#i reached the part i had prewritten??? so there’s that??

[ladytauria]

me: i’m almost done with this fic! so im gonna finish it tonight :)

me, 500 words later: oooo new idea

[laneywrld]

Oh Baby | part two

part two.

word count: 10.8k

Warnings: wee bit angsty (an argument), mentions of sex + pregnancy

The repercussions of Lewis' birthday night are not as sweet.

You don't remember anything after your life-changing orgasm. You vaguely recall Lewis standing bare and walking into the bathroom. Your eyes were low and droopy, and you could only offer him a loving smile that had his cheeks burning. 

"M'gonna clean you up for a second, okay."

You only hum, allowing him to spread you open; this time, it's not sexual at all; it's romantic. Oh god, you thought. You should've known the sex with Lewis would make you go mad. 

He swipes the warm cloth between your legs, wiping the glistening remainder of your arousal away.

The sight of his cum oozing from your hole has him taking a harsh gulp. He'd have to remind you to take whatever precautions you found necessary in the morning. 

If you weren't so burned out and exhausted, the sight of him walking around in the nude with his golden and tatted-on skin display would've had you jumping his bones again.

You can't help but laugh at yourself as he returns from cleaning himself up. 

"What you laughing about?" He grins, hovering over you. You smile, looking at him like he's hung the moon and the stars. "Myself."

The two of you look like two love-sick high schoolers, completely enamored with each other. 

Lewis lowers and captures your lips in a kiss, slow and sweet. One peck after the other before his weight is on top of you. He rolls off of you with a groan, turning you so that you're face to-face with him on your side. 

His hand falls to your bare waist, pulling you against him.

"We need t'sleep."

He sits up, chuckling as you whine from losing his body heat. With one arm, he gently hoists your legs up enough to pull the comforter from underneath your body. He is back in his place instantly, the cover now offering another layer of warmth.

You're trying your hardest to keep your eyes open and stay in this moment because you'll probably never get to experience Lewis like this again, this loving and intimate. 

"Going to be right here in the morning; go to sleep, bunny."

Like he had a spell over you, your eyes close for the final time, and you feel his palm cup your face.

Lewis can't help but watch you fall into slumber. His finger prods against your face, tracing your mouth, eyebrows, and nose. He could already remember every detail of your face. If he were a blind man, he thinks he'd have no problem telling you apart from the rest of the world. 

He didn't think it was possible to love you more than he already does, but feeling the way his heart reacts wildly to you laying flush against him naked and comfortable has him ready to read his (prewritten) vows to you in the morning.

He doesn't want to sleep; he wants to stay here and take it all in. He's probably moving too fast, but he can't wait to tell your friends, your guys' family, hell, even the world, that you love him.

Hearing those words from you detonated the lengthiest, most robust orgasm from him that he'd ever experienced. He'd never come so much, so hard in his life. 

Hearing you say you love him in your angelic whimpers, tears falling out the corner of your eyes, holding onto him so tight, fuck, he's hard again just thinking about it.

"I love you," he whispers into the night, kissing your forehead before turning off the lights.

-

You awake first in the morning, dazed and confused. You feel a heavy mass weighing you down. You squint, open your eyes, and you see him. Lewis, your best friend, face nuzzled in your neck, his arm thrown over your waist, holding you tight as if you were going to float away from him in your sleep.

"Oh fuck," you groan lowly as last night's events seep back into you like scenes from a movie.

Fuck, fuck, fuck. 

You gently reach for his arm, carefully lifting it off your body. You pull a pillow from your side, pushing it under his neck as you slide away and gently drop his arm.

You were unsure of how to go about this whole situation. Would he remember it when he woke up? The passionate sex? The beautiful night? You two were off-your-face drunk. Would he laugh at the words you shared? Brush it off. You wouldn't blame him, it'd hurt for you to hear, but logically, it'd make sense; he was in a sex stupor, drunk and horny, and that'd lead to all kinds of words coming out in a daze.

There's no telling how long you stood there like a deer caught in headlights before you began pulling his shirt over your frame. You crept into his closet, thanking God for the array of shoes and clothing of your own filling his space. You tugged on a pair of Nike crew socks and a pair of boyshorts, reaching for the pair of black Ugg Tasmans Lewis had gotten. 

You stood in his walk-in closet, staring at yourself in the full mirror, and sighed.

What the fuck were you supposed to do? You were sure you crossed the line this time and abandoned boundaries that were needed in order to keep your feelings at bay. You knew you couldn't keep putting yourself through the same demise. 

You didn't know how you would handle the situation when it approached, but in the meantime, you knew you needed to get away from Lewis. You needed to leave his home and be far away from him before you did or said something to ruin your guys' friendship for good.

You creep from the closet quickly, not sparing a glance at the man on the bed; as you grip the handle to his bedroom door, he speaks up from behind you.

He is sat up, back against his headboard, watching you try to leave, "Just going to leave?"

You turn to him awkwardly, hand dropping from the handle, "I-uh, didn't know what you'd want, wasn't sure how to go about-"

"You're not a fucking booty call, Y/n," he says it like you're the most ridiculous person alive like he can't fathom the words coming from your mouth; because he can't.

"Just going to leave me after fucking me? Without a word, while I'm still asleep, that was your plan?"

Your mouth plops open and closed like a fish, searching for the words you stammer out incoherent excuses. Lord, he's got such a dirty mouth.

"Get back in the bed." He cuts you off. 

Like a dog to a bone, you stride over to the bed, kicking off your slippers, and you're beside him again.

You're staring at the door, and he is staring at you. The covers hang low over his body, only just covering what had you going crazy last night.

You clear your throat, waiting for him to put you out of your misery. Get it over with, you thought to yourself as you braced for impact.

"Last night was fun," He hummed.

You let out a stifled laugh, finally turning to look at him. His face was still covered in morning haze, and his voice was extra raspy and groggy. He smiles as you, eyes low and droopy.

"I want to address what we-"

You thought you'd be able to take it. You aren't that fucking strong.

"Yeah, no, it's fine." you laugh awkwardly. "I understand. I feel the same way." You don't, but you continue anyway. "We were drunk and in a mad sex stupor, I'm not holding it against you."

"I don't-"

"It was a mistake," you rambled on.

Lewis' mouth plops shut, and he can't tell if his mouth has been dry from his sleep or if the words you're speaking to him have done it.

"You didn't want it?" He question abruptly, putting an end to your nervous break.

"I mean, of course, I wanted it; I initiated it. I was just drunk and turned on; no need to make it a big deal is what I'm saying; we're both off the hook."

Lewis stands from the bed, his bare body on full display. He wants to tell you to shut up and stop downplaying the night he spent with you. He wants you to say to him that you're lying, but you don't, and it's making him angrier as the second goes on.

There are so many sentences he wants to respond to, but he can only grapple with one at a time. You're talking too much, and he's talking too little.

"I was just going to make it easier for you. Usually, you prefer if girls leave, right? That's what you said."

He has said that, but why the fuck would he be talking about you. Why the fuck would other girls include you.

He looks like a wild man, and you look like his blubbering bunny. 

"Why do you say shit like that?" He shouts. 

His loud tone takes you aback, and your head cranes to watch him incredulously. "What are you talking about?" You fire back.

"You say stupid shit like that all of the time like I'm some kind of fucking manwhore."

You scoff, standing up from the mattress as well. At this point, you are glaring at each other from across the bed.

"You think I don't get enough of it, huh? Do you think I don't get sick of hearing you guys laugh at me? I can't help-"

"I'm not picking at you, Lew, I didn't-"

"But you look at me like that. That's how you feel?" 

He wants to know if that is the reason his words went in one ear and out the other. 

"Oh please, I've always told you how I feel. If I viewed you as some slut I would've said it." You wave your hand; this had to have been the stupidest argument ever, Lew knew your character, and he knew how much you admired him and his; he'd have to be a fool to think that you'd ever demean him.

"It's not about what you say! It's what you do!"

"Exactly!" you holler back. "I don't fucking laugh at you, Lew! I don't fucking kiki with the rest of the friends when they point out your new fucking flavor of the month! I defend you. You can't control it. You can't help it! You said it yourself it's in your fucking blood to fuck everything with two legs. Like having an itch, you can't scratch. I don't fucking judge you. It's just who you are." You snap. And you hate getting mad because it makes you go on and on.

"Don't even know my character enough to believe I would say some shit about you; supposed to be my best friend, and you can't even properly gauge who I am." It comes out as an angry sneer, and you're right back to slipping on your shoes. 

Lewis pulls on a pair of sweats, clamoring over to you; his hand grasps your wrist before you harshly pull it away.

"Last night," he shouts, "I'm not defiling your character; you said it last night."

"Lew, last night." you laugh, you genuinely cackle. "This is because I joked that you ran rabid after leaving Nicole? You did! I was there with you, do you not fucking remember, every night someone new! Just because you slowed down doesn't mean it ever stopped."

"You called me a fucking slut, y/n! Like a fucking bitch, I wouldn't date you, Lew; you're a manwhore." He mocks.

"You called yourself that; I said if the condom fits! You're upset because I said you made it easy for me not to want to be with you? If your ego is bruised, just say that!"

And you're missing the point he is bruised yes, but because he wants you to want him and you don't. Lewis is mad that you don't want to be with him. He is hurt and bothered by the fact that you can brush off the night you spent together like it's nothing.

And you're right; Lewis knows you're right, and he's just trying to find any reason to be mad at you. Of course, you wouldn't return his feelings; when you had them, he gave his affection to other women.

But hearing the person he loves call him out for it doesn't hurt any less. He feels like an idiot now, starting an argument over a situation that wasn't even relevant. He should be telling you he loves you, but now he's gotten you fired up and knows you're hard to diffuse.

You mutter curse words under your breath, frustrated, as your shaking hands keep you from slipping on your shoes. You were never a good angry person, so you'd rather avoid conflict completely. But when your frustrations began ticking inside of you, it was only a matter of time before you finally blew.

"All of this because I answered a fucking question you asked me last night, drunk ass motherfucker! I should've never fucking told you; look where the fuck that's got us, arguing over a relationship that never even happened that we're not even fucking in, so fucking stupid! The fuck do I look like trying to keep a man who doesn't wanna be kept? I'm supposed to wait around and pine after you? No fucking way, I've had my fair share of men like you." You're not saying these words directly to Lewis; he can hear them as you get increasingly frustrated. "Fucking idiot. Calling me out my name because your feelings are hurt; if it was such a fucking issue, you would've addressed it last night. Really you should have fucking addressed everyone else."

