized that you didn’t have to have all the answers. Maybe it was okay to just exist for a little while, to find your footing again before diving back into the chaos.  As you sat there, your phone buzzed with another message from Aurelian. You didn’t open it right away. Instead, you allowed yourself to breathe, to sit in the stillness, to think about what you really wanted. Not what Jude wanted, or what Aurelian wanted, but what you wanted  Because in the end, you were your own person. And no one could take that from you.

When Whitney called to tell you she was going to see Jude this week, you felt a sharp pang in your chest. It wasn’t unexpected—after all, he was still part of her circle, somehow—but it didn’t make it any easier to hear. Your heart hurt, caught somewhere between jealousy and sadness, and for a moment, you couldn’t find the right words to respond.

“I just didn’t want you to be caught off guard,” she explained, her tone filled with concern. Whitney’s voice was careful, measured. You appreciated the gesture—her honesty, her care in telling you ahead of time—but that didn’t stop the dull ache from creeping up on you. You swallowed it down, trying to muster a neutral response.

“It’s fine,” you said, forcing the words out. “He’s your friend too, right?” There was a pause on the other end of the line, and then Whitney’s voice came through, more insistent this time. 

“No, he became my friend by proxy,” she clarified quickly, almost urgently. “You’ve always been my best friend. My loyalty is with you.”  That small distinction—her reassurance—eased the tightness in your chest, if only just a little. Whitney had always been your person, the one who knew your heart inside and out, and hearing her reinforce that was a reminder that you weren’t alone, even in the aftermath of everything. You sighed, letting out a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding.

“Thank you,” you managed, but your voice wavered, the emotions rising up again. Before you could stop yourself, you stuttered, your words spilling out in a quiet, vulnerable rush. “Just… could you tell me if he’s okay? When you see him?” There was silence on the other end, but you knew Whitney. You knew she was processing the weight behind your words, the lingering feelings you had been trying so hard to suppress. You could practically feel her heart breaking for you, even across the ocean.

“I promise I will…” she said softly, her voice filled with the kind of empathy only a best friend could offer. You could hear the unspoken wish in her tone, the way she wished she could be there, in person, to wrap her arms around you and hold you through it all. “I hope he isn’t.” She sympathetically giggled. You smiled but bit your lip, blinking back the tears that threatened to spill over.

 “I wish you were here,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. The vulnerability of the moment caught you off guard, the way everything felt raw and exposed. Since Whitney moved it had been hard. You didn’t fault her any, in fact you encouraged her move to England but you missed her.

“I wish I could hug you right now,” Whitney said, her voice cracking just enough to reveal her own emotion. “But I’m here, okay? I’m always here, even if it’s over the phone.” You nodded, even though she couldn’t see you, and let the quiet between you settle like a balm on your aching heart. She offered to come be with you but you had work and she had Teddy. When you needed her you’d tell her.

When Whitney saw Jude, it was after an England international team friendly. Jude and Trent had gone out with some other friends for dinner, but eventually returned to Whitney’s house, where a group of footballers filled her living room. Despite the chaos, Jude slipped away from the group, finding Whitney alone in the kitchen. 

“Have you talked to her?” Jude hesitated for a second before he spoke.She was rinsing out a glass when he walked in, his presence behind her unmistakable.  Whitney turned off the sink, exhaling softly as she faced him. 

“Obviously, I have. You know I have,” she replied, her tone firmer than usual. There was no room for pleasantries. She had always been fiercely loyal to you, and this moment wasn’t any different.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered, the weight of the words heavy. Jude stood there, not knowing what to say. His hands fidgeted at his sides, his eyes a little lost. 

“You should be,” she told him, the anger she felt for you evident in her voice. “You really fucked her over, Jude.” Whitney didn’t hold back, meeting his apology with the kind of brutal honesty only a best friend could deliver. The kitchen fell quiet, and while the silence felt tense, it was also thick with a shared understanding. Whitney had every reason to be mad. She had seen you through the worst of it, the heartbreak, the silence, the ache that wouldn’t go away. Jude felt the weight of her words sinking deeper into him. Despite her frustration, Whitney’s naturally nurturing side softened her posture after a while. She had always been a mix of fire and warmth, too kind for her own good at times. So, after the silence had stretched on, she rounded the kitchen island and sat next to him. Jude’s hands clenched into fists on his lap as he looked down, clearly torn.

“How is she?” he asked meekly, as if he was afraid of the answer. Whitney looked at him for a moment, her expression softening. She could see how broken he was, but her loyalty to you came first.  Your heart came first. 

“I’m supposed to tell you she’s fine without you…” She bit her lip and shook her head gently, her voice dropping. Jude’s face contorted in a grimace at those words, the thought of you being okay, of you not caring about him anymore, striking something deep in him. His jaw tightened as if he was fighting back something raw. “Jude… she’s hurt,” she finally admitted, her voice tender despite the situation. “You didn’t just treat her poorly. You led her on and you left her with questions she didn’t deserve.” Whitney saw the pain flash across his face and sighed. Whitney sighed, her frustration palpable as she tried to find the right words. She wasn’t the type to sugarcoat things, but she also didn’t want to completely crush Jude. Still, this wasn’t a situation where being nice felt easy or right. “She’s upset, Jude. You hurt her. You hurt someone who has never even put herself in a position to get hurt before. It was a massive deal that she was opening up to you. She was willing to hurt and you promised her you wouldn’t and yet here we are.” Whitney said, her voice carrying a heaviness that had been building since this whole mess began. Her eyes locked on him, trying to gauge how much he really understood. “Do you even know how much she liked you?” The question hung in the air, and Whitney’s stomach twisted as she waited for his response. She wasn’t just asking for you. She needed to know if Jude had even an inkling of what he’d lost, of how deep your feelings had been, and if he was capable of feeling anything in return.

“Subconsciously, I felt like I knew… but it scared me,” he admitted, his voice quiet, almost ashamed. “Because I think—I know—that I might’ve had even stronger feelings for her. But I didn’t know what to do with that. It scared me, Whit. Telling her, admitting it, would’ve meant growing up… leaving behind this life I knew I was good at.” Jude ran his hands over his face, frustration and regret etched across his features.  He looked down at the floor, almost as if he couldn’t bear to face the truth of his own words. “I don’t know anything about real relationships, and I know she doesn’t deserve anything less,” he added, the words almost a whisper. Whitney sighed again, softer this time, and reached out, picking up his hand.

“Every relationship is different, Jude, so I can’t speak for yours but none of us know what we’re doing at first. We’re all going in blind.” Her fingers tightened around his, a gesture more sisterly than anything, as she looked him square in the eyes. She paused, trying to give him space to let her words sink in. “But eventually,” she continued, “things get crystal clear. You figure it out. But you’ve got to be brave enough to take that step, to risk it. You’ve hurt her so much by not even trying. You’ve been playing it safe because you think you’re good at the life you had before her, but… you’re not that guy anymore, are you?” Jude shook his head. He had told Toby he was but he knew he wasn't. He wasn’t the guy he was ahead of that Greece holiday. His expression twisted, the words cutting deeper than he wanted to admit. He did feel stupid. 

“I’m an idiot,” he muttered. He felt reckless for how he handled things with you, for not being able to face his feelings, for choosing a fleeting life of surface-level connections over something real, something lasting.

“Yeah, but we like you…” Whitney took a deep breath. “Jude… She really really likes you.” Whitney paused. She wasn’t going to say something for you but she knew you loved him.

"I bet she told you to kick me out." His voice was quieter. Jude shifted uncomfortably, his hands still fidgeting as he looked at Whitney.  Whitney glanced at him, a faint smile tugging at her lips despite the tension in the air. 

"I offered," she said with a playful edge, trying to cut through the heavy mood, knowing he needed something lighter for a moment. Jude’s lips curved into a genuine smile, the first one he had managed in what felt like forever. "But you know her. She’s not like that... especially with you."  Whitney quickly clarified, her smile fading into something more serious. 

"Yeah," he murmured. "I know." Jude nodded, the weight of those words sinking in. Whitney hesitated for a beat.

"Y/N… she asked me to make sure you were okay." She explained. Jude’s heart clenched, his chest tightening at the thought that, after everything, you still cared enough to ask about him. The sound of your name, even in passing, nearly undid him. His throat felt thick, and for a moment, he couldn’t speak.

"She… she asked about me?" Jude’s voice broke slightly, his face a mask of conflicted emotions—relief, guilt, regret. He wasn’t sure if that made it better or worse. He couldn’t say your name though it hurt too much and it pinged in his brain that this could’ve all been avoided if he had just grown up and said it. 

"Yeah. As much as you’ve hurt her, she still wants to know you’re alright." Whitney nodded slowly. Jude let out a long, shaky breath. He was crumbling from the inside, the realization of just how much he had messed up crashing down on him like a tidal wave. 

"What do I do, Whit?" he asked, his voice full of desperation. Whitney sighed deeply, walking around the counter and enveloping him in a hug. He felt like a lost kid in that moment, someone who had made a mess but wasn’t sure how to clean it up. She rubbed his back and let out a breath of her own before she stepped back and met his eyes.

"I want to help you, Jude. I really do," she said, her voice laced with compassion but also firm. "If I tell you what to do… well then I should be the one seeing her.” Whitney smiled. “But you’ve got to make a decision for yourself. Take action, real action, on your own." Jude swallowed hard, sensing there was more she wanted to say. And there was. "If you can’t put in the effort on your own merit…" Whitney hesitated, hating that she even had to say it, but she knew it was the truth you needed to hear. "Maybe it’s not right for her. Maybe you don’t deserve her." Jude’s face fell, his eyes shutting tightly against the sting of her words. They were brutal, but he knew deep down they were right. Every step he had taken up until now had been half-hearted, marked by insecurity and fear. But those steps had led him to lose you.

"I know," he whispered, the admission feeling like the hardest thing he’d ever said. He opened his eyes, filled with determination but clouded by regret. "I’m going to fix it. I have to fix it all." Whitney watched him, hoping against hope that this time he meant it—not in the shallow, fleeting way he’d tried to patch things up before, but genuinely. She could see the fight in him, but she had seen it before, and it had never been enough. Jude was always good at grand gestures, but this time, she needed him to be good at the small, meaningful actions too.

"You better mean it this time," Whitney said, though her voice was softer now, more gentle than before. She wanted to believe him. Jude stood up straighter, his fists unclenching as he let out a long breath. 

"I do. I swear, I’ll do it right." He pulled Whitney into a hug, one filled with unspoken gratitude. When they pulled apart, Jude asked, "But will you help? With the… you know, the finer details. The stuff that isn’t make-or-break, but would… I don’t know, make it all feel special. Like, a nice gloss over the top?" Whitney smiled softly, shaking her head at his typical Jude manner of wanting things to be perfect, even in chaos. 

"Of course, of course," she said, her voice warmer now, filled with the hope she had buried earlier. "You know I’m a sucker for a good love story." Jude chuckled lightly, though the gravity of the situation never really left. 

"Thanks, Whit. I’ll figure out the rest. I have to. For her." Whitney gave him one last encouraging squeeze on the shoulder, her voice soft. 

"Make sure it’s not just about fixing things, Jude. Make sure it’s about growing up. Loving her for real. You owe her that." Jude nodded, his eyes serious, carrying the weight of everything he had lost and everything he still had to prove. Whitney stood there, watching as he steeled himself, silently praying that this time, he’d really be the man you deserved.The air in the kitchen was still thick with uncertainty, Whitney hoped more than anything that this wasn’t just another fleeting attempt. You deserved more than that. As Jude stood there, lost in the weight of his thoughts, Trent strolled into the kitchen with his usual easygoing smile. Without missing a beat, he threw his arms around Jude in a goofy hug. 

"Wow baby, really been bulking up, huh?" Trent teased, pulling back and laughing at his own dad joke.

"You’re hilarious." Jude let out a small, tired chuckle, shaking Trent off him along with a disapproving kiss of his teeth.  Whitney, standing nearby, smiled, rolling her eyes at Trent’s antics. She could always count on him to bring lightness to the room, even when things felt heavy. Trent playfully shoved Jude in the shoulder before turning to wrap his arms around Whitney, kissing her cheek in that affectionate, natural way of his.

“You know, mate, it’ll be alright. If you work at it." As he pulled away, he turned back to Jude, his expression softening, but still carrying that calm confidence Trent always had. Jude glanced at him, taking in his words. There was something comforting in how Trent said it, like a quiet reminder that not everything was lost. But it was the way Trent looked at Whitney when he spoke that made Jude stop and really listen. Trent kissed Whitney on the cheek again, grinning as she rolled her eyes but smiled at him all the same. "Good ones," Trent added, his eyes still on Whitney, "take work." Jude's chest tightened, his eyes flickering between the two of them. There was an undeniable truth in Trent’s words, something simple but powerful. He could see it in the way Trent looked at Whitney, the ease of their relationship, built on years of effort, love, and mutual care. It wasn’t easy, but it was real. Jude swallowed hard, nodding slowly as the realization sank deeper. He had to work for it. He had to fight for it. You were worth that, more than worth it.

"Yeah," Jude murmured, his voice rough with emotion. "I know." Trent clapped him on the back, a supportive gesture that said more than words could. Jude gave him a faint smile, appreciating the quiet wisdom in the moment. It wasn’t going to be easy, but nothing worth having ever was. As Trent and Whitney shared a look, both of them hoping Jude would finally figure out what he needed to do, Jude stood there, taking in the moment. He felt a spark of something he hadn’t in a while—hope. And maybe, just maybe, that was enough to start fixing things.

Your apartment was quiet, too quiet. It felt suffocating in the silence that followed your final goodbye to Jude. The words had spilled from your lips before you could stop them, before you could even fully comprehend them. 'I’m done,' you had said, your voice cold, detached. But when you returned home, the weight of it all came crashing down. You hadn’t meant it— maybe not entirely, a part of you knew very well that you wouldn’t ever be ‘done’ with Jude. But your heart was bleeding beneath all the bandages you were trying to wrap it in, and you didn’t know how to stop the pain. Jude had hurt you, over and over, and now it felt like the only thing you could do was push him away before he could break you further. The worst part was that when you told him you were done, you broke your own heart even more. Sitting on your bed, you buried your face in your hands, trying to hold back the sobs that were already clawing their way up your throat. You never cried before you had met Jude. You were always the strong one, always the one to hold it together. But Jude had shattered that, broken down every wall you’d spent years building. Since you met him, it felt like you’d done nothing but cry. Your chest heaved as the tears came anyway, silent and unstoppable. You wanted the world to swallow you up, to take the pain away because it was too much to bear. You were drowning in the ache, in the loss, in the thought that maybe, just maybe, you had lost the one person who made you feel like you were truly seen.

On the other side of the Atlantic, Jude sat in his own room, staring blankly at the floor. His phone was in his hand, the screen dark now, but your voice—your words—echoed in his head. 'I’m done.' He hadn’t believed it, not at first. But the longer he sat there, the more it sank in. You were really gone. He felt like the world had shifted beneath him, like he was untethered, drifting in a void. Everything was harder without you. Breathing, moving, thinking—everything felt like a monumental effort. You had become a part of him, and now that part was ripped away, leaving him raw and exposed. Jude ran a hand over his hair, frustration and despair mixing in a sickening cocktail of emotions. He’d tried to make you understand how much you meant to him, but he’d failed. Words weren’t nearly enough. He had pushed you away without even realizing it, and now he was paying the price. You were his everything, and he had let you slip through his fingers.

In your apartment, you curled up on the bed, pulling the covers around you as if they could shield you from the emptiness that was swallowing you whole. Your heart ached, every beat a reminder of what you had lost—or rather, what you had forced yourself to lose. Jude was still there, in the back of your mind, in every corner of your soul, but you had pushed him away. You had to. It was the only way to protect yourself. It felt like you were dying inside. You had never loved anyone the way you loved Jude. It hit you like a tidal wave, the realization slamming into you with full force. This was love. This was what all the poets and songwriters and dreamers talked about. The kind of love that took everything from you and gave you everything in return. The kind of love that tore you apart and put you back together, all at once. And you were pushing it away.

Jude stayed sat, tears burning in his eyes as he stared at the floor. He had never wanted anything as much as he wanted you. But now, the distance between you felt insurmountable. The silence was deafening, the space between you growing with every minute that passed. It was as if you were moving in parallel, both of you hurting, both of you broken, but never able to meet in the middle. That was the cruelest thing about parallel lines—they never intersect. No matter how close they run, they remain apart.

You sobbed into your pillow, your chest tight with the weight of it all. You had found love—real, heart-wrenching, soul-deep love—and now, like a masochist, you were destroying it because you couldn’t bear his idiodic behavior. You were so mad that Jude had made it so hard. You had pushed him away, told him you were done, when the truth was you were anything but. You loved him more than you had ever thought possible, and it terrified you.  And now you were alone, both of you suffering, both of you desperate for the other, but too afraid, too hurt to bridge the gap. The world outside moved on, oblivious to the two souls shattered in their separate spaces, each aching, each lost. And for the first time, you weren’t sure if you would ever find your way back to each other.

Jude and Aurelian were running through a drill at training, side by side, both focused on the task at hand but equally caught in conversation. 

"So, when's she coming back to Madrid?" Aurelian casually asked. Jude, distracted by the passing drill, shot him a quick glance. 

"Who?" He knew exactly who Aurelian was talking about, but his chest tightened at the thought of you.

"You know, her. I mentioned the party, but it seemed like she hadn’t heard about it." Aurelian’s voice was light, but there was something behind it, like he wasn’t just asking casually. Jude’s brow furrowed as he made another pass.

“What party?” Jude’s voice was sharp, unable to mask the frustration brewing inside him. Aurelian shrugged, chasing after the ball. 

"My birthday, bro. I invited her. She said she was working a lot lately, though, seemed busy." His words were clipped between breaths as he jogged alongside Jude, unaware of the storm building. Jude’s steps faltered for a second. He missed a beat, his mind racing. 

"How do you know that?" His voice came out more demanding than he meant. Aurelian gave him a side glance. 

"I told you. I invited her to my birthday. She's her own person, no? Inviting you wouldn't mean I invited her." He tossed the comment lightly, but Jude could feel the weight of it sinking into him. With minimal thought, Jude rocketed the ball towards the goal, but it went flying high, way over the post, disappearing into the stands. Aurelian noticed the change in Jude’s demeanor immediately—his body stiffened, and his expression darkened. Aurelian felt the shift, sensing the tension wasn’t really aimed at him but at something much bigger. The ball wasn't the only thing that had skyrocketed—Jude’s emotions had clearly spun out of control. Jude’s jealousy was practically radiating off him. "You alright?" Aurelian asked, trying to gauge how deep this ran. He could feel the heat of Jude’s anger simmering under the surface. Jude clenched his fists, trying to ground himself, but his thoughts were spinning. You were talking to everyone—Whitney, Trent, Winnie—but not him. And now, Aurelian? The fact that you were having conversations with someone he trained with daily, sharing things about your life, things that Jude felt he should know, made his blood boil.