Finally, you spin around when the slipper is on, not expecting him to be so close. You jab a finger in his chest, looking up at him. "Yeah, you've pissed me off; this is not because you think I called you a manwhore. You know you sleep around. We all know it; I never said it was a bad thing. What are you really mad at, huh, Lewis? Say it!"

He says nothing, but his brain screams the words over and over: I love you.

You let out a bitter laugh, and you're relatively calm for how fired up you had been seconds ago. "Your anger is misdirected, and I'm not going to take it. So when you figure out what's got you so pissy, talk to me because I'm not here for you to yell at."

You're leaving his room in an instant. He can hear your footfall declining down his stairs and the way you snatch your keys from the hook. You don't slam his door, but from his window, he watches as you angrily march to your car, slamming your door and reversing from his driveway way too fast. It has his heart dropping as you nearly ram into another car.

He sighs as you pull down the street and disappear from his sight. "Fuck!" He roars, his fist shooting into his wall. He lets out a deep breath, his hand coming to rub over his face. Fuck.

He feels choked up and tingly as his eyes water. The two of you had never fought this bad, which says a lot, especially for how long you've been friends. He's never called you out of your name, and today he called you a bitch. You were far from a bitch, you were his sweet bunny. 

You just wanted to make sure he was comfortable and that you stayed within the bounds. How were you to know that he didn't want you to leave? 

You're a mess as you drive home, tears streaming down your face. Surprised you even made it there safely. 

When you're home and starting your shower, you see all of the evidence Lewis left behind on your skin, and it breaks you down into a fit of tears. You wish you had never crossed the lines because you were sure the two of you wouldn't return from this. 

-

Lewis has yet to contact you. It's been two weeks since that day. You tried to go about life as normal, but it was hard when you had spent every waking day talking to Lewis. You hadn't seen Roscoe since Lewis' birthday either, and that tore an entirely new part of your heart. Roscoe was like your child; he was with you when Lewis had to be on the road, so essentially, you spent an abundance of time with your four-legged friend. 

You could reach out to him, but you'd be dammed if you put your pride to the side to alleviate your best friend's superiority complex.

He yelled at you, calling you out of your name first. Call it childish, but it wasn't your job to apologize first. Of course, you planned on apologizing for your own actions, for calling him an idiot, because you truly regretted it, and it has been hanging heavy over your head ever since then. But he had to give in first.

You haven't gone out with your friends as a group since then either, opting to go on your regular outing with one or two of them at a time. You've seen in Miles' story that Lewis has been out with them many times. You try not to cry as you see Lewis in the background of a video chatting up another girl in Daniel's close friends. After the initial gloom, you felt infuriated.

Here you were giving him grace, withholding time with your friends so as not to make him uncomfortable and to give him time to come to his own senses and the whole time, he's out committing the same crime that made him blow up at you. Here you were suffering because after all of these years, he still didn't show you the same grace he shows others when it comes to communicating. Why does he shut down when it comes to you but is so vocal and mature with his feelings to other people. Two things were obvious, you weren't kids anymore, and he wasn't to be coddled by you anymore. And secondly, you were done making deluded excuses for this man. He'd take accountability when it came to you. 

-

Lewis awakes with his head pounding; he is in a random hotel, a random woman atop his chest in deep slumber. He sneaks from the bed, searching for his phone and tugging on his clothes. 

He was drunk off his ass and chatting her up because she looked like you, and in the end, when they made it back to her room, he couldn't get hard without thinking about you, and by that time, he was over it, not wanting to do anything with the woman at all. You really fucked him up.

When Lewis arrives home, he is barely sober. He pours food into Roscoe's bowl, rubbing his head.

Roscoe has been feeling the impact of your departure, too. Could Lewis even say you left him? He sighs as Roscoe whines, nudging your walking shoes left by the front door. "I know, boy. I miss her too."

Lewis didn't know why he couldn't just call you and tell you he was sorry. You left the ball in his court, so obviously, you were open to having a mature conversation with him. But as the days went on and he still hadn't called, he began to realize that perhaps he had waited too long, and it was doing more damage than good. 

He stumbles up to his room, stripping from his clothes and plopping onto his bead, Roscoe is up and beside him in an instant, snuggling into his side. Like routine, his hand reaches over to his nightstand, rustling through the stack of papers until he finds one of the many letters you'd gifted him for his birthday.

Lewis always kept your letters, especially when he was far away and traveling; nothing made him happier as a kid than his dad arriving with handwritten messages for him when you couldn't make it to his races. Your birthday gift, though, was a collection of unsent letters you'd had for years, dating back to as early as high school. He reread them all, scanning every word like they were the bible. He never told you this, but he kept them in a folder that traveled everywhere with him when he had to be gone for longer periods of time.

The letter he rereads now has been attached to him since the day you left, which was from your second year in high school. 

Hello Lewis,

I won't be able to make it to your race next week. Get this, I'm on punishment at sixteen years old! You're always getting me in trouble, and you're not even here :( Do you remember Henry Glasgow? Let's just say he's finally gotten what he deserved. No matter what anyone says, your work is paying off, and you're doing great! I saw you on the TV the other day, and boy, did you look great out there. Mum recorded it for me, so I rewatch it so many times a day like a weirdo. I miss you tons, Lew, but I'm so very happy that you were able to get out of this forsaken city. Don't worry; I'm still defending your honor while you're away; let Henry's nose be proof of that. I've made a friend since you've gone away, her name's Whitney but I call her whit whit just like you're my lewlew; I can't wait for you to meet her. She's very bold and different from what we're used to, but she's a sweetheart. I love her to pieces, but I love you wholly, so she's not really doing much to heal how much I miss you, Lew. This is the longest we've been away from each other, and although we talk on the telly every day, I would like to be with you again. But nevertheless, I am so very proud of you, and I support you full send. I know you can be the greatest you already are if you ask me. But I can't wait until the world knows your name. Just promise you won't leave me behind when it does, yeah? Keep moving fast; Pops likes to brag about you everywhere we go, and I love to hear anyone hype you up like you deserve; plus, I bet twenty bucks on you to win next week, and my allowance is already gone, so make me some money. I can only give you the same words of encouragement you've heard a million times, I am truly my father's daughter. You're a cheetah, Lew: move silently and let your actions do the talking. Make quick decisions, but move even quicker. I know it's hard, but don't ever let what they say get to you; you've got a greater mission to accomplish. There are people out there who admire you and have faith in you. Let me be proof of that. Always remember that what you can't say, I will. 

Love you more than you'll ever know, Lew.

p.s tell Nico that unless he wants me to go broke, he needs to push it a little harder. 

From Bunny. <3

-

One day of no contact became a week, and a week became a month; soon, he was in the Middle East racing in the first grand prix of the season two months later, and he still hadn't heard from you. He was racing terribly, and he couldn't even blame it on the car. On the track, he wasn't focused; he could only think about you. And that had put him into the wall (literally) more times than he could count. He had let the best person in the world slip from his grasp, and his mind couldn't grasp that.

His friends knew something was up between the two of you and for the first time ever they decided not to meddle, and he appreciated it just as he was sure you did too. That didn't mean that he didn't ask about you.

Every call home to his mum he asks about you. He sits on the phone with your dad listening to updates on your life. They never question anything between you and him so he assumes you haven't disclosed your argument to anyone. But they know, they always know.

He could tell you were taking every step in order to ensure that you wouldn't run into him. When your family came out to see him you were miracously always busy with work. When your friends invited you out you were never feeling well. 

He felt bad that you felt you had to sacrifice your enjoyment just to not be around him.

He revels in the glimpses he gets of you on your friends story, chuckles at the constant pictures Daniel posts of you that you obviously wouldn't have agreed to. He knows you probably threatened to kill him everytime. He likes every picture. 

He nearly cries as he watches you from a fan account, bouncing Nicholas up and down as he places on podium in one of his own races. 

Your dad's birthday was next week, and he knew you weren't going to miss it. He also knew he wasn't going to skip out on your father, so he mentally prepared himself to be a man and get his shit together. There was no way you could avoid him when you were stuck with him for a week. 

*

You, Miles, and Nicholas had been out and about all day exploring the town before you finally decided to head back to the villa. When you three initially left, everyone else was bunkering down for a post-flight nap.

When you opened the door, you froze in your tracks as you saw Lewis hugging your dad in greeting. You don't know why you figured he wouldn't show, but when he wasn't on the flight with the rest of you guys, it had your hopes high. 

Everyone's head swivels toward the front door as you emerge, he makes eye contact with you and even goes as far to offer you a smile. You don't return it. Nicholas rushes pass you to hug his brother jostling the many bags in your arm as he passes by. 

Lewis hugs him, but his eyes once again fleet back to you.

You suck your teeth, looking away from him and waltzing up the stairs and towards the back of the house where you had claimed your room.

You hardly had the time or the energy to worry about Lewis. You were tired, and the Brazilian heat had you going through it. You kick your bedroom door closed and drop your bags onto your bed. 

All you had to do was get through a week of being in his presence. You had your friends and family here with you. It wouldn't be too hard to stay away from him. You shower and then get dressed right in time for dinner. 

The sun was still out by the time you descended the stairs; everyone had been lounging around in the living room waiting for you to finish.

Lewis feels like a starved bear as the dress sways against your thighs. Like always, you look beautiful.

"And the princess has arrived!" Your cousin shouts, "Girl, hurry your ass up, we've been waiting on you. I'm hungry." The room erupts in laughter as you pause on the stairs and shoot her the middle finger.

"Doesn't the princess deserve a grand entrance?"

Your head immediately turns to Lewis as if you can feel his stare on you. He sits, legs spread open, hands folded in his lap, and looks at you like he had had the night of his birthday. Like he wants to devour you. 

You shake the memory from your head as everyone heads out of the door and piles into the three sprinters out front. 

"Aw, twins!" Whit coos, pointing between you and Lewis, "So in sync."

You let out the fakest laugh he's ever heard, wiping the smile clean from his face, "Ah ha ha, let's go."

When it's your time to pass through the door, you feel a presence behind you, and you know it's Lewis as his signature cologne wafts through your nostrils. As you descend down the front steps, you feel his hand come up to rest against your lower back.

A part of you wants to tell him to back up and that you don't need his assistance, but the soft spot you'll always have for him has you accepting his graces. 

You freeze, watching as two of the three vehicles pull off, fuck. 

So much for being able to avoid him.

You can still feel him hot on your trail as you waddle to the last sprinter. You're helped up by the driver, offering him a sweet smile. Ironically enough, the last two seats are side by side in the back row.

You groan internally, slipping into the seat by the window. Lewis follows after you, slipping between you and Miles.

"So what? This is the kid's bus?" You joke, leaning over the seat in front of you to tug on your cousin's braids. "Be happy it is." She grins, pulling a bottle of Clase Azul from the floor. Everyone erupts into cheers as she passes the bottle around. She hands it to you first, but you quickly pass it on to Lewis. You hadn't drunk alcohol since that night, and when you tried, the smell of it physically made you sick. You were convinced that the stress of that night had made your brain repel your favorite pastime. 

"Girl." Whitney gasped, "You're not drinking?"

"Hell no, I gag just thinking about that shit."

It's been so long since Lewis last heard your voice and seen you so carefree he wants to shout out his praises as you start a conversation within the van.

Your leg is flush against his, your thigh rubbing against his own with every jostle you take down the bumpy roads. 

You don't speak to Lewis throughout the entire ride. When he speaks, you tune into your phone or manage another conversation with those around you. Though it does bring you an unwanted sense of comfort to hear his childlike giggles again. You'd missed them just as much as you missed him.

This time, when the doors open, they are opened on your side, and you cheerfully hop out, wrapping your arms around your girls and skidding to the dock where you can see a great portion of your family and friends already loaded onto the yacht. 

You loved celebrating; it was no secret you were the life of the party anywhere you went, which is why you were always so grand when it came to spending time with the people you loved. Life is beautiful, as your father would say; you might as well live like it. 

Lewis and the guys exit behind you all, he watches you scamper off with that stunning smile on your face waving to the family members and friends you hadn't saw yet. 

An hour goes on of everyone mixing and mingling; your family is technically Lewis' as well, so it's no surprise when he is pulled into hugs and smooches left and right. It makes it easy to avoid him every time you sense him getting closer. You see him catching up with your grandparents, aunt, uncles, and cousins. 

He is close to your entire family, which made it even more annoying for you to be asked about Lewis in damn near every conversation. You were never nasty about it because, after all, you two shared the same relationships, so you simply smiled and directed your family toward him with every inquiry. You didn't expect his relationship with your family to end just because you two weren't...you two?

And then another wave of questioning is aiding in your irritated mood, we're the two of you even best friends anymore. Best friends don't go months without speaking to each other. 

Lewis can't help but watch your every move. It's obvious to everyone that there is a lingering tension between you two. There has never been a moment where the two of you weren't connected at the hip. So, the safe distance you're keeping between the two of you is making questions arise. He is standing off to the side, his mind running; he's never once felt like an outsider in your life more than now. His feelings were hurt because, for the first time, he was getting updates about you from others rather than being the one dishing the facts out. He's used to knowing everything when it comes to you, and now it feels like he's chapters behind in a book everyone else is close to finishing.

"I know my daughter." Your dad speaks up from behind Lewis as he watches him watch you. Lewis turns his head, catching sight of your father before walking and leaning his back onto the railing beside him. "And I know you just as well; why are you two acting like divorcée?"

"What's happened, my boy?"

Lewis shakes his head, eyes downcast to the glass in his hand. He couldn't tell your father that he'd spent the night of his birthday making love to you and having the most romantic twilight he'd ever experienced. He couldn't tell him that he spewed out his true feelings in the midst of it and fucked shit up the next morning.

"We haven't talked in months," Lewis admits.

Your dad leans away from Lewis, eyes set in disbelief. "Months?" 

Lewis only nods, looking straight ahead at you. You're standing with his father infront of a group, his arm thrown over your shoulder, yours wrapped around his waist, his father is obviously a wee bit tipsy as he laughs boisterously, you're supporting his frame throwing in side comments to whatever story his father was telling.

"Do you want to talk to her?"

"Yes, sir."

"Then why are you not?" He inquires like it's all so simple.

"Because it's your daughter," he scoffs. "And when she's mad, she's mad. It's not that easy."

You father laughs, "She is her mother's daughter." He corrects. "You know her, eventually she always puts her pride to the side. She's waiting for you to talk to her first. Have you tried."

"No, sir."

He lets out a boisterous laugh that has a sheepish smile skittering onto Lewis' face. 

"You're too old to still be scared of my baby. My best advice is this: you lot know each other better than anyone in the world and love each other more than anyone in the world. If you think she's willing to give that up and vice versa, you're both idiots."

Lewis nods. They stand in contemplative silence as the older man's hand comes up to clap against his shoulder, where he holds onto Lewis as they sip from their glasses. 

"You know," Lewis lights up, "that's where she gets that shit from; she called me an idiot when we argued."

"And were you being an idiot?" He queries.

"Well, Yes, sir."

"Okay then." He walks away not sparing so much as another word to Lewis and he is once again left alone.

You were relieved when dinner started, only to approach the table and see name cards posted in front of every seat. Just your luck. Right next to your seat, the postcard next to you reads Sir Lewis. 

This time, you physically couldn't control your reaction as you threw your hands on your hips, your eyes searching for someone to switch with. Just as you reached over to swap Lewis' and Anthony's place cards, the group approached, and everyone stared at you with inquisitive eyes as you slowly dropped them back into place.

You smiled, sliding into your designated seat, eyes straight ahead as your father and Lewis slipped into their own.

Lewis side-eyes you as he sees that it was his name you tried to swap. You were always so petty. 

You feel his stare on you and give him your back to face as you focus on your father who stands tapping his wine glass with a knife.

Like always your father begins to give a speech. You loved listening to him speak, even if he was lecturing you, he always managed to engrain some life lesson into your memory. 

"Welcome, family and friends. I want to first start off by saying I appreciate you all for coming; if you're here today, you're either family or a friend, so in the end, that makes you all family. No matter when or how I met you, you have touched a special place in my heart, and you've made this life of mine beautiful. We've all become connected somewhere along the line, and now, hopefully, we're stuck with each other for the rest of our lives. As each year goes on and I grow older with it, I am reminded of just how meaningful it is to carry relationships on with you from one year to the next. We've done that." He laughs.

"Most of us have been in each other's lives since the beginning, Anthony has been my best friend since we were nine." He chuckled tilting his glass at Lewis' dad. Anthony raises his own right back at him. 

"We've done everything together, damn near walked through each part of our lives together. He had a son, and months later, I had my daughter. Bam!" he laughs, and the table laughs with him. You smile at the mention of your father and his best friend; they were truly a pair like no other.

"Our friendship continues on through our children; we pass on our camaraderie; through our kids, we get more kids." He motions around to your friends. "And our family is even bigger. I've got my family, I've got my wife's family, Anthony's family, our children's family, and we're all now family. We've got each other for life! We're proof of that; we stick together and treat each other right, and if we don't, we always find our way back together again and start over because that's what a family does. Every year, you guys show up for me, and I show up for you. And I can't think of a better way to spend my birthday than with you. Life is beautiful and even more beautiful when you're spending it with the right people. So I thank you for being the right people."

There are no dry eyes after his speech. You reach over to hug him when he sits, pressing your lips to his cheek. "I love you, Dad."

Chatter emerges as everyone marvels at your dad's words. To your left, Lewis is quite emotional. His dad's arm comes up to pull his son into his side, and for the first time today, you watch him with no shame. He looks like a kid again in his dad's arms as he gets emotional, and your heart breaks.

It's not in your character to be mean to Lewis. You know this, which is why you haven't even bothered being a bitch to him, even though a part of you desperately craves to hurt his feelings like yours has been for the last two months. You pull your phone from your purse, and before you unlock it, his reflection glares at you from your blank screen. He isn't facing you but staring blankly ahead, and your resolve crumbles slightly.

He looks like little Lew, face set in a frown and tuned out to the world around him. You think back to all of the times he'd get into his own head, bothered about why the other kids didn't talk to him and why they were nasty to him when they did. How many times he's nestled into you the same way when he felt his heart take a hit.

He's always been a softie. Wearing his heart on his sleeve, it was one of the things you admired about him so much. His ability to let people see him fully. You were never good at that. If you were, you could gaurantee that you and Lewis wouldn't even be in this situation to begin with.

You are sure that you can hear your heart beating rapidly as you reach down and grasp onto his hand. You pretend to scroll mindlessly through your phone when you hear his breath hitch. Lewis struggles to keep his resolve as he intertwines his fingers with yours. He could cry again right now. 

Your dad was right; he'd always been right. You think back to the times when you were younger when you would tell him why you and Lewis were sitting so far apart. 

"Baby," he would lift your head with a gentle smile, "You know how many times Anthony got on my damn nerves or we had a quarrel, even with your mother. Just have to talk it out, right? That's the kind of friendship you don't let slip away, no matter what. And if he's mad at you, you fight for him. If you're mad at him, you fight for him. Don't ever let something ruin it when you could fix it before it gets bad."

When the food comes out, your stomach flips, sushi lines the table, and your insides feel like they're being shaken. You snatch your hand from Lewis' and toss it over your mouth as the fish is placed in front of you. 

"Baby, you love sushi." Your dad says, pushing your plate away from you.

"I don't know what-" You don't finish your sentence rushing away from the table in a put together manner, you hurry to the other side of the boat where you make it just in time to empty your stomach. Nothing comes out as you dry heave over the water. A hand comes to rub at your back and your hair is being held back.

"Hey, you okay?" It's Lewis and his tone is full of concern as his hand constanly moves in caring circles. 

You jump away from his comforting hands, throwing a glare in his direction. 

"What do you want?" you hiss, preparing to step down from the altitude of the railing. 

He holds out his hand ready to help you down and you almost reach for it before huffing and turning baack around folding your arms over the railing. If the sushi wasn't going to have you throwing up Lewis prescence surly would. You felt overwhelmed as he speaks up from behind you.

"Wow."

"Wow, what, Lewis?"

"So I'm Lewis now?" 

"Is that not your name?" You snap back.

You feel his body heat behind you, this time closer.

"Not to you, you know that though."

"Nicknames are for friends." 

"Shut up." He smacks his teeth.

"No!" you argue, turning around your chest bumps into his, "You shut up!"

 you both childishly bicker back and forth.

“What are you being mean to me for, huh? Don't say that."

"I've got a right to be mean to you."

"I don't got time for your nasty ass attitude right now." He says.

"Good. The fuck." you ramble, turning around, "nobody asked you to follow me."

"I followed you because you're still my best friend, stubborn ass."

"Couldn't tell." You rebutted.

"See, I'm trying to talk to you, y/n. Why say something like that? Stop acting like-." He groans.