"Yeah, I’m fine," Jude muttered, but his face was hard, his jaw tight. He wasn’t fine. Far from it. Aurelian nodded but didn’t push. He could feel the jealousy rolling off Jude in waves, and while he didn’t want to be the source of it, he understood. After all, it was clear Jude still had feelings for you. Jude’s mind raced as they continued their drills, his body on autopilot while his thoughts spun out of control. You hadn’t mentioned the party to him. You hadn’t mentioned anything. It felt like everyone in his life knew more about you than he did, and it stung.  Aurelian’s words echoed in his head: ‘She's her own person after all.’ That statement rattled him more than anything else. Jude, feeling the heat of jealousy and confusion, was quick to blurt out, "So, are you trying to pursue something with her?" His voice cracked slightly as he tried to maintain a calm exterior, but it was evident that his emotions were getting the best of him. Aurelian stopped mid-drill, looking at Jude like he’d lost his mind. 

“What? No, bro. I mean, yeah, she’s sexy.” Jude winced. “She’s really attractive but… you were with her, weren’t you? Or at least, you were.” He shrugged, baffled at the insinuation. But Jude, unable to stop himself, continued to ramble. His words came out fast, almost panicked, as if saying them out loud would somehow justify his own feelings or even ease the burning jealousy coursing through him.

"I get it, you both speak French and all, but do you even know what she’s like? She’s way too good for—" He stopped, realizing what he was about to say. Aurelian raised an eyebrow, intrigued but letting Jude continue. Jude, realizing he’d opened Pandora’s box, kept talking, listing all the reasons why you were amazing, how intelligent you were, how thoughtful and creative. He rambled about your quirks, how you liked your coffee with just the right amount of cream, how you’d stay up late sketching, your laugh, your ridiculous but charming wit. His voice cracked as he started talking about how you deserved someone who would pay attention to all of that, someone who would cherish every part of you, never take you for granted. And then it hit him—he was describing all the ways he should have taken care of you. The way he should have been with you from the start. The way you deserved to be treated. He froze, mid-sentence, the weight of it all crashing down on him. The image of you floated in his mind, standing there with that duffel bag your dad had gifted you, and how you’d once described it with such admiration. You’d talked about how it was made with so much care, each detail meticulously thought out, each stitch precise. Jude realized, in that moment, that the way he should’ve treated you was the same way you described that duffel bag. With reverence. With attention to detail. With care. And he hadn’t. Before Jude could even process the revelation, Aurelian laughed, stepping up to the ball and striking it with precision. It sailed smoothly into the goal, perfectly nestled into the net. At the same time, Jude's shot, born from frustration and confusion, clanged hard off the crossbar, echoing through the empty training ground. The sound hung in the air, sharp and unforgiving. Call it irony.

"You know, Jude," he said, wiping the sweat from his forehead, "clearly, she is too good for you."  Aurelian turned back to Jude, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. Jude's eyes snapped to Aurelian’s, his chest tightening. Aurelian continued, his voice calm but pointed, "You had a wide-open goal, mate, and all you’ve done is hit the post." The metaphor hit Jude harder than the ball hitting the crossbar. He stood there, speechless, the truth of Aurelian’s words sinking in. You were too good for him. You were always too good for him, and in his insecurity, he’d let you slip through his fingers. Jude's hands clenched into fists by his sides once more, frustration burning in his chest. Aurelian was right. Jude had the perfect opportunity, the perfect person, and he fumbled it. Now, you were talking to other people—Aurelian, Whitney, Trent—and he was stuck watching from the sidelines, knowing he had no one to blame but himself. Aurelian watched Jude’s face, the conflict playing out in his features. With a more serious tone, he added, “Look, bro, it’s not about me. It never was. But if you don’t get your head on straight, someone’s going to step up and treat her right. Maybe not me, but someone will. You’ve got to figure out if you're gonna be that person—or keep missing the goal.” Jude swallowed hard, the weight of the realization crashing down on him like a tidal wave. He had to fix this. But for the first time, he wasn’t sure if it was even possible. You deserved more than he’d given, and if he didn’t act soon, you’d find someone who would.

You had ignored Jude for ages but he continually checked in with Whitney to at least make sure you had a pulse. He had thought about calling or texting a million times but he just couldn’t do it. It felt too menial.  In a haze of exhaustion and heartbreak Jude decided to send you a gift. Jude had never bought art before, but this time, he knew it had to be different. Jewelry or a purse wouldn’t cut it; they were too shallow, too ordinary. He needed something that spoke to you, something that communicated how he felt in a way words never could. That’s how he found himself diving into the unfamiliar world of art, navigating galleries, and dealers, determined to find something that would reflect the depth of his feelings for you. 

So when a large package arrived at your door, the deliveryman insisting on a signature, you were understandably confused. The box was massive, covered in bold warning labels about careful handling. Your heart raced with a mix of curiosity and confusion as you brought it inside. It was no ordinary package. As you carefully unboxed it, peeling away layer after layer, you finally revealed the painting. It was large, vibrant, alive with a serene energy that filled the room. Jules Olitski’s 'Beauty of Angels'. Your jaw dropped. For a moment, you wondered if it had been sent to the wrong address, maybe meant for your gallery. But even then, it was impossible to fathom—it was priceless.  You stood there, staring at the painting. It was contemporary, beautiful, and yet, somehow serene. The way the colors seemed to dance across the canvas, soft and yet striking—it felt like it was holding something deeper, something that called out to your soul.  And then, you noticed the card. A small, simple envelope tucked beside the frame. Your fingers trembled as you opened it reading the title of the work, Beauty of Angels. Your heart shattered. Jude. He had sent this. The title of the painting felt like a punch to the chest. You weren’t supposed to be his angel. Not after everything. Not after the hurt and betrayal that still clung to the edges of your relationship. And yet, here you were, standing before this breathtaking piece of art that he had chosen for you. You held the card in your hand, staring down at it, feeling a wave of emotions rush through you—pain, longing, confusion, and an ache that you hadn’t let yourself feel in weeks. It was a grand gesture, yes, but it was more than that. It was his way of trying to communicate, to reach you in a way that words had failed. But the irony of it all was almost too much to bear. You didn’t feel like anyone’s angel. If anything, you felt further from it than you ever had before. The cracks in your heart, the jagged edges of your hurt, made you feel anything but angelic. And yet, here was Jude, sending you something so personal, so profound. It was like he had seen something in you that you couldn’t see in yourself anymore. You stood there, your heart aching as you looked at the painting again. It was beautiful, yes. But it also felt like a reminder of everything you had lost. Of everything that had once been and everything that could never be again. The room felt heavy with the weight of it all, and you had to sit down, the card still clutched in your hand. The painting stared back at you, a testament to how Jude saw you—even now, even after everything. But was it enough? Could it ever be enough to heal the wounds, to fix what had been broken? You weren’t sure. But for the first time in a long while, you let yourself feel the sadness, the longing, and the love you still had for him. The painting was beautiful, but the emotions it stirred in you were even more powerful.  And despite everything, a part of you couldn’t help but wish you were still his angel. Even though you knew you weren’t.

You stared at the painting for what felt like an eternity pacing around it and your apartment for what felt like hours, the walls feeling like they were closing in on you. The city buzzed outside, cars honking, people shouting, but you were lost in the quiet chaos of your thoughts. Jude's name glowed on your phone screen, your thumb hovering over the call button. Every second that passed felt like another nail in the coffin of whatever this had been between you two.  Weeks had gone by since you left Madrid, and the memories still cut deep. That night. The arguments. The coldness in his eyes when he couldn't even say your name. You hadn't intended to call him today; you told yourself that the space was necessary, that you needed to move on. But the ache in your chest never went away, and you couldn’t hold back any longer. You wanted closure. No—you needed it. You needed to hear him admit that it had all been for nothing, that you hadn’t meant what you thought you did. Finally, your thumb pressed down, and the phone rang. Each ring was like a countdown to the moment you weren’t sure you could handle. The silence between you was about to be broken at last. When he finally answered, his voice came through soft, tentative. 

“Y/N,” Jude’s voice was soft, full of emotion that he had been hiding from you until now. “I’ve missed you… so much.” Just hearing his voice made your heart skip. For a brief moment, all the hurt and anger melted away, and it felt like home. Like all those nights lying beside him, talking about nothing, just listening to the sound of his breath as he slept next to you. But that feeling was fleeting, replaced quickly by the cold reality that had driven you both apart.

"Hi," you replied, trying to keep your voice steady, but you could hear the waver in it. You had told yourself this was going to be a calm conversation, a way to smooth things over, to leave on good terms. But the minute you heard him, all the old wounds felt fresh again. “I’m sorry I left the way I did.”  Your own voice catching slightly. A part of you raged that you just apologized to him. Another part of you wondered if he had slept with someone else to relieve the blue balls you had left him with. 

“I’m sorry I gave you a reason to leave,” Jude replied, his sincerity evident. “I should’ve told you what you mean to me, but I was scared. I still am, but I can’t stand not talking to you.” You felt your heart swell with a mix of emotions—relief, sadness, hope. 

“I was scared too, Jude. I didn’t want to get hurt but you’ve hurt me anyway though.” You sighed. This conversation almost felt like it was too quick for you though. Jude was too eager to fix it all. 

“There’s been a lot of hurt lately…” Jude began and that planted a seed. “ I don’t want to hurt you,” Jude said, his voice firm despite the vulnerability behind it. “I want to make things right. I want to be the man you need, Y/N.” There was a pause, both of you taking in the weight of what had been said. This wasn’t an easy fix, but it was a start—a chance to bridge the gap that had formed between you.

“I don’t know what happens next,” you finally said, your voice steady.