"Like what, like a bitch?" You look at him over your shoulder, watching his face drop. "That's what I thought."

"I wasn't about to call you a bitch." 

Yeah, again, you think. 

You stand in silence for a while, listening to the sound of the water sloshing against the boat.

"Your dad has a knick for speeches." He announces, "Always targeting us, huh?"

"That's my dad for you."

"I-, you're still my best friend, that will never change. No matter how long we go without talking to each other."

"I know." It comes out as a sigh and you let out a groan, dropping your head into your folded arms.

"Why didn't you call me?" You ask, "I waited for you to call."

"I was scared, I knew I fucked up, and I think us having sex created a weird dynamic with it. I kinda felt like a booty call or something, I don't know; you trying to leave triggered something in me, made me feel like it wasn't..."

He lets out a sigh, and you know he has that hard thinking face on. "meaningful what we did together." He finally concludes.

"I thought that's what you would've wanted, I'm sorry."

"For other people, yes. But not my best friend."

And there are those two words again, like two blades slicing you in half, best friend, that's all you'd ever be.

Lewis was your best friend, nothing less, nothing more. This is all it'd ever be, and that thought alone, although valid, had you knuckling at your eyes.

"You okay, bunny?"

You can't help the sad smile that appears or the way your heart flutters at the nickname; no matter the situation, you'll always be his bunny.

You slump back against his chest as you step back from the railing. "I'm fucking dying," you whine, and he laughs at your dramatics. 

"You're not dying, love." He chuckles. He stands flush behind you, one arm coming around to dangle off your shoulder, the other holding your hand at your side. "How are you going to tell me?" You huff, and it seems as if nothing ever happened between you two as he turns you around and holds you close; he throws both of his arms over your shoulder, wrapping you into his tight embrace, and your face is crammed in his neck, breathing in his scent. 

And in that moment, you both could've sworn fireworks erupt in the sky as your hearts beat against each other's chest. It feels like the missing piece in your lives from the last two months has been returned, and the machine is running excellently.

"Because I know you, what's wrong, huh? Got a tummy ache." He coos. And his soft, caring tone has your stomach doing flips.

You don't know how long you stand there in his embrace before you finally wrap your arms around his torso.

"I'm still mad at you." You declare.

"I know." 

"I still want an apology."

"I'm sorry."

You feel your nausea ease away as you sway to the beat of his heart against your chest.

This is the first moment of relief Lewis has felt in two months, his heart is not in a panicked state and his mind is even better off. 

"I'm sorry for calling you an idiot. It's been bothering me since I said it." You announce, "I don't think you're an idiot. I still think you're the smartest person in the world."

Your eyes water as you apologize, and Lewis hears the sniffle you let out. You remember how much it hurt your heart to see Lewis struggle to catch on in school as a kid, the words the teachers would spit at him, and how he'd let it get to him. You never wanted to make him feel the same way.

"I don't want you to think of me like the rest of them."

Lewis grasps your shoulders, inching you away softly, "I'd never look at you that way," he declares. "I was being an idiot, I know how you meant it, bunny. I should be apologizing for what I said to you. I don't think you were being a bitch; I've never in my life thought about you that way or even remotely considered calling you out of your name. I was just mad."

His hands come up to cup your face, and his thumbs swipe away the wetness underneath your eyes. He sighs, pulling you back into him. "I don't ever wanna not talk to you again, fucked me up."

"But you never called me."

"Didn't think you wanted me to, didn't know what to do, you'd never been that mad at me before, was scared." He admitted.

"I thought you were finally done with me."

"Never that."

"Are we okay?" You examine.

"We're always going to be more than okay. It feels right with me still, yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Okay then, we're back like it never happened." He assured. 

And he thinks he can stay like this forever, you in his arms as the sunsets on the boat. He can't think of anything more peaceful than watching the sky change colors and the warm hues making your skin glow in the softest way as he revels in the comfort of your warm body and beating heart.

He wants to unleash his feelings right then and there, "I love you."

"I love you more." 

You both speak honestly, wishing that the other would return the same affection. Your parents watch on from above. 

"Wouldn't know if it hit them over the head." Your mom shakes her head sipping her wine.

"So in their face." Anthony exhales, throwing his hand up, "Mhmm, mhm, mhm."

"Those are our kids, damn idiots." Your dad finishes, but unlike his counterparts, he wears a knowing smile on his face. 

-

"There are a few things we need to clarify before we move on from this." You announce before you rejoin your family and friends.

"What's that?"

"That was a one-time thing for the sake of our friendship; no more sex, no more mentioning it; it never happened."

Lewis freezes in his spot, his arm falling from your shoulder as you take another step. You, too, freeze, turning around to take him in. 

He is standing, his eyes furrowed like he's in deep thought.

That would be an easy rule for him to follow if he wasn't struggling as you speak to think about anything other than you every day and how great you felt around him. 

"What?" You question.

"I-" he coughs, "I can do that."

"Don't make it weird." You warn, eyeing him.

"Was the best sex I've ever had in my life, though." He admits with a smirk. You push him away as he tries to wrap his arm around you again. 

"Goodbye, Lewis." You laughed, walking ahead of him.

He happily stays behind you, watching the way your bottom moves in the dress, and once again, he feels the same burning desire. He could get by without mentioning it if you wanted, but he was absolutely and completely sure you ruined him for anyone else. 

Ever since he could remember, his passionate moments never ensued without you flickering through his mind at least once to jump-start him. But actually having you, God he was sure he'd never see another woman again.

As you rejoin everyone else at the front of the boat, you once again see everyone spread out, and you realize just how long you'd been marveling at Lewis' presence as you notice the appearance of the moon.

You gasp as you see a serving bowl full of mango calling your name as you pass by the treat table. You pick it up with ease, stuffing your mouth as you approach your friends who, like always, have banded together in their own little world.

You make eye contact with Whitney, who is looking at you in pure wonder. You shoot her your own look of inquisition. When you take the empty seat beside her, she is still eyeing you like you have two heads.

"Girl, what?" you whisper, your mouth full of mango.

She shakes her head at you, turning and muttering under her breath. You slap her bare thigh, "what?" you whisper shout. 

"We'll talk about it later." She declares, throwing back two shots back to back.

"Whit," you whine, "you know I hate when you do that."

"Yeah, but trust me, later is better."

You sigh, turning away from her and��getting back to eating your fruit as Lewis approaches the group and takes the seat beside Mori. "Someone’s happy." Miles teases.

You look up at him, and sure enough, there is a shit-eating grin covering his face. "More than happy."

Whit is still mumbling to herself as you stare back at Lewis, when you look at her she is digging through her bag, "No, there's just now way."

-

Sure enough, as soon as you make your way back to the villa, Whitney is dragging you away from the rest of the group and into your bedroom. Lewis shoots you a questioning look as she yanks you from your seat. You can only shrug at him as you trip over your own two feet.

 She opens the door to your connecting bathroom, waving her arms for you to enter dramatically after you just stand there and stare at her.

"Ouu, girl." You warn, walking past her, "I need you to start using some words."

When you step foot into the bathroom, she pushes something into your palm.

You angle your head down, realizing that what lies in your hand is a pregnancy test. You throw it at her in shock. "Eww bitch."

"It's not used, dummy." Whit catches it.

You gasp, reaching for her hands, "Oh my god! Are you pregnant?" You whisper shout, excitement seeping through.

"No!" She shouts back in a whisper closing your bathroom door. Your hands are cupped in front of your chest like an exicited child. She turns to face you again only this time she's adorning the most serious look she's ever given you. 

"I think you are, though."

Your hands drop down to your sides, one going to your hip that pokes out as you scoff.

"Whit." It's all you say.

"Y/n. Please just take it, ease my mind."

"What even makes you think I could be pregant whit." You huff pulling the stick from her waiting hand.

She sits on the side of the bathtub as you lift your dress and plop down onto the toilet.

"You've been feeling out of it for a while; at first, I thought it was the heat, but you've been having nausea and headaches long before this trip. The smell of alcohol makes you sick, and you're a fucking alcoholic, c'mon now-"

"I am not a fucking alcoholic-"

"The sushi! You fucking love sushi. Out of everything to eat, an entire fucking serving bowl of mangoes, so many fucking mangoes, Y/n!"

As she continues, you begin to feel nerves bubble in your gut as you tinkle onto the test.

Your heart drops to your ass as you put the pieces together. 

You haven't had a period in two months, which didn't raise any alarms before; irregularity was common for you. But now that you think about it, you have been unusually sick in the mornings and around certain foods and smells. You have been craving some things more than usual, and your scale shows a tiny bit of weight gain. 

Two months ago you had sex with Lewis. With no condom, and he came inside of you. He most definitely fucked his cum back into you. The memory has you clutching your chest with a gasp that made Whit reach out to catch you just in case you toppled over.

"Oh my fucking god." you gasp, pulling the stick from beneath you and tossing it onto the sink. You wipe yourself and then stand to wash your hands.

"Oh fuck." you panic, and your hands are coming up to grasp your head.

"On the bright side, if it's positive, you're a mommy. You've always wanted to be a mom!" Whit cheers softly.

You turn to her with quickness. "Yes, Whit! When I'm fucking married and settled down, not when I fucking-"

The alarm tone from Whit's phone has you shutting up mid-sentence.

"I set the alarm when you peed," she whispered meekly.

She motions for you to pick up the test, and you wanna tell her to get out when you see the excitement covering her face. 

You reach behind you, hand tapping blindly against the counter until the stick is in your hand.

You close your eyes and take a deep breath through your nose.

When you open your eyes, you see the result clear as day, which has you clutching your pearls.

"I'm going to pass out, I can't breathe."

"Let me see!" Whit all but shouts, jumping up, but you're already reaching for the door handle.

"Where are you going?" She shrieks as you swing the door open, leaving her behind.

"I need to tell Lewis."

"Oh boo," she pouts, "I understand he's your best friend and all, but at least tell me first, I'm the one who brought the test."

You turn to her with watery eyes and a look that tells her all she needs to know.

"Lewis is the baby's father?" She whisper shouts, jumping back like you've thrown cold water in her face.

"What the fuck? When did you sleep with fucking Lewis?" She ponders aloud. "Oh my god, is this why you two haven't been you two?"

"Whit," you groan. "I promise, I don't have the mental capacity to unpack all of this with you right now. There's a fucking baby growing inside of me, my best friend's baby and I don't know what to do with myself."

"Yeah," she nods sympathetically, "I'm sorry, yeah. You talk to Lewis and when you're ready I'll be here for you to lean on." She pulls you into a hig before grasping you by the shoulders. 