“I’m not letting go of this,” Jude replied, determination in his voice. “I’m not letting go of you.” And with that, the silence between you was broken, the first steps toward something new, something real, finally being taken. As the phone call continued, the initial relief you felt from hearing Jude’s voice began to dissipate. Jude’s voice, which had always been so steady, so confident, now carried a different tone—one you weren't prepared for. “Y/N,” Jude began, a hint of nervousness in his voice. “I’ve been thinking… a lot, actually. I don’t want to lose you. I want to give this a real shot. I like you, Y/N. More than I’ve ever liked anyone.” You felt your heart shrivel up in that moment. You wanted an 'I love you.' Those words hung in the air, and instead of bringing comfort, they sent a cold rush through your veins. Suddenly, everything felt too real, too fast. Your mind snapped back to all the things you’d been trying to ignore—the doubts, the fears, the reasons you’d tried to keep Jude at arm’s length.

“No,” you blurted out, your voice sharper than you intended. “I can’t do this, Jude. Look, I appreciate the painting, it’s amazing and so thoughtful but I just can’t.” It was like the walls Jude had broken down, the ones that you were currently working on building back up were encased in steel buried deep in the ground now.

“What do you mean?” Jude asked, confusion and hurt beginning to seep into his voice. “Why not?”

“It’s just… it’s all stupid, Jude,” you said, your voice cracking with a mix of frustration and fear. “This whole thing—it’s just been stupid sex.” Jude felt like the ground had been pulled out from under him. You didn’t believe that in totality but you needed to pull the plug. 

“Stupid sex? Y/N, you know it’s more than that.” Jude was so offended. He knew he was in the wrong but god did it hurt to hear you say that.  Why did you call then? When he saw your name appear on his phone he thought the chasm had begun to yield. 

“Is it?” You shot back, your emotions spiraling out of control. “Or am I just another one of your conquests? Another girl you’ll get bored of and move on from? Another girl you treat like shit. It took you no time at all really to find another one of me.” You snapped.

“That’s not true,” Jude insisted, desperation creeping into his tone. “I’ve never felt this way about anyone before, Y/N. You’re different.” He felt sick to his stomach. 

“Different?” You echoed, your voice rising. “How am I different, Jude? You think I don’t know what you’re really like? I know about all the women before me, the playboy lifestyle. You’re just saying this now because you’re used to getting what you want, and you can’t stand the idea of someone saying no to you.” Jude was reeling, struggling to keep up with the barrage of accusations. 

“Y/N, that’s not fair. I know I’ve made mistakes, but it’s different with you. I’m not trying to play games. I want to be with you—really be with you.” He mused in panic. His voice was shaking.  But you couldn’t hear him over the roar of her own insecurities. You felt tears burning in your eyes, but you refused to let them fall. You wouldn’t let yourself be vulnerable, not now, not anymore.

“No, Jude,” you said, your voice trembling with the effort of holding yourself together. “It’s too much. I don’t want this—I don’t want you.” You cried, your heart breaking for the millionth time.  It hurt saying something you didn't entirely believe. You did want Jude.

“Y/N, don’t do this,” Jude pleaded, his heart breaking alongside yours with every word you spoke. “Please, don’t push me away.” But it was too late. The walls you had built around your heart were snapping back into place, and you couldn’t let yourself break them down again.

“All I do is cry not. You shouldn’t make me cry!” you said, your voice breaking as tears began to stream down your face. “I never cry. This isn’t what I want, Jude. I’m sorry.” You apologized and you weren’t sure why. Jude was silent, the weight of your words settling like a stone on his chest. He wanted to fight for you, to convince you that you could make this work, but the pain in your voice was too much to bear.

“I don't want to make you cry. I’m sorry,” he finally whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "I’m really glad you called though," Jude said, his voice quieter now, as if he were afraid to say too much. He was trying to revert the conversation back on course. "I’ve been thinking about you. About… us though." The way he said "us" made your stomach churn. Us. Was there ever really an us? Or had it just been you, constantly trying to be enough, constantly trying to get him to see you? All you ever wanted was for him to acknowledge what you were to him, but he never could. And now, hearing him say those words, that he had been thinking about us, it made your anger flare.

"Jude," you began, taking a deep breath, "what are we even doing?" There was tension in your tone. There had been a momentary lull but you were about to kick off in a way Jude probably wasn’t prepared for. 

"What do you mean?" His voice tightened, like he already knew where this was headed but was hoping to stall the inevitable.

"I mean, what is this? What have we been doing all this time?" Your voice rose slightly, the frustration that had been building for weeks spilling over. "I’ve been here, waiting for you to tell me something, anything. And you’ve given me nothing. Nothing that I can hold on to... And today, I mean the painting is gorgeous. You already knew I’d like it but…." You sighed. You genuinely loved the painting but you were avoiding the word love at all costs at the moment. You felt embarrassed that you did love him at the minute but should the circumstances be different you would’ve swooned over someone buying you art like this. 

"I’ve told you, you mean something to me," he said, his voice pleading now, as if that was supposed to be enough. But that was the problem. That had always been the problem. You weren’t just something. You were so much more, and he never saw it. Or if he did, he was too afraid to admit it.

"That’s not enough," you snapped, your voice cracking. "Do you hear yourself? ‘You mean something to me’? That’s what you’ve been saying for months. Do you even know what that means? Because to me, it feels like nothing." You quipped. He was quiet on the other end, and you could feel your heart racing, your emotions boiling over. You had held back for so long, tried to be patient, tried to understand where he was coming from. But now, it was all crashing down, and you couldn’t stop yourself. "I’ve been waiting for you, Jude," you continued, your voice shaking. "I’ve been waiting for you to tell me how you really feel, to be brave for once and just say it. I’ve given up so much for you. I left New York. I stayed in Madrid. And for what? For you to keep stringing me along with vague promises that I mean something to you?"

"I never wanted to hurt you," Jude said, his voice strained, like he was trying to hold it together. "I just… I don’t know how to say it." The tears were gathering on his water line. This felt very much like the beginning of the end.  Jude really hoped that this wasn’t the way this conversation would go but a part of him also wasn’t all that surprised. He knew he had wronged you. 

"That’s the problem!" you shouted, unable to hold back the tears that were now threatening to spill over. "You never know how to say it. You never know how to tell me what I mean to you. I’ve been bending over backwards for you, trying to be patient, trying to be enough, but it’s never enough for you, is it? Never enough for you to tell me." Jude’s breath hitched on the other end, and for a moment, you thought he might say it. That he might finally say the words you’d been aching to hear for so long. 

 "I… I’m trying to show you that I care. I don’t want to lose you." But instead, he stammered. Your heart clenched painfully at his words, and the tears finally spilled over again. 

"But you already have." You bluntly told him. The silence that followed was suffocating. You could hear your own breathing, heavy and ragged, and you knew that he was on the other end, feeling just as broken as you. Jude had to mute his phone for a moment for the sob that he felt ready to escape him. He couldn’t breathe properly. But he still couldn’t say it. He couldn’t give you the one thing you needed.

"I…" he started again, but the words faltered. You felt like he was never going to say it. He never would. Why couldn't he say it? Jude was wondered the same thing. It would feel unfair to say now. You almost worried he would say it in a last ditch effort and you didn't want it that way.

"I don’t think I can do this anymore," you whispered, your voice barely audible as the tears continued to fall. "I can’t keep waiting for you to figure out how you feel about me. I can’t keep holding onto something that’s never going to be what I need." Jude was silent again, and you could feel the finality of it all sinking in. This was it. Whatever had been between you, whether it was a relationship or some undefined situationship, it was over. The love you both refused to name had shattered into pieces, and there was no going back now.

“Y/N, angel. Please. Can we… Please it hurts me to think that I'll only got to know you this long. I want more. I’ll give you a lifetime of me, please.” Jude muttered terribly upset and terribly aware this was it. 

“Jude, please know that for the past few weeks I have imagined you imagining me. It's been the only thing that would soothes me. Dreaming you’d want more but… I know now that it’s just been a dream. You have been my favorite almost… really” You whimpered, tears running.  "I’m sorry," you whispered, your voice trembling with the weight of the words. "I’m so sorry, Jude." And before he could say anything, before you could hear the regret in his voice or the words he couldn’t find, you hung up. You stood there in the middle of your apartment, phone in hand, tears streaming down your face, knowing that it was done. Whatever you had with Jude, whatever it had been, was gone. You loved him. You had loved him with everything you had, and now you had to let him go.  Jude sat in his room, the emptiness around him mirrored in the ache inside his chest.  He loved you and never told you. The ache in your own chest was unbearable, but you knew it was the only way. The relationship—or whatever it was—had ended, not with a grand declaration of love, but with silence. The silence that had always been between you, unspoken and unresolved.

And now, you had to learn how to live without it. Without him. 

🪩🫶❤️‍🔥🍹🌞🍒 Thank you for reading! Please like, comment, or message what you think of the chapter 🍒🌞🍹❤️‍🔥🫶🪩

Next part - Chapter 10 - A Little Lost xx

[101suouexpressions]

Graffiti behind Umemiya and the class 1-1 representative

The way these are two consecutive chapters is really begging us to look into it, isn't it?

Chapter 38: The Four Kings

On this cover, we can immediately spot the graffiti of four skeletons on the wall behind Umemiya, and it's not hard to understand that it's referencing the four Boufuurin Kings, as suggested in the title. But which one is which?

The skeleton on the top left could be Mizuki, as we can see that it's holding a laptop, representing information control, which suits Mizuki's role. To his right, from the high heel hanging from the skeleton's fingertip, we can safely assume that it's Tsubaki. Below her, at the bottom right corner, with the spray can, is Momose. And last but not least, at the bottom left, is Hiiragi.

One observation to back up this assumption is the skeletons' horns. If we assume that the kings who are physically stronger have two horns, then it'd be fitting for Hiiragi and Tsubaki as their strength had been put on display, as we don't know as much about Mizuki and Momose.

One thing that keeps bugging me is the drawing on Hiiragi's phone. I'm not sure if it's just a random drawing that someone graffiti-ed over the actual drawing or it has a meaning, and I wasn't able to find any information on it, so if anybunny has an idea please share the knowledge! :3

Chapter 37: One step

Here, we have a direct view of the graffiti at the back of classroom 1-1. The drawing is a reference to the traditional Japanese painting Wind God and Thunder God (by Tawaraya Sōtatsu, from the 17th century). On the left is Raijin, the god of lightning and thunder, and to the right is Fujin, the god of wind, which orderly corresponds to Suou and Nirei. The two gods, just like Suou and Nirei, are oftenly depicted together.

Comparing

1. Signs of time

The Boufuurin Kings graffiti on the left is old, with scratches and leftovers of attempts to paint something else over it. On the other hand, the Fujin and Raijin painting is almost anew.

This clear contrast implies the change in Bourfuurin's core members. As Umemiya and the four kings are graduating next year, the leading roles are shifting towards the newer, younger members.

2. The presence of characters (or lack thereof)

In chapter 38's cover, there is only Umemiya with his kings painted on the wall behind him, while in chapter 37's, both Suou and Nirei – Sakura's vice captains – are present, hinting a more direct involvement from the supporting positions to their leader. We can see this by putting Umemiya's and Sakura's relationship with their vice captains. For Umemiya, he is mature and independent, while Sakura is less so, meaning that he will have to depend more on his vice captains, whether emotionally or strategically.

[idyllcy]

lights, baby, action! - leon kennedy x reader ( oata bonus inspired by chesue)

Leon’s supposedly retired.

Supposedly.

He’s retired at this point, busy playing dress up with your pretty daughter, stubble grown out and though his body is still fit from working out, he’s nowhere near as nice as his prime — so he says. You find that he looks just as good as before, and considering that CK has just contacted him for an independent shoot, they must think the same.

“Daddy’s going to a shoot.” You bring your daughter in the car, Leon patting her back gently as she stares out the window. 

“Guns?”

“Cameras.”

“What for? I thought daddy said he’s done.”

“This one’s for independent work.” Leon hums. “Daddy’s going to be shirtless.”

Your daughter fakes a gag, opting to stare back out the window in the back of the car, huffing.

“As long as no one’s touching him outside of mommy and me.”

Leon’s touched. A LOT. He’s told to change, boxers changed out to the CK one, white shirt pulled over his chest as he gets his makeup done, smiling at you when he catches you staring, straightening back up as the makeup artist scolds him. Same old, same old. It makes you laugh, your daughter sticking her tongue out in your arms, shuddering at his display of affection for you.

“Why does daddy have abs?”

“He works out.” You hum. 

“Is daddy doing an underwear shoot?”

“Yeah.” You laugh when Leon meets eyes with you, shaking his head as everyone’s done fussing over him. He steps over, ruffling your daughter’s hair as he hum.

“Does daddy look good?”

“Daddy looks naked.” 

“Leona, that’s not nice to say to daddy.” Leon pouts. “You look just like daddy, you know.” 

“Yeah, except mommy’s prettier.” She huffs. “Mommy’s just prettier.”

“That��s only because daddy loves me.” You push her hair to the side, kissing her forehead as he hears his name. “Wives loved by their husbands always look better.”

“Well, you must love daddy too since he’s still a model.” Leona stares at Leon’s white shirt. “Are you taking it off?”

“They might make me.” 

“You should.” Your lip quirks up teasingly, laughing when Leon leans over Leona to kiss you. 

“Ewwwww”

“Kennedy! You’re up next.” One of the interns stop by, Leon reaching for your hand as he takes the two of you to the room, white visible all over as your daughter tilts her head.

“Kennedy?”

“They call daddy by his last name.” You hum. “Ready to see daddy model?”

Leona gets out of your arms to stand, on the side as she watches Leona pose, photographer calling for Leon to change poses, shirt pulled up as Leona tilts her head curiously. She hasn’t seen Leon model ever, now that you think about it. Leon retired to raise her at home with you. It’s incredible what budgeting a supermodel’s salary could do in the long run. 

Well, not that brands had ever stopped reaching out.

What could you do? Your husband was just too hot.

Leon reaches for his shirt at the end, pulling it off with a huff as the photographer takes one last shot.

“I think that’s the one.” You tell Leona, letting go of her hand as she runs over to hug Leon.

“There’s my girl.” He lifts her into his arms, humming as she opens her mouth.”

“Leo—“

“Daddy looked really cool. Like. Super cool. I didn’t know daddy used to do that. Is that what modeling is? I thought it was just boring walking on runways.” She huffs. “Can I do that too? Am I allowed to? Am I too young?”

“It’s a risk, baby.” You hum. “Being known to the world is a risk.”

“Is that a no?”

“We can start with few.” Leon nods. “Only with mommy or daddy.”

“Mommy modeled?”

“Modeling is how I met mommy.” He hums. “Showed up looking so pretty our first shoot together.”

“Oh.” Leona pushes her hands over Leon’s mouth, huffing. “I don’t wanna hear it again.”

“You don’t need to.” You press a kiss to her cheek. “Come on. Let’s head back.”

“We’re done?”

“Yes. Let’s get home. What do you want for dinner?”

“I want mommy to make me some eggs.”

[ihopesocomic]

It's such a shame how many good brother-brother duos or sister-brother duos there are compared to sister-sister duos

I know it stems from writers always feeling the need to add a man in every woman's life

A lot of writers can only make a character who's a sister if she's a sister to a brother and it's a real shame

Honestly I think Nothing from MP is a pretty good example of that

Look at her relationship with her female siblings/cousin vs her male siblings/cousin

Fire ended up being horrible and Feather is a toxic positive "lemme make you feel bad for wanting to change your ableist name even though it literally doesnt effect me" dirtbag

But Nothing had a better relationship with vs her younger sisters/cousins

Farleap and Silentstalk bullied her and Feather's sisters thought she was weirdo though they like literally never interacted

It's just always suspicious when a writer seems to prioritize a female character's relationship with guys over her relationship with girls

Like their gender shouldn't matter but they'll always pick their male characters first

The sexism in writing still to this day is wild. Especially where so-called independent creators are concerned. Because I thought the whole point of being indie was creating stuff you wanted to see in mainstream media but didn't get, but a lot of it is just more of the same crap you get from bigger productions. So either people want more sexism, or its just baked into their brain and they don't even realize it.

A lot of better stories out there are about brothers (well, I could argue that a lot of it is lazy and that there is no point to the characters being brothers, especially when strong emotional friendships between men are practically nonexistent in media.) and anything having to do with sisters is as I said, either petty nonsense or there's no point to being sisters at all.

And then there's as you said, an inherent need by creators for women to have men be relevant in their lives when that same standard is not applied to men. You can throw a rock and hit a movie or show with a female pov where her only motivation has to do with a man. Father, son, brother, husband, boyfriend, abuser. Whatever.

That's not to say any of these are bad stories. But when its the majority of supposed woman-focused media, it loses its edge as woman-focused when the women in question are focused on men. The writers either consciously or subsconsciously don't get that women have motivations beyond men. This even happens with lesbian characters, where men should have even less relevancy? LOL And it doesn't even matter who the writers are, whether they're men/women, cis/trans, straight/gay, everyone does this. You'd expect better from queer creators but even then there's a clear preference. And they're wont to bring up that "gender shouldn't matter" but only when it pertains to asking why they're so opposed to women being the focus. Its quite interesting.

MP is in an interesting position of hating both men and women at the same time while not commenting on how the patriarchy has negative effects on both men and women. Not an easy feat but Tribble sure made it look easy. She made Feather Nothing's prime motivator for leaving the pride, and while I have my own criticisms of Nothing's "subtle" motherlyness towards Feather, that wasn't extended to the female cubs. Fire is Nothing's other motivation for leaving the pride, and then he turned out to be a wannabe dictator. Quickmane was shown to be a sympathetic and caring mate who definitely wasn't homophobic, but had no qualms about killing children. And then there's alllllll the women who are meant to be oppressed to the same extent as Nothing, but they all somehow manage to be even worse because the narrative wants us to side with them.

And even Nothing's abusive relationship with Quickmane as we've stated in our review is arguably less fucked up than the relationship she has with her own mother. Because we know what they think about each other, and Powerstrike still insists that Nothing's existence is a burden on her soul or whatever. Like what the fuck is up with that?? I'm sure they could've made Powerstrike less-bad than Quickmane, was this some sort of weird equalizer of the sexes? And you can count Nothing's relationship with Sharptongue if you're so inclined to, but even if you ignore everything else she did, Sharptongue would still be the only positive female influence in Nothing's life. But not a key motivator in Nothing's story. Like not even a little bit.

[gemsofgreece]

Farya Faraji did it again! This is a great episode presenting most Greek music instruments, while providing a lot of context, information, jokes, history lessons and as always he debunks all the myths and stereotypes about Greek music. In this video he is interviewing Demetrios Dallas, a Greek American polymusician (if that's a term in English) who can literally play ALL.