"Whatever you decide just remeber it's your choice, okay? You call the shots Y/n. You know I'll support you either way, and you know Lewis, he'll understand."

You sniffle, wiping your cheeks with the back of your palm.

"Get yourself together, mama, I'm going to send him in, okay?"

You nod and rush over to your closet. You pull a pair of sweats on and then pull off your dress and toss on an oversized hoodie.

There is a knock on your door before it gently creaks open. Lewis pokes his head through with a gentle smile.

"Hey, everything okay? Whit told me to meet you in here, I didn't know if she wanted to strangle me or hug me, but she said it was urgent."

You shove the pregnancy test into the pocket of your hoodie, stepping out of the closet.

He enters the room, gently closing the door. He approaches you with his arms already open, seeing the teary expression.

"Lewis, can you actually sit down for me. I have to talk to you about something."

He's not sure what he expects to come from your mouth, but it wasn't what he heard.

"I'm pregnant. It's yours."

You surely weren't expecting him to look so relieved. "Why are you looking so-"

"Are you sure?"

You scoff, crossing your arms, "Yes, I'm sure it's yours, you dick. I don't sleep around-"

"What, no! Are you positive that you're pregnant?"

"Oh." You halt, and you pull the test from your hoodie, watching as he approaches you. He takes it from your hands, looking at it with sparkling eyes, "Wow."

"Wow?" You question, "Lewis, I'm pregnant with your child. Freak out a little."

"Why," he asks, "Are you freaking out? How do you feel?" His eyes are no longer on the test in his hands but staring intently into yours.

"Yes, I am freaking out, there is a fetus in my womb."

"Yeah, yeah." He breathes. "Whew, talk to me. What do you want?"

"I- I want to." You shake your head, pushing past him to sit on your bed. He follows after kneeling in front of you and placing the test beside you.

"I am with whatever you want, you know that, right?"

"Yes, but."

"But nothing," Lewis states. "If you want to keep our baby, you keep it. I know you've always wanted a family."

"Exactly," you sigh, "a family."

"Bunny, we're already a family. I'll be there you know I will."

"What about everyone else? What will they say?"

"I don't care about other people or what they have to say. I only care about you and what you want."

"I want to keep it, and I understand if it's not something you want. Won't hold it against you; you didn't ask for-"

"You're losing me. I'm not just going to let you raise our kid on your own. I want people to know it's my child."

"Lewis, they're going to-"

"Once again, I don't care what people think."

"Oh my god, I'm going to be prancing around all jolly and happy carrying your child, and when people ask, I'll just say, oh yeah, Lewis and I had very erotic sex, and now I'm carrying his illegitimate child."

"Don't call my child illegitimate. What the fuck?" He smacks his teeth.

"My child," you state, mushing his head back.

His hands reach up and rest on each of your thighs. "Our child."

"Still illegitimate," you sigh. "What if I find a man who'll marry me pregnant? Does that still-"

"I'm the Dad." Lewis asserts, he knows you're joking, but the idea of another man marrying you, let alone claiming his child, has him ready to kill a man who doesn't even exist. Besides, he would marry you in a heartbeat.

This is all too real for you at the moment, and you find yourself letting out another whine, "My job, I have a job, Lew."

"You and I both know that I make more money than I can spend." He assures you, his hands now rubbing up and down your legs.

He looks like an excited puppy waiting at your feet.

"Lew, that's not realistic."

"Why not?" He scoffs.

"Because what if one day you start hating me and them I'm left alone with-"

"That could never happen, bunny, that'll never happen."

"I'm sorry, I'm just nervous. I've never had a baby before."

He laughs, pulling himself up onto the bed beside you and cupping your hands in his. "We'll figure it out together. Gonna be the best parents in the world."

"Our parents are going to die." You laugh.

"Your mom probably overheard the others chatting about how we'd probably end up having a family one day." 

"My dad still thinks we're going to marry each other one day. Ew, he's going to know I had sex with you." You cringe.

"Don't say it like you didn't enjoy it." He feigns offense.

"We know who enjoyed it more, Sir."

"I'm not denying it, don't call me that." His arm reaches back and pulls one of your pillows onto his lap.

"You horny fuck." You cackle, watching the sheepish look blanket his expression.

"I can't help it; you're calling me sir; you're carrying my child. That's two kinks in one." 

"Lewis!" you shriek, whacking him with your own pillow. 

"You do realize having sex has brought a lot of sexual tension to the surface, or is that just me?" 

You could talk about things with Lewis that would make other people uncomfortable without there being any problems at all.

"It was very charged." You agree, looking back at him as he leans back, his elbows holding him up.

"Just charged? I gave you my all, Girl." He flicks your head.

"Don't hit me, I'm with child." You joke, and he lets out a genuine laugh, his head falling back. "If I'm being honest, it was the best sex I've ever had, too."

He smirked at you, shrugging his shoulders like it's no big deal. "Yeah, get told that a lot, so."

You snatch the pillow from his lap launching it at his face as you laugh with him, "I bet. I always thought if we were to have kids they'd be best friends like us, now we're having a kid together."

Lewis always hoped that he had kids with you, so in a way this was a dream come true, he was one step closer to having you in every way he wanted. He had an inkling now that the possibility of the two of you being together was becoming more realistic than it'd ever been. 

You were agreeing to bring a life into this world with him, and he knows he's said it a million times, but this time he was absolutely sure, there was nothing and he means nothing that could ever make his love for you fade. He'd never stop loving you, if anything this announcement has made his desires increase tenfold. 

And he could only hope it'd possibly open your eyes to your own, there was no way a person could speak to another like that if it wasn't real. There was no way you could be so open to bringing a child into this world with him if you didn't treasure him too. 

Case in point, Lewis was done waiting on the sidelines.

I luv luv luv y'all.

so here's part two!

I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.

[pennyserenade]

dear, dark child | thomas shelby x reader

summary | tommy wakes up from a nightmare and you help him through it. rating | (explicit) tags/warnings | 18+, pre-established relationship, unprotected sex, nightmares, mention of drugs, mention of suicide, mention of childbirth, cigarette smoking, mentions of prejudice against romani people, angst, pinv, creampie, dirty talk, rough sex, doggy style. word count | 2.2k+ a/n | this is the first thing i've ever written for tommy, so i think it's safe to say i'm a little nervous to be posting this. in my mind, this is more geared towards season 1 tommy. also, i wrote this all in one afternoon so go easy on me.

Thomas Shelby is the most handsome augury of death you have ever seen. He has finely carved cheekbones, a glow in his crystalline eyes, lips full and pink and kissed with freckles. His mother walked herself into the cut, and they say there is a madness embedded in them all—his sister, his brothers, the aunt. You stand at the end of his bed, lips parted, looking at him in all of his haunted beauty, as if to say something, but you decide against it. 

In the black of night, he is not as he is in the daylight. There’s a fresh sheen of sweat on his skin, and a look of fear in his eyes. As you stand at the end of his bed, cold, unsure, you mouth out the words: “All is well, Thomas, all is fine.”

He is the Romani boy they say speaks in spells, in curses, who has been othered because they think he is half devil. As a child, he clung to the skirts of his beautiful mother, loved her to the point of anguish. She dreamt of him when he was in her stomach, pictured a raven haired boy who spoke her words, who had her eyes. Tommy learned her language far better than the rest of her children did. His mother knew the world would give itself to this child of her. He would be beautiful, he would be ambitious. He would be cunning, too, and devious. She knew that many times in his life, he would have to figure out how far things could bend before they snapped completely. When she had pushed him out in the dark of a tunnel, she feared nothing. She did not need light to know this child of hers, because he had come to her in dreams. “He’s a boy,” she had told his father, “and his name is Thomas.” He had cried louder than his brother before him, and she knew that in darkness he was born, and that in darkness he would stay. But she laid him upon her bare breast, and promised herself that she would tell him of the light in the world, and she knew that the good in his soul would weed out the bad. This son of hers was not cursed; he was only a child of the night. She would spend the rest of her short life telling him this, and he would never learn it. 

You reach out and touch his trembling hand. Beneath your touch, he is clammy. You feel his present emotions pulsate beneath your fingertips. He is ashamed, afraid, and angry. Before he can speak, utter something he does not mean but won’t take back, you crawl into his bed, onto his lap.

Your mother was like his in many ways, and in your veins you carry on the tradition of knowing. It is for the same reasons he tells people he can charm animals that you pretend you know nothing: to survive.

You know you will love him, and you know he will betray you. When you press your body into his, wrapping your arms around his sweat drenched skin, you do it because you know in this foreboding future of yours that he never meant to, that he is sorry, that he loves you, too. Some things are fated, prewritten, unavoidable and inevitable; the failure to comfort him won’t change the shape of your lives. 

He clings to you, perhaps to his own confusion, and a little to your own. You feel beneath you a mass of frustration, of anger, of fear. You expected something dangerous, something explosive, not this. Though you lurched at him to tame it, you weren’t sure it was going to work; now that he sits beneath you, holding you in the same manner you hold him, you let out a quiet, relieved sigh. 

“It’s okay,” you assure him once more, with more conviction. Your voice is less meek, more your own, the fear of his anger ebbing each second he holds his face to your chest.  

“I’m sorry.” He chokes out, though there’s no tears that wet the cloth of your gown. His fingers clench around your sides, gripping at the fabric, before he pulls back to look up at you. “The things in my fuckin’ head—“

“It’s alright.” Your fingers thread through his damp hair, pushing back the strands that have fallen over his forehead. This is no devil beneath you. Just a man. Just a boy. “You don’t have to explain to me.”

He swallows roughly, falling back onto the pillows behind him. Tommy rubs his hand over his face and sighs. As the frustration coils more tightly in his stomach, you feel anxious���too aware of the emotions in his frame. Your hand touches the skin of his stomach. It is scorching beneath your cool touch, alight with fury, with fear. He hardly knows the difference between the two. 

“Take off your gown,” he says, deep voice still gravelly from sleep. You do, gathering the ends of the fabric up by your waist, then lifting it above your head. 

He has seen you like this many times before. You’re no whore–don’t have the emotional bandwidth to handle it–but you’re certainly no prude. The first time you locked eyes on Thomas Shelby, something more palpable than the spirits told you what he wanted with you. The light in his eye. The tweak of his lips into a smirk. The attraction you felt, passingly, then fully, as he approached you in the pub. You had known this was him, the boy they said was the devil, could see it in his eyes, but did not mind. 