Chapters:

Intro

Bagpipes and reeds

Flutes and clarinet

Bowed instruments

Lutes

Kanonaki and Santouri

Percussions

Context of Greek music

Regional diversity

Rhythmic patterns

It's always changing

Pitch in the modal traditions

Westernisation and revival

The last chapter is thematically the most important and Farya is at the moment the most well known person / youtuber who calls out this massive misconception about Greek music. You see there is this whole, extremely rigid notion in Western Europe that Greek music was western but it was orientalized because Greeks were conquered by the Turks and were turkified and lost their identity. It was exactly the opposite in fact. Greek music was what you 'd call "eastern" (yes, including ancient Greek music, yes, including Homer times, Pericles times, blah blah blah) and it actually started westernising itself ONLY by the mid to late 19th century, meaning after the independence from the Ottomans and the establishment of the modern Greek state and the reason was the severe trauma of this whole ordeal. After its independence Greece SO did not want to have anything to do with Turkey and the East in general that for the first time it oriented itself totally towards the west in most everything. Farya is a bit bitter about it (you know, being of Iranian descent and interested in folk music and all) but because he's great and very knowledgeable at what he does, there is also all this analysis about how (especially after the population exchange with Turkey in which Anatolian Greeks moved to Greece) the eastern element re-established itself in the country. It remained marginalised for a long time but as it happens with things that are essentially your identity, it resurfaced and almost claimed its natural place. However, the biggest talents and minds of Greek music in the 20th century were largely trained in western music tradition and the music legacy they left behind is so monumental that the Greek music will almost certainly never become again as eastern as it once was. And that's okay because what was produced by these people was so essentially and uniquely Greek that it is now part of the Greek heritage, an eastern foundation glossed in western styles and the product is our trademark modern music.

*I loved when mr Dallas says how he has noticed that this aversion for heritage is being changed by the young generation and how just 20 years ago he could not find anyone in Greece to make him an askomandura and now he picks up the phone and there are at least 20 instrument makers who can do the job. It's amazing and it's not that far from what I was saying some time ago that I see it's the young people who slowly slowly try to make a change.

[theficpusher]

Behind those Fire Eyes by YesIsAWorld | E | 2379 Liam’s messy xo scrawled on one of the discs called out to him. He carefully slid it out and put it in one of the three CD slots, and hit play with a smirk. Liam had been unbearably proud of this mix. Rightfully so, Zayn could admit with just a hint of jealousy. It was made with a very specific purpose in mind, and it was, Zayn realized, swallowing thickly as his cock kicked in interest, very effective.

I Made You A Mixtape by Idzzdi | G | 3062 “It’s a mixtape, love,” Nick says, smiling sweetly. “With all the songs you hate.”

Harry's Music by AlexNichole | nr | 3469 Louis finds Harry's iPod, giving us (and him) an inside look to the relationship.

take you with me every time I go away by starryhaze | nr | 3654 “What’re you doing pup?” Louis asks quietly, doesn't want to destroy the soft bubble they created. “‘m making a playlist.” He answered. “With like uhm songs that remind me of…us.” Harry squirms and Louis immediately releases calming pheromones to let the omega know it's okay. “Yeah, show me?” Louis asks and Harry slowly hands his phone to Louis. - or the one where they make a playlist and it works as a makeshift nest when Harry has to go away for a couple of days and is anxious to be without his alpha.

oh so many nights by snsk | G | 5552 Harry Styles is a strong independent woman who don't need no man. Louis Tomlinson is no man Harry Styles needs. So say Aretha Franklin and Alicia Keys and Beyonce, and god knows they basically run the world (girls). Except that, like, Aretha and Alicia and B haven't seen the way Louis wakes up in the morning, all soft tired eyes and creased skin and Harry-smile. But, you know. Harry will survive.

Longing like a Searchlight by Cyantific | E | 27175 Louis moves in with his friend Harry and soon thoughts of his new flatmate are anything but innocent, and Louis has no control when it comes to acting on those urges when he's alone. It doesn't take long for his simple, primal impulses to turn into deep, urgent longing the more time they spend together. Will an unexpected family event that takes Harry home for the weekend be the catalyst that finally brings them together or what tears them apart when Louis overhears what Harry reveals to his mother about his true feelings? Or... The Five times Louis almost gets caught during a salacious moment of self care and the one time he did...a roommates to lovers fic with lots of feels.

If This Is a Rom-Com (Kill the Director) by tippitytap | G | 27284 It wasn't like Harry Styles needed a housemate. It certainly wasn't like Harry Styles needed Louis Tomlinson as his housemate, the musical snob who only listened to a hand-picked selection of 14 artists and who had imposed a no-dating rule between the two upon moving in. They could manage to be housemates and friends, right? Right?

The Miseducation of Harry Styles by junkshopdisco | E | 30338 Nick makes Harry a mix tape, falls in love with him, and has a nervous breakdown (not necessarily in that order).

Heading for Limbo by kingsofeverything | E | 100864 Childhood best friends who’ve fallen in and out of touch with each other since Louis’ family moved away when they were thirteen, Harry and Louis find their paths crossing again and again. Each time, no matter how many miles apart or how many years it’s been, it’s as if no time has passed. They fall back into their easy friendship, until life intervenes and sends them on their separate ways once more. When Harry discovers some life-changing things about himself, Louis is there for him, however he needs. But it’s all temporary because Louis has plans that will move his life from New York all the way to L.A. and the distance isn’t the only thing between them. The pieces of their twice broken hearts are scattered from the Atlantic to the Pacific.

[pynkhues]

I kept thinking about how much Louis bases his worth on money and work and realized that he never really experienced poverty. He was well-off as a human, he struggled briefly in Paris but since he got with Armand he pretty much lived the life of a luxury lmao. Nothing comparing to the poverty that Lestat and and Armand experienced. Ngl, l was a little dissapointed when it turned out that Louis took everything in divorce. There's a line in iwtw when he was like: he could make me kill children but not part with my money, so what would it take to make Louis willingly part with his money? Can you ever take the capitalist out of him? I really wanted to see him living in a hovel wearing rags like he did at certain point in the books not live that rich capitalistic lifestyle lmao, but I don't think we gonna see it :(

Mm, he never experienced poverty per se, no, at least not in the way Armand, Lestat and Claudia all have, but I think Louis' relationship with money is very complicated, in no small part because money is used against him as a form of racial violence when he's a young man in New Orleans.

I've talked about it on here a couple of times now, but I've been doing a lot of research lately on the culture of money for a project that I'm working on, because it's systemic failures to understand that money is not an objective thing, but something that wields enormous social power, that allows for financial abuse to happen. While I'm researching it specifically through a domestic violence lens, there's a lot of crossover with that when it comes to racism and government failures in acknowledging how money is used to further entrench not just inequity, but racial violence (I've actually been particularly researching dowry and remittance abuse too, which is fascinating and uniquely awful [not dowries and remittance payments themselves, but the way they can be weaponised particularly in culturally blind systems like we have in Australia]).

The first few episodes are extremely clear that Louis' experiences as a professional man have been limited by his race, but they're also clear that he's a victim of financial abuse by white society men who'd pay him a fraction of his worth in exchange for a seat at the table they clearly don't think he belongs at. This is pretty much said explicitly at the card game scene in 1.01 (and not really here nor there for this post, but I think a vital point of connection in that Lestat sees this for what it is and maintains the ruse while helping Louis to cheat a game that's rigged against him).

Louis swallows it because he's ambitious, yes, but also because he's the sole provider left in his family given nobody else in his family has the want or capacity to work.

We don't know the entire situation with his father's sugar plantation, but the implication is that it wasn't in good shape when he died, which is a part of the reason Louis became a pimp. He needed to make money to keep his family not just financially secure, but thriving, but at the same time, Louis' desire to earn is, in my opinion, about more than just personal ambition and providing, it's about social power, autonomy and independence. For him, money is symbolically something that was used to keep him low and to keep him out of what he knew he deserved, and I don't really think that's changed for him. He uses it to buy what he wants, yes, in art and interviews and blood donors, but it's also I think about having social power over the society that once exercised repressive and racist power over him.

I think the version of the character we get on the show would never give that up, and honestly, I wouldn't want him to? I think thematically it's too important now as it's tied inherently to Louis having both options and autonomy, and I don't really like the implications for his character about what it'd mean to give it all up.

As for Armand - we don't actually know if he ends up with nothing post-s2. Yes, Louis keeps the Dubai apartment and kicks Armand out, but I kind of assume they'll have done some sort of asset split (although I do imagine Louis will take most of it, because of his association with money and power). Given how rich they seemed to be, I imagine even if Armand does get a fraction of what Louis keeps, it'd probably still be an eye-watering amount of money, haha.

[lichfucker]

The idea for me Max to be the “wife” in treasure island only works if they remain miserable and constantly wanting different people but also…the familiar company keeps them going. They will outlive everyone but they’ll stop wanting too. They both made the choices that lead them here and now they can only stare at each other knowing it didn’t have to end this way.

Like I don’t know if it’s mean, but sometimes I think it cheapens the tragedy if like…Max ends her life happy. Like if anything, she needs her Jim Hawkins to be a clear sign of change but she can’t do it. And in the end, her and silver are still stuck clawing at surviving.

I know this fandom isn’t a musical one. But Max and Silver reminded me a lot of the songs in “Lempicka” especially “Here it Comes” and “In the Blasted California Sun.”

oh for sure. that situation on nassau we leave max in is NOT a stable one, not by any means, and it's only a few years after the end of the series that jack gets executed and anne disappears. I imagine that that's probably when max finally pulls the plug and flees to bristol.

I don't know if I'd say the tragedy is cheapened by max having that smug power shot overlooking the tavern. I think the tragedy is complicated by it. a pyrrhic victory, of sorts. yes, she got the thing she claimed to have wanted-- the image of a little girl in the muck peering through the window at the safety and warmth afforded to people Not Like Her-- but look at all that had to be destroyed to achieve it. how long can it possibly last? even with the reinforced backing of colonial rule, not nearly so ephemeral as some independent pirate haven, this place is still just sand. it still cannot love her back. other people have articulated this point better than I can right now.

also when I said I like writing madi in bristol because I like tragedy and misery, that's not to say I think everyone would be fine and happy if max were there instead lmao. I just mean that the dynamic of two people who thought they loved each other once trying and failing to make a life in circumstances neither of them could ever have wanted is particularly compelling to me. like. for a few months in her mid-20s madi had Everything. she had a vision of the future that would see the world changed and her people freed; she had authority over a community who not just respected her but revered her; she had the good love of a good man. and ALL of that got eviscerated in an instant by that very same man, and now for the rest of her life if she wants to have a life at all she must be anchored to that man as she knows him less and less; is forced to leave her home and travel across an ocean where she scrapes a living servicing englishmen; will die long before the end of the transatlantic slave trade. how can she ever move on from silver's betrayal? how can she ever get over it? silver isn't over it. silver stays fixated on it for the rest of his life, too. silver names his parrot captain flint. silver goes back to skeleton island to find that fucking cache and when he finally gets his share he disappears just like he always dreamed of doing-- one big prize, and with it freedom-- and where does that leave madi? alone, in fucking bristol, running the spyglass, playing barmaid to white english sailors until she dies. and this, according to silver, is better than her having died in the war? what if her death had meant their victory? he still wants her to believe that THIS is preferable to that? that HE finds this preferable? still? does he even bother pretending he still loves her? does she believe he ever did anymore? did he ever tell her a single thing that's true? she cleans spilled beer off the floor. her father died a king. this is not what she wanted.

[lokh]

a while ago i asked how ur supposed to decide what level of hrt dosage is right for u when ur nb and the consensus appeared to be Vibes. i had assumed that this was entirely a mental and or emotional thing. i was wrong

[suosgirl]

your honor, I love him ♡

⋆.˚✮🎧✮˚.⋆

WIND BREAKER: Special Comic (Bonus from BD & DVD Vol.1) English Translation

[messangerforthestars]

“We need more morally gray characters” you guys can barely handle topaz and jade.

[blorbobutworse]

Hey guys,,,,guess whos not dead?!

Teen Dad Logan :)

Or, I suppose more accurately, Young Dad Logan. And by adjacency, Uncle Dad Victor.

This turned out to be one of my largest pieces of writing ever Bee-Tee-Dubs so its going to be under this to not Kill You All:

So in this AU they meet when they're 10 and 11, Jimmy just out of foster care after they found out he's a mutant, and Vic a few weeks after murdering his Father.

At first, it's honestly Jimmy showing Victor a lot of things. Simple things, like how to forage and how to scent, but it's all...quiet. Jimmy already carries a sense of shame for his ferocity that Vic never enjoys. So he draws the kid into fights, helps him laugh until his face is red with laughter instead of shame. He learns about him, and in turn Jimmy learns about him. Happy enough kids until things turned south. One was locked up and the other ran away. They escaped and found each other. It was meant to be.

Victor gives him his new name. Jimmy hasn't felt like His in a long time and the first time Vic calls him Logan, he beams.

Vic still calls him Jimmy when he's scared, but it's their little secret.

Anyways, they stay rough and tumble until The developers in the Weapon X project find them, aged 14 and 15 respectively. It's Victor's idea that they stay. Logan, for all his desires to settle down, feels chafed by the military, but Vic sees through that, see's what they could be, in the future. See's him and his Runt living free after serving, what's a few years as lab rats if they get all their adult life? What's being looked at like a monster when he's allowed to be a monster and still get schooling? Logan doesn't think any of these things, but when Vic nods, he does too.

They're only allowed to be together for the first three months, and then their forced apart, to 'reduce codependency'. They last two years without each other, and when they're reunited...things are different.

Creed has grown into his role, with each murder proving that his dad wasn't special, he's always been meant for this, how dare Anyone Try to stop him. He's become an Animal. Sabretooth.

And Wolverine....is Wolverine now. But doesn't take long before Vic realizes somethings wrong. Wolverine glances at him, but there's no glint of recognition in his eyes. As Creed starts to question him, he thinks it's a clone. So he Kills It.

Its only the third time Logan revives and puts his claws through Creeds chest that Creed realizes it's his runt. Still, being forgotten stings, being ignored stings worse, and there's a lot more blood shed before the guards are able to separate the two.

Safe to say they butt heads a lot more. Vic goads him often, word for word the way he used to, and like a house of cards, Wolverine always folds. The only times he seems to come back to himself for a moment, are the moments after Creed's killed him, and he's just waking up. He'll get a look on his face, one Vic recognizes. He's seen it a hundred of times before, even if the runt always tried to hide it:

Fear. Exhaustion.

They never talk. Victor pets his hair as Logan's throat is rapidly sewing itself back together, or Logan rumbling under Vic's body as his puncture wounds close. In those moments, Logan Remembers.

...

It all starts to fall apart when one Logan Howlett, at the fresh age of 18, is chosen to become Weapon X.

Creed sees red. This was HIS goal, His to earn, that stupid brat doesn't even want to be here, Logan doesn't even remember why he's-

He doesn't even remember why he came here in the first place.

But Sabretooth is smart. He figures out when, and where, they're going to do the operation. And obviously, he bursts in.

As he does, he overhears a Commander noting that they should 'wipe wolverines mind clean one last time, to make sure he's only obedient to them.

And that is First Strike.

Victor lashes out, taking down a doctor and a guard before anyone can blink. But his noise distracts the surgeons and other doctors carefully monitoring The Wolverine's Adamantium intake, and one of them nudges their controls in their scramble to get away, pushing significantly more onto his skeleton than originally planned.

Victor stops when he hears screaming.

Logan hears....nothing. He knows the procedure is going to begin, but he doesn't know when. When the burning starts, he goes to that little place in his head he pretends he doesn't have. He sees flashes of Creed's face, snarling and smiling, and he feels...safe. He sees white, and red hair and...hears yelling. His eyes open, and immediately close as salt water rushes into them. He breathes unsteadily through his

The water stops draining but the burning doesn't stop. Worse, his head feels like it's being torn apart, a feeling he remembers but can't name. And suddenly, nothing matters because,

Sabretooth is calling him Jimmy and why why WHY DOES EVERYTHING HURT OW OW OW OW OW OW Victor help please please plEASE PLEASE VICTOR VIC-

...

Safe to say the adamantium causes even more psychological damage to them.

There is one single benefit: The Memory Adjustment failed. In fact, it failed so bad that Creed, for three whole days, get's Logan to himself.

They don't do much. Logan wakes up and launches himself at Vic, legs collapsing as his ligaments struggle to accustom themselves to the weight of his new bones. He's in constant pain, mostly just looking at Vic with big, sad brown eyes until he lies back down with him on the shitty Hospital ordered bed. It creaks under them, but thankfully never gives.

When they do talk, they don't talk about the memories. About Wolverine gutting Sabretooth to prove a point, about Sabretooth biting out his spinal chord, about Wolverine ripping out his teeth in claws. None of it matters. They know it can't last. Creed didn't plan, and Logan is too weak to think, not that he does much of that in the first place.

After those days of clarity post operation, Logan is wiped clean. And for the next year, it's back to normal. For Wolverine at least.

But of course, Logan has to beat him to the punch. Literally.

Around a month after the one year anniversary of his Surgery, Wolverine comes Bursting through the training rooms, with twenty guards hot on his trail. Sabretooth, a Predator, Obviously follows. Logan runs and runs and runs, and eventually rips the door of a particular room, to reveal...

an eerily large room filled with tubes. There's wires and things being suspended in liquid, and at first, Victor can't comprehend what he's looking at. By the time he reads 'X-02', Doner Wolverine, Logan's already broken three of the tubes with his claws, uncaring of the thick glass cutting him open in retribution for being shattered.

people go flying, and as they hit equipment the room itself begins to collapse, separating Sabretooth from Wolverine. Wolverine continues through the rooms, ensuring that there's nothing deeper inside that can help them make more of him. He has enough nightmares. Sabretooth stays back to help finish the job. All those tubes don't destroy themselves, you know?

He finds a room full of his samples, and a woman in a chair. A woman with a bullet in her neck instead of her head. Poor thing had probably gotten caught in between him and the guards. But why was she just sitting-

The woman has a baby in her arms, tubes still attached. He growls for a moment, moving to finishes her off, but freezes when she and she's groans.

"Laura...Laura..."

Logan looks at her little beady eyes, mousy brown hair, and knows...she's his.

Before he's even thought about it she's cradled in his arms, evidently all wrong because she starts to wail and Vic skids in, shoulder denting the doorframe as he stops and stares at the scene in front of him.

The woman gives one final shudder, and her head lulls. Dead.

Still, there's no time to think. Victor hears thuds getting closer to the room, and as he looks to his right he realizes there's only one way out. The window. Oh well.

with a swear, he lifts Logan by the back of his jacket and gives him a shove, and his back goes strait through the paneling and out of the fourth story. Victor whoops, and follows him down. By the time he's already made his much more elegant landing, Logan is groaning and cussing him out as much as his winded lungs will let him, which is a surprising amount. Still, Vic scruffs him again and sets him on his feet, and nods in the direction of the woods.

"Lets go"

And they do.

They end up being surrounded by the X-Men somewhere in Maine and are "Invited" to Stay at Xavier's school. Logan decides for them this time. A house, a promise that the government will be dealt with for them, and that he can get all of his memories back are very good motivators. And they an finish their education.

Victor actually...enjoys classes. He likes being smart, and it's easy. Logan does Charter school. He had lasted exactly a week in public education before deciding that if he had to deal with one more idiotic comment from one of those stupid fucking kids he was going to-

Well. His words were Not Child Friendly, so he made sure to cover his kid's ears. Besides, he's bonded with fellow teen Rogue and preteen Jubilee and Kitty (his daughters) like little sisters, but he never really settles unless he's with his Kid. His Laura.

He had to fight to keep her, a young unstable mutant like him was not the ideal parent, but for the first two months, she sobbed if anyone else held her, terrible screeches, and would reach for him to the point of falling out of peoples arms. And, he had imprinted on her to. He swore he could tell when she was happy or uncomfortable before she could, would burp her or flip her back onto her back before she got fed up with tummy time.