He does not fuck as roughly as others, but he also does not fuck as kindly as you know he has the craving for. He explores your goose pimpled flesh, still in the midst of regaining his composure. His fingers tremble, but he pretends they don’t. Tommy dances them across your bare chest with calculated ease, tweaking an already pert nipple, cupping the tissue into his too warm palm. 

Desire grows inside of him, takes the place of anger. You kiss, hard and fast, because his body is hungry for a fix—stronger than tobacco, better than whiskey, safer than illicit drugs. He grows hard beneath you, and it begins to leak out, gone in moments, the things that made him hot to the touch. He takes your head between his hands, and brushes too affectionately over your jaw. Somethings are too instinctual to stop; this is the good his mother saw, her dream manifested. His body molds into your own, craves a thing he can’t comprehend just yet, because he is too tired, too young, to know what love might begin as. 

Tommy asks you to lay flat on your stomach, but he has a way of requesting things that make them seem like callous demands. The gruff of his voice. The anger that wraps around all of his words, that has done since he got back from war, changed. You might be the only person who does not flinch or take offense. You lie on your stomach, hands tucked beneath his pillow, eyes pressed closed. Sometimes, he puts his mouth on you. To ready you, he explained, and you like that. Tonight he doesn’t seem to be in the mood. He positions himself between your legs, kisses along the arch of your spine, and whispers against your ear, “Ass up, then.” 

There’s nothing to separate you two: no blankets, no articles of clothing, not even the frigid air of his bedroom, the fire long gone out. You feel the head of his cock at your entrance mere seconds before he plunges inside of you. 

You muffle your groan in the pillow beneath you, fingers tightening around the cloth of the sheets, holding on. At first the intrusion of him is too much, a burning chafe, but he slows, holding himself mid thrust inside of you. You feel the hair on his stomach prickle against you as he leans over your body, curling around you, lips touching your shoulder. The tenuous string of connection you have with him grows stronger, less blurred around the edges, more in focus. Inside of you, he feels safe. It’s inexplicable, but you feel it too; comfort even in his roughest touches, knowing he doesn’t mean harm, that he thinks of you, that he wants you. Your body catches up, slick gathering between your legs as he slides himself in again, more slowly. 

His fingers wrap around your neck, cradling your neck more than pressing into your skin. Tommy’s thrusts begin to pick up, and they become more punishing, driving your hips down into the bed. You moan, toes curling, desire pooling in your stomach as your clit rubs passively against the sheets. It’s not enough friction to do anything but drive you insane. 

He moves back up, sitting on his knees, the fingers on his free hand finding the curves at your side. He holds you there, pushing himself in, emitting soft grunts into the still of night as he buries himself inside of you. The bed begins to creak beneath you both. Old as it is, it is never quite prepared for the violence of his movements. He doesn’t care. Let the whole house hear; God knows they’ve done it to him many times before. He needs to bury himself deeply inside of you, to feel the way you clench around him when he guides your head back to look you in the eye. 

Your lips part, wrapping around a quiet moan. Tommy drives his hips against your backside in a determined rhythm, trying to find the part of you that cries out obscenely. He likes you best in positions where you arch, submit, take what he gives happily. His cock hits the top of your walls, and he nods when you finally audibly moan for him, smug. It isn’t enough that you’ve gone slick between your thighs, that his cock is coated in it. More, more, more—for he still is the boy who has not quite learned how far things can bend before they break. 

He rubs his thumb against your bottom lip, and you wrap your warm mouth around it. “You like that?” he grits out, fucking into you roughly, quickly, determined. There’s a new sheen of sweat on his body, mingling with your own in the places you meet. It is better, less acrid than the stuff he was coated in before. 

“I do,” you pant. You reach out and wrap your hand around the metakl frame of the bed. He laughs, though you’re not sure he finds anything funny.

“I know,” he answers, taking his hand from your face, your neck, gripping instead on your shoulder. He pushes you back onto his cock. “Always do like it. Always take everything I give you.”

“Yes.” Your fingers tighten around the bars. Words escape you, thoughts diminishing into emotion, into sensations. His fingers on your skin. His cock in your cunt, hitting the top of you. The entirety of him behind you, up on bended knees, a supposed half devil. A child of the night. The fury of his passion. The swirl of anger he has pushed away. The fear he doesn’t want to come back. He buries it inside of you, these things he cannot say. 

His hips sputter against yours, and it is over: the warmth of his cum fills you, and he wraps an arm around your stomach, pulling you close to him, kissing along your shoulder. 

Tommy isn’t forgetful; his other hand reaches around and finds your neglected clit. His teeth scrape against your flesh as he circles it with his fingers, drawing out more delicious sounds from you. His cum begins to drip down your legs, but he does not mind. You twitch, jut, fight out of his embrace, but he holds tighter, humming in delight because he knows only he can touch you like this. 

“Show me,” he demands, voice rough, “Show me how much you like my cum in you.” 

You reach behind, grip onto his hip. “Tommy,” is all you manage. 

“Show me.” He rubs your clit faster, pressing down harder. His face tucks into your neck. “You’re grateful, aren’t you? That I fuck you so good?” The desire builds in your stomach. He kisses the side of your mouth. “Fuckin’ show me!”

You cum, and it lasts for what feels like an eternity. You register the sensation of his prideful, earnest laughter against your skin, a familiar timbre, an echo that your bones know well. At one moment it’s too much. Then it’s nothing: his hands, his fingers, his cock abandoning you. 

With all of his troubles still leaking onto your thighs, Tommy reaches over to the nightstand to grab a cigarette. “Do you want one?” he asks. There’s no disinterest in his tone—only the monotonous, somber sound of his voice piercing the air. You lay on your stomach, face pressed against the now cool pillow. “Guess that’s a no.” 

The room smells of sex. Not bad, per se, but potent. His smell and yours, sweet and acidic, and something indistinguishable. His hand rests on your back. “Alright?” he asks. 

You turn your head in his direction. “Alright,” you confirm. “And you?”

The cigarette burns orange, the crackle of his inhale filling the space between you. “All is well,” he says, repeating the words you gave him. 

You hum in agreement. Yes, for now, in this moment, in this place, all is well. The darkness cloaks you both, shields you from the future, and nothing can bring you any harm. 

How fortunate it is to know this much.

[cosmicalily]

"four letters (l-o-v-e)" - a minho oneshot by @cosmicalily

author's note: i may or may not write a part two for this (depending on if people like this one!) i've never really written a fic like this where there's zero romantic action/physical intimacy, but i kind of loved this whole soft, slow burn, and the idea that you can come up with your own ending for it (unless i end up writing one lmao). obviously, this fic is inspired by the 'youth' mv, bc i'm down WILDLY bad for 'youth' minho! also as i wrote in a little blab on my blog this will likely be my last post in my 'regular' writing schedule as it's my very last prewritten fic!! i'd been stockpiling them for days to keep me going but with school restarting (final year!) i know i'll most likely be too busy to write regularly. thank you for all the love over this summer (or winter!) xx i'll still be on here whenever inspiration strikes!

warnings: fights, blood, angst, difficulties at school, suspensions

The sunlight on the emerald coloured lawn was warm, melting through the semi-sheer clouds like honey. You stretched yourself out, torso propped up by your elbows, eyes squinted before eventually, you gave into the glare, closing them fully. You loved the spring sunshine; everything around you felt like it was saturated and glowing, and there was a freshness to the air that the other seasons didn’t carry. You felt a soft kick to your back and opened your eyes reluctantly, batting an arm aimlessly to return the blow.

“Were you asleep?” Seungmin asked, chuckling amusedly. Despite his smirk, he offered a hand to help you off the grass. Foolishly, you reached for it, and once you were about two-thirds above the ground, he let go, letting you fall back onto the lawn with a soft thump.

“You asshole,” you groaned, dusting off your plaid skirt. You pulled yourself to your own feet, stretching your back and slipping your arms into your blazer, giving Seungmin one last dirty look. He simply laughed at you, the way he always did, but you didn’t miss the quick once-over he gave you, checking to make sure he hadn’t really hurt you. 

It was just the way you communicated. He teased, you tolerated. And sometimes, if you were bothered, you retaliated.

You reached for your bike, about to set your backpack in the front basket, when suddenly Seungmin tapped you on the shoulder. Not in the irritating way to interrupt you when you were studying, but urgently. You turned your head, craning your neck, and your jaw dropped.

Seo Changbin and Lee Minho were fighting.

Not play fighting, the way you typically saw the two of them tussle around in the back of class. No, there was no laughter, no joking or nicknames. Seungmin pulled the two of you a little further behind the bicycle shelter, eyes wide in shock.

“You’re a fucking piece of shit,” Minho spat, blood trickling from his lip as he fought against Changbin’s headlock. “You knew that was my last chance. I needed that grade and you’ve gone and fucking screwed it.”

Changbin scoffed, wincing a little at the scratches Minho’s nails left on his forearms. “You’re the one who doesn’t give a shit about school. Why do you suddenly care, huh? It’s just a stupid assignment.”

“They’re gonna kick me out if I fail another,” Minho hissed. “You knew that, but you still had to fuck around and ruin everything for me.”

“Oh my god,” you whispered to Seungmin.

Not quietly enough, apparently.

Minho’s head turned, sharp eyes immediately spotting the two of you. Your heartbeat quickened, and Seungmin mumbled curses under his mouth as Minho quickly pulled himself from Changbin. He gave the latter a quick shove, then pointed in the direction of the bike shed.

“Fuck,” Seungmin murmured.

“What are you looking at?” Changbin shouted, expression hostile.

“Let’s go,” you urged, and the two of you hopped on your bikes, making a hasty exit. 

When you turned your head back, Changbin was nowhere to be seen. Minho, however, sat on the lawn, bloody face in his hands. 

He looked so much smaller, so vulnerable. 

Before you knew what you were doing, you leaned your bike against a fence and ran back to the school grounds, Seungmin shouting your name from behind you.

But Minho was gone now, too.

Seungmin panted beside you, cursing at your stupidity for running back. 

Blood now streaked the grass where you’d been sitting earlier.

“Ms. Park and I have been thoroughly debating exactly what to do with you two, Lee Minho,” Mr. Shin sighed, running a hand through his thinning hair. “Because clearly, the past consequences we’ve inflicted have had minimal, if any, impact.”

Minho’s eyes brightened. “Another suspension?” He asked eagerly.

“Absolutely not,” Mr. Shin shook his head. “Especially when your attendance is already as bad as it is, and considering the fact that the past seven suspensions we’ve assigned you have only seemed to make matters worse. No, we’ve had to get creative.”