Vic is Terrified of touching her but refuses to admit it. He carefully runs his finger down her pudgy little cheek, in awe of her soft skin against his knuckle, when she moves suddenly, and she attempts to nuzzle her way into his palm. He, obligingly, opens his hand. When one of his claws scrapes her hair, he freezes, waiting for her to cry out. Instead, she burbles happily, honey brown eyes giving him long, slow blinks.

She likes his head scratches the best.

Logan sometimes falls asleep with her on his stomach on the couch, leaving Victor to carry him AND his clingy baby back to bed, the crib next to them so Laura can still grab onto Logans finger. They sleep together now, in a nest of blankets and pillows, Logans hand always off the bed but still somehow still touching Vic, as if to make sure he's still there.

Their codependency is back full swing, and the only time they can be reliably separated is when Vic goes to school, because he goes with Scotty, and the Boy Scout would never let anything happen to another mutant, even if that mutant makes him want to shoot him with his laser-beam full power just to see what would happen.

Thankfully, because of Victors presence, the Mind Adjustment does actually work, but it leaves Logan questioning his parallel memories for years. In the process they realize that...Victors memories have been tampered with too.

But that, is a story for another time.

[godsfavoritescientist]

Building off of what I wrote in my fic "Sparks," I'm really compelled by the idea of Ford genuinely no longer being interested in sailing around in a boat with Stan by the time they were seniors in high school.

I like the idea of it not being just a symptom of the resentment that had been building between them, nor it being a dream of Ford's that only paled in comparison to west coast tech, but it being a genuine loss of interest on Ford's end. I think it complicates things even further in some really juicy ways.

Like, imagine going through high school slowly losing more and more interest in the dream you've shared with your twin and only friend ever since you were little kids. How do you break it to him? How do you explain it to him without making it sound like a rejection of him? Without it making him hate you?

How do you explain it without it feeling like a spit in the face to all the hard work he's put into a plan that started out as a way of him comforting you by telling you "it doesn't matter what people say about you, you're going to be an adventurer who sails away into the sunset and never has to hear their mockery ever again, and there will be babes and treasure and heroism, and then they'll all see how cool you really are!"

And all through high school you think to yourself, "he's going to move on to more realistic dreams any day now, and then I won't have to say anything about it!" But no matter how many times you mention something else he could do with his life that he seems interested in, or bring up the challenging logistics of traveling around long-term in a boat, he sounds just as committed to the childhood dream as ever, and completely oblivious to how apprehensive you sound.

So resentment grows, little by little. Because that's easier than confronting the soul-crushing levels of guilt that are building up inside of you, every time you don't take an opportunity to tell him you don't want to do the plan anymore. You don't have a single person in your life who modeled how to have difficult conversations for you. As far as you know, having this conversation with Stan would crush him into tiny little pieces and then he would hate you forever, and you can't stand the idea of losing the only friend you've ever had.

So tensions grow. A lack of interest turns into a bitter resentment that, if you were really being honest with yourself, is directed more at yourself than it is at Stan.

And then the falling-out happens, and it seems like you were proven right. Stan hates you now, and he's never going to forgive you for giving up on his dream. But two can play that game, so you try to hate him too. Because if you hate him too, then maybe it won't hurt as much that he never came back. That he never even turned up at school, or by the boat, or in through your bedroom window in the middle of the night. He knows what dad's like, and how he says impulsive exaggerated things when he's angry, and haven't you both dealt with his harsh words countless times before and been able to dust yourselves off and joke about it later? So why isn't he back at home, joking with you about how absurd your dad acted that night, being impossible and belligerent about ruining your dream, but at least now you're even, because you've ruined his dream too.

-

And now imagine you find out he risked the lives of everyone in existence to bring you back, right after you had accepted your fate was to die killing Bill. It would be terrifying and confusing and infuriating. If he cared so much, why didn't he do something to reconnect with you sooner? Why did he ignore you in favor of trying to make it big without you? Why didn't he take the infinitely safer and simpler action of reaching out to you without you having to track down his address and send a desperate plea for help? You were convinced that he didn't care enough to bother with you unless you had an important enough reason for him to come. But even then, he thought your plans were stupid. He didn't want anything to do with you, not even with the world at stake.

Did he save your life out of guilt? Does he pity you that much? It doesn't add up with what he did in the decade leading up to shoving you into the portal. And the dissonance between the version of him in your head that hates you, and the man who held out his arms to welcome you back to your home dimension, is so strong that you feel like you're being lied to again, like you're back in the depths of gaslighting and manipulation that Bill put you through, even though there's no way that's what Stan is trying to do... right? You can't figure it out, so you run away from it. You don't want to know the answer to whether or not Stan hates you, because you don't know which answer would hurt more, so you try to make him hate you more than ever, because at least then you would know for sure how he feels.

And in the end, after he sacrifices his memories for you, and for the world, things seem clearer. The layers upon layers of confusion and anger and hurt seem to have washed away like drawings in the sand, leaving behind the simple truth: that you two had an argument, and didn't move past it for forty years, and despite everything you put each other through, you both still want to re-connect.

So you sail away in a boat together.

And at first, it's wonderful. It's exactly what you want. It feels like an apology to Stan, and a thank-you for saving the world, and a once-in-a-lifetime chance to heal the rift between you two, and it's good to be back on earth, and you wonder why you ever doubted the dream you two once had.

But then, after the first long journey you spend on the sea together, when you get back home to dry land, Stan is already talking about planning your next adventure out on the open sea. He recaps every adventure you had on the first trip, over and over again, and he wants to chat with you all through the morning and long into the night, and you don't have the words to explain to yourself that you don't have enough social battery for this, and suddenly you're slipping back into the horrifyingly familiar feeling of Stan being overbearing and needing space from him and how could you think that? How could you think that about him after everything he's done for you and everything he's forgiven you for? But the longer this goes on, the more you realize that you still don't want to spend the rest of your life sailing around with Stan. It's great fun in moderation, but the idea of your whole life revolving around Stan and going on adventures with Stan and being in a boat with Stan with no time to be by yourself thinking about your own things and figuring out your own dreams makes your skin crawl with a claustrophobic kind of panic that you still don't know how to put into words forty years after the first time this feeling grabbed you by the throat and ruined your friendship with Stanley.

But the first time this happened, it nearly ruined his life forever. You can't let yourself feel this. You don't feel this. You're happy to spend the rest of your life fulfilling Stan's lifelong dream, and making up for the time you crushed his dream, and sure, maybe he crushed your dream once too, and maybe it would be nice for him to support your dreams like you're now doing for him, but you can't say that. He saved the universe, and it would be horrible and ungrateful and cruel for you to try to voice these feelings, especially when you don't know how to voice your feelings without it making other people feel like you twisted a knife into their gut. So you try to pretend the feeling isn't there.

You go out on a boat with Stan again. You planned out another incredible journey together, and this should be fun, and you should be happy about this, but the unspoken feeling you shoved as far down in yourself as it could possibly go is eating you alive. The worst part? Stan is starting to notice. You have never been good at hiding your emotions. The trick to it has always been to convince yourself you don't feel it at all, and not think about it, and that has always worked like a charm. But whenever the emotion claws its way back up to the forefront of your mind, you can tell Stan knows something is wrong. So you can't even give him the happy ending he deserves. You can't even convince him that you want to be here on the open seas forever with him, like he deserves. And you keep trying and trying to hide it, but Stan keeps asking in roundabout ways, like "You're being awfully quiet, sixer," and "whats that look on your face?" and eventually it comes exploding out of you like a shaken-up soda bottle dropped on its cap.

And then it's like you're back at home in New Jersey again, standing in the living room while dad grabs Stanley by the shirt. It all comes pouring out of you, in the worst possible way, with the worst possible phrasing, like a pandora's box of monstrousness, and Stan tries to fight back against the sting of your words, but you're made out of acid and you're burning through him and you can see it on his face, and there's never any coming back from this, not this time, you'll just have to either jump into the ocean or become a monster forever, so Stan can hate you more easily again, and-

-and at the end of the outburst, you're still on a boat in the middle of nowhere in the ocean with your brother, in dangerous waters, and you have things to do to keep the boat running smoothly.

You can't run away from him. He can't run away from you. You're stuck here for at least a couple more weeks, even if you turned around and sailed back towards shore right away.

-

And the thing that compels me so much here, despite how unbelievably angsty it all is, is that it sets up a situation wherein the Stans might end up forced to actually address the decades of resentment and confusion and wanting-to-reconnect-throughout-it-all that they thought they could gloss over and heal with enough time spent adventuring together on a boat. They might end up forced to actually address the crux of the issue that drove them apart in the first place: Ford wanting a little more space to feel like his own person, and to feel like he's able to have his own dreams, too.

It wouldn't happen easily, nor right away, but if they were stuck together on a little boat in the middle of nowhere surrounded by magical creatures they have to protect each other from in order to make it back home alive, then after they had one fight where they brought up all the things they silently agreed to never bring up again, it would probably happen many more times, and each time it would leave them both angrier at each other than ever, until eventually something honest slipped through amidst all the saying-anything-except-what-they-mean bickering. And once enough of these honest moments slipped through, then they would have a thread to tug on to start to unravel the gargantuan knot of their decades of unresolved conflicts.

And then, eventually, maybe Stan could learn that he can have a good friendship with his brother without needing to be glued to him at the hip, and Ford needing a certain amount of alone time doesn't mean he dislikes him or wants to abandon him, and Ford could learn that he can be honest and have a meaningful connection with someone without it driving them away and making them hate him.

[selfinflictedgunshotwound]

sorry for only saying this type of shit lately but i kinda wanna drive a car straight into a brick wall at the highest speed possible