Minho rolled his eyes and yawned, but his heart beat a little quicker. Usually, this conversation would be done in two minutes; it was a script he’d repeated many times. Several apologies, each a little more dramatic than the previous one, then a two-day suspension. Then, Minho would be out of the room, collecting his bag, and could do whatever he pleased. It was like a routine.

‘Creative’, though? He did not like the sound of that.

“We have decided that perhaps individualised punishments are not effective,” Mr. Shin continued. “So we have constructed somewhat of a community service plan for you to complete.”

“What, like picking up rubbish?”

“What, Mr. Shin,” he groaned. “Have some courtesy, please. And no, something different. It will be collaborative, but also educational. Changbin will be doing the same; Seungmin will be assisting him in instructing the children’s baseball team. And, in your favour, we have taken into account your dislike towards physical exercise. However, you’ll still be responsible for a group of people, which will hopefully teach you leadership and empathy. Obviously, we were cautious of assigning you this role alone, so we have recruited some support.” Mr. Shin stood up from his desk and opened his office door.

“Hi Minho,” you said gently.

“Hi, Y/N,” he mumbled.

You pulled out a sheet of paper covered in squares and numbers, sliding it across the desk to him. 

And the smile Lee Minho offered you, small but certain, as he stared down at the piece of paper was nothing short of genuine. In that moment, he seemed different. 

You saw the same vulnerability you’d seen the day before.

“Have you ever played bingo?”

taglist: @hyunjiiza @velvetmoonlght @s3ungm1nxxl0ve @btch8008s @yaniluvs @ellemir2404 @bellarellasstuff @starsinagreenskyxx @ashtxrie @pigeonseatmayo @modesttiger - comment, dm or send an ask to be added

[latenuitrambles]

Self-aware AU for Kaeya?

Note: Sorry this took time I had college stuff and I also wanted to complete Kaeya's hangout first? and I think that was the right move because it actually has a lot to do with fate and I think that inspired me a lot while writing this!!!!!

CW: nothing much?? a bit of yandere? minor spoilers for Kaeya's story. not proofread so might have spelling and grammar errors

As usual criticism and reblogs and highly appreciated ! please guys if you genuinely think some part can be a bit better i would love to know as i am trying to improve my writing!!

The day that kaeya realises that he was part of a video game, I think he would be very conflicted.

All his life he has tried to defy the ‘Fate’ of Teyvat and tried to overwrite his destiny and to suddenly discover that all his life is essentially planned from beginning to end for other people to ‘play’ and seek enjoyment?? Something about it infuriates him so much

But once he calms down and reorganizes his emotions, I think he would slowly start planning ways to break out of the prewritten story.

Subtly trying to get you to make certain choice in the story, trying to influence your actions.

If he cannot write his own destiny then he will make sure you will do so for him.

In his obsession to influence you I think he might slowly even start to get attached to you.

It feels wrong yes but slowly he realise you are essentially the only person in this ‘world’ who knows all about him, his conflicted family background, his relations with Khaenri'ah, the choice he would have to make, the sometimes questionable methods he uses to enact justice.

You and the only person who can see through his mask and maybe eventually when youre playing with just him he would slowly start letting his guard down.

However complicated the relation between you guys might be with him being trapped in a game and all, there is something so comforting about you knowing all parts of him and still loving his character or him being your favorite.

He doesn't want to admit it but kaeya actually do longs for genuine affection, especially after his father abandoned him, his adoptive father died and his falling out with diluc, the only person he was truly close to, you have one again ignited that warm feeling inside his chest.

Now depending on the scenario I can even see him becoming slightly obsessive, maybe if he sees you take his artifacts for some other character, or playing with someone else more.

Maybe he would try to force your game to choose him so that he gets to spend more time with you.

He might look for ways to reach you outside the game, after al he is slowly getting impatient having to wait everyday for you to log in. He thinks he he can become aware of you and of the game then there might be some way to escape the game reality??

He might also try to use your outsider knowledge of the games secrets to change the fate and basically use it to his advantage??

He might even add new voice lines in your game as if trying to talk to you, slowly changing his idles maybe even try to comfort you if you are sad. You would be confused at first, but Kaeya will not let you get away from him now.

You have given him a new purpose and advantage in his life and he will make sure you never leave him.

Self aware kaeya would both be angry at the predestined nature if the game and also grateful because now he can use it to his advantage to try to change the fate of Teyvat using knowledge from your archives. He is unsure about how to cope with the fact that he might be essentially just a fragment conjured by someone's imagination but at the same time meeting you was the best thing in his life and one day he will find a way to break out from the simulated reality of Teyvat and this game. After all Kaeya is nothing if not unrelenting and ambitious.

[asimplearchivist]

𝓐 𝓦𝓲𝓼𝓱 𝓕𝓾𝓵𝓯𝓲𝓵𝓵𝓮𝓭

𝐂𝐇. 𝐈𝐈 𝐨𝐟 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐏𝐎𝐈𝐒𝐎𝐍, 𝐑𝐄𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐂𝐈𝐋𝐈𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍. 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐕 𝐨𝐟 𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐋𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓.

[𝓪𝓼𝓲𝓶𝓹𝓵𝓮𝓪𝓻𝓬𝓱𝓲𝓿𝓲𝓼𝓽'𝓼 𝓶𝓪𝓼𝓽𝓮𝓻𝓵𝓲𝓼𝓽] [ 𝐏𝐎𝐊𝐄𝐌𝐎𝐍 𝐌𝐘𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐘 𝐃𝐔𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐎𝐍 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ] [ AO3 | SPOTIFY | PINTEREST ] summary ✨ ⤏ meeting a mythical isn't as novel as it used to be, but it still has its benefits. pairing(s) ✨ [tba] word count ✨ 3.3k a/n ✨ [header credit] | [divider credit] ⤏ this took way too long to finish, but the great thing is that I have to write one more chapter before I can post a couple that are already prewritten. maybe I can stay ahead after that point. :) I promise we'll get into the meat of this soon, and I hope y'all enjoy! ✨ MASTERPOST ✨ ✨ PREVIOUS CHAPTER ⤎ ✨ ⤏ NEXT CHAPTER ✨

“This is it?”

Lu lowered the Wonder Map so Eliana could squint at it. “…Yes. It matches the description that Bidoof gave us. I double-checked the old tomes in the Guild this morning while you ran our errands to make sure I had the right location. This is it.”

“No wonder so few have stumbled upon it,” Lu murmured, gazing into the narrow cave entrance with no small amount of trepidation as he rolled the map back up and stored it securely within their prepacked Treasure Bag. “With all the foliage growing around it, we almost walked right past it.”

“It’s not the worst place we’ve had to explore, though,” Eliana pointed out. “And if Bidoof was able to traverse it with relative ease way back then, it shouldn’t be too difficult of a challenge for us now.”

“Not accounting for Jirachi’s temper,” Lu responded quietly.

Eliana glanced up at him, frowning. “Are you having second thoughts?”

“What? No1” he said, ears perking forward. “Just—I worry that he might be less inclined to answer our wishes if we’re waking him back up from his nap just a couple of years after Bidoof did.”

“It just means that he won’t be in as deep of a sleep this time,” Eliana replied wryly, curling her tail around his waist in an easier approximation of a hug that she could manage while standing on all fours. “If he doesn’t want to grant us anything, that’s fine. It’s just for the sake of exploration, right? Finding out for sure? It’s not like we have anything really vital riding on this.”

“…Right,” Lu admitted, but the apprehension in his eyes matched his flat, noncommital tone. “Nothing vital.”

Eliana elected not to comment on it. He’d still refused to reveal his wish during the last week they’d spent wrapping up the most pressing of their job list and preparing for the veritable repeat expedition into the Grass Continent’s unforgiving southeastern mountain range, despite her gentle, if curious, teasing. Star Cave was closer to Treasure Town than Mount Horn was, but the journey was not an easy one nevertheless. Their limbs were already achy and sore as they both had grown unaccustomed to traveling such far distances of late, since it had been almost a full year after they’d completed their own personal challenge of exploring the farthest reaches of the map in search of hidden treasure and undiscovered history following their shared, simultaneous evolutions (which Eliana had considered a sort of ritualistic shedding of their old forms and thus the hardships they’d faced before that moment). She figured that they ought to alleviate that—take some time to venture out again before the summer was over, maybe towards the northeast where the weather was cooler. She missed camping, honestly, the peace and quite of the wilderness.

They entered the dungeon with equal parts caution and inquisitiveness. Eliana’s suspicions were correct that the feral Pokémon contained within were manageable between hers and Lu’s advanced skill sets and experience. They faced no issues picking their way down the winding, crystal-illuminated corridors to the pit of the cave, where a large clearing nearly distracted them from the gaping, crumbling hole in the far rocky wall.

“Well,” Eliana remarked, “I suppose that answers the question of whether the deepest recesses are still accessible.”

“I still wonder what Guildmaster Wigglytuff’s parents fed him as a child,” Lu murmured somewhere between awe and intimidation. “It is honestly a miracle we were able to pass the graduation exam.”

“It helps that he was holding back,” she reminded him. “He doesn’t have the heart to hurt anyone he considers a friend.”

They made their way through the lower portion of the dungeon far more carefully, not knowing what to expect around every corner. It grew darker and darker, and their eyes struggled to adjust to discern the shadows from their lurking foes.

The pit of the cave was illuminated around the rim with glowing blue crystals that glittered like starlight, casting an ephemeral hue across the smooth stone floor. Eliana tensed when she spotted a Pokémon hovering in the center over a slightly raised platform shaped like a star. Pale yellow and ivory, with billowing tails and dangling tags…and noticeably awake. Lu stopped at her side, warily watching who could only have been the Pokémon they sought.

“Heyyy!” the stranger chirped, his face crinkling with delight. “I wasn’t expecting visitors! Who are you?”

Eliana and Lu exchanged a glance. They expected outright aggression upon treading into the Myth’s territory, like Bidoof had described. Not…excitement?

“I’m Lucario,” said her partner hesitantly, then gestured to her. “And this is Eliana.”

Jirachi’s eyes lit up. “Ohhh! You’re the pair that restored temporal tower!”

Eliana blinked. “How…how do you know that?”

“Ohhh, there isn’t a Legend in the whole wide world that doesn’t know about you two!” Jirachi crooned, floating over and circling their heads to get a good look at them. “We communicate via telepathy, you know. Uxie, Mesprit, and Azelf told everyone how you stopped time from freezing and knocked Dialga back to his sentences! Not to mention taking that nasty piece of work Darkrai down a peg or two!”

“That’s right. I almost forgot that the Lake Guardians had telepathy,” Lu realized, nodding. “But I didn’t realize that all of the Legends had it.”

“Yyyep! How else do you think we work together to keep the world at peace?” Jirachi giggled, covering his mouth with both hands as he twirled to a stop in front of them. “Buuut I digress! I take it that you came here to have your wishes granted?”

Lu blinked rapidly, peering down at Eliana in shock. “I—yes, you’re correct to say we came here to see you, but…”

Jirach tilted his head. “What’s wrong? Do you not have any?”

“It’s not that,” Eliana said with reticence. “We were just expecting…I don’t know, more of a challenge? We were told that it isn’t easy to have you grant wishes.”

“Thaaat’s correct!” the wish-maker said brightly. “Normally visitors have to rouse me from my naps in order for me to do anything, buuut I was already awake because one of my fellow Legends was communicating with me earlier. They’re loud enough that it woke me right up!” He giggled again, then spread his arms out wide. “Aaand I’ve been told that you two have been through quite a lot, what with saving the world and all—not once, but twice! I think that warrants a couple of freebies in my book! I think that it’s the least I can do as a reward for all your hard work!”

“Oh,” Lu said, relaxing slightly and letting out a breath. “I see. Thank you, Jirachi.”

“I should be thanking you! Now, tell me your wishes! Or would you like some suggestions? Some Pokémon like to have money, or power, or new friends, or—”

“No, nothing like that,” Lu interrupted him hastily. “I, um…how much do you know about us?”

Jirachi considered them carefully. “Weeell, I’ve heard through the grapevine that you,” he looked at Eliana, “are actually a human! Is that true? I couldn’t hardly believe it when I was told that!”

“I was a human, yes,” Eliana confirmed. “I…was attacked at one point, and it transformed me into a Pokémon.”

“Oooh, I see!” Jirachi nodded. “I have to admit, there is something different that I sense in you.”

“It also caused her to lose all of her memories,” Lu informed the Myth. “She was traveling from the future through the Passage of Time on her original mission to save the planet. She doesn’t truly originate in the present, but she’s been trapped here because of the distortion of reality’s fabric around her since she’s traveled through time. She’s unable to return home to the other Pokémon she cares about. That’s…the background for my wish.”

Jirachi perked up. Eliana stared at Lu. He didn’t meet her gaze.

“What is your wish, then?” the Myth asked.

“I wish…” Lu swallowed, then finally looked down at Eliana with tears brimming in his eyes. “…I wish that Eliana would be able to go back to the future, if she wants.”

“Lu,” Eliana murmured, her heart twisting. “I had no idea…”

“I know you have complicated feelings about all of it, understandably so,” he said quickly, interrupting her because of his fraught nerves, “I know that you haven’t really talked about the idea of trying to travel back, but…I also know that you miss them terribly and that you don’t like to discuss it because you’re afraid it will hurt my feelings or make me feel like you care about me less than the others. But it doesn’t make me feel that way, Eliana. I…you seemed so happy, having reconnected with the Pokémon from your past, and when you lost them…I’ve worried about you. You’ve seemed so sad and I don’t know how to fix it and—”

“Lu,” Eliana interrupted him gently, leaning back into her haunches to touch a paw to his. “It’s all right. I understand. Thank you for thinking about me.” She frowned. “I don’t know that it will be possible for me to return to the future. What Palkia said…”

“Yes, but we’ve been able to evolve since we stopped Darkrai!” Lu reminded her, eyes sparkling with passion. “There is a chance!”

“Possibly,” she admitted, “but…are you certain that you want to waste your wish on me? On something that might never come to fruition? There are so many other things that you’ve said you’d wanted so badly in the past.”

“Time and space are realms I rarely have influence over,” Jirachi added thoughtfully, watching the pair of them with interest. “It is likely that I will be unable to manipulate anything like that…but, if that is your wish, I will grant it to the best of my ability, as part of my promise to repay you however I can.”

“I’m sure.” Lu clasped a paw over his chest, expression determined. “Above all else, for everything that you’ve done for me, Eliana, I would do anything to see you happy.”

Eliana swallowed thickly, a knot coiling at the base of her throat. She nodded slightly. “Alright. Thank you, Lu. From the bottom of my heart.”

He kneeled to squeeze her into a brief, tight hug, then straightened and turned to Jirachi. “That’s my wish,” he confirmed. “For Eliana to be able to return to the future.”

“Aaalright!” Jirachi beamed. “I’ll do my best to make it come true!” He focused on Eliana next, expectant. “And you? Do you have a wish, too, Eliana?”

“I…” She dropped her chin into the draped material of her Virid Collar, her skin prickling with heat beneath her fur. “…I feel almost ashamed with mine, after Lu requested something so selfless.”

“I think I can guess,” Jirachi surmised. “Do you wish to have your memories restored?”

Eliana’s head snapped up to stare at him, startled. “I—how did you know?”

“I didn’t,” Jirachi giggled, waving his hands. “But with how close you seem to have been with those Pokémon Lu was talking about…it doesn’t surprise me one bit that you’d like to have your amnesia restored. I would feel the same way! I couldn’t imagine forgetting everything and everyone I ever knew.”

“So…you don’t think that’s selfish of me?” Eliana ventured, uncertain.

Jirachi’s expression shiftted into something like recognition. Then he smiled. “I don’t think that at all. You sound just like someone I met once before.” He giggled again and shook his head, gazing knowingly at the both of them in a new light. “I think it’s the exact opposite, actually. That you would want to carry on the memory of those closest to you, even if I am unable to return you to the future, is a sincere one. I can tell that you care deeply, Eliana, for everyone you know. I think I quite like you for that.”

She blinked, then returned his smile. “I…thank you. Really. That’s a great comfort to hear.”

“Of course!” Jirachi closed his eyes, pressed his hands together, and Eliana and Lu watched his tags glow for a moment before he returned to normal and stretched with a gaping yawn. “Aaah, it’s been a while since I’ve answered anything quite like that! It’s maaaking me feel kind of sleeepy…”

“Thank you for hearing us out, Jirachi,” Lu said warmly. “We appreciate you trying.”

“Ooof cooourse,” the Myth mumbled. His tails curled around himself and his floating grew more listless as his eyes began to drift shut. “Juuust don’t be disappointed if nothing haaappens…”

“We won’t.” Eliana brushed against Lu’s flank, her tail curling around his. “Sweet dreams, Jirachi.”

“Goodnight, Eliana. Goodnight, Lu.” With one last yawn, Jirachi curled up into a tiny ball and disappeared in a shower of sparkles that dazzled their eyes.

The sudden silence in the cavern was deafening. Eliana swallowed and turned. “Let’s go home.”

“Yeah,” Lu agreed softly. “I’m tired.”

The cave had quietened, thankfully, and gave them no trouble upon their exit. The sun was only just starting to set when they emerged from the tunnel, squinting against its harsh light until they acclimated. They decided to head back to Treasure Town rather than camp for the night, longing for the comfort of their beds and the rhythmic slosh of waves against the bluff that always lulled them to sleep. Even though there had been very little fanfare, and they hadn’t perceived any of Jirachi’s direct influence, they still felt exhausted.

It was approaching midnight by the time they turned to Treasure Town. All the shopkeepers and residents had retreated into their homes, leaving the square empty and peaceful. Shuffling down into their home with the cool, salty wind ruffling their fur was a palpable relief.

“Here, let me put all that away.” Eliana took the Treasure Bag from Lu’s paw with her tail. “Can you start the fire?”

“Of course.” Lu moved over and squatted by the pit they’d dug to house their open hearth, picking up the flint and steel to start scraping sparks onto the kindling he’d placed in the ashes that morning out of habit. “Say…do you really think that Jirachi meant what he said?”

“I don’t know, honestly.” She pushed open the chest they used for their rotating adventure inventory to start putting away the extra things they’d found in the mystery dungeon for sorting and trading the following day. “He seemed earnest.”

“Yeah. I’m glad we didn’t have to fight him. I feel like, one of these days, we’re going to run into someone who won’t appreciate that,” Lu chuckled. The crackle and hiss of a new flame preluded a flicker of warm orange light that flared across the floor. “There.” He stood with a groan and a sigh, moving over to the corner of the room. “Say, I think that chest is almost full. You might have to use this other crate for now.”

“You’re right.” Eliana dragged the bag over to the open box and peeked inside as Lu shuffled things around. It was a bit dusty, as they hadn’t used it in while. Him removing a few valuables stirred it all up and made her sneeze. He laughed quietly under his breath, and she heard the crinkling crumple of an errant sheet of paper.

She froze, heart stuttering against her ribs as she realized what the old relic he’d inadvertently rediscovered was.

Lu drew it up out of the crate into the burgeoning firelight, expression softening as he read the letter’s words silently. He set it to the side carefully, with respect, and Eliana drew in a deep breath as her eyes lighted upon the blocky footprint runes inscribed in ink long dried.

The first week or so after Eliana had returned from her untimely disappearance she had clung to that letter like a lifeline, tracing the strokes with her paws as though to imprint the weight of them into her memory. She had been relieved to be reunited with Lu, that went without question, as he had been her anchor for months throughout all the confusion that she had felt—but she had felt Grovyle’s absence acutely, someone with whom she had shortly (re)built an unshakeable bond and relied upon to guide her through the chaos they had single-handedly stood against. She had missed him terribly. She still did, and she couldn’t even explain the breadth of that feeling with words—her gut had never been wrong before, and she had trusted him wholeheartedly. It never truly went away, an acute and gaping wound she couldn’t seem to close with any distractions she’d tried. Her original partner, lost for a second time.

“You know…” Lu started, “…if you do go back to the future, I won’t be upset, right?”

Eliana regarded him without a word, gauging his pensive expression.

He continued unbidden. “I’ll miss you. And I’ll hope beyond hope that we’ll meet again. But…as long as you were safe and happy…I’d support your decision no matter what, Eliana. I don’t know what it’s like to be separated so starkly from yourself, I can’t even fathom how it feels…and I hope that you don’t think I’m trying to get rid of you. I just feel that I’ve had you for longer than I should have been granted.”

“You didn’t steal me from Grovyle, if that’s what you’re afraid of,” Eliana told him firmly, drawing his attention. “I hate that we were separated, and I regret that he had to endure what he did all by himself for so long, but…I feel like we were meant to meet. You saved me, Lu. I owe you my life.”

He rubbed the back of his neck, his muzzle crinkling at the corners as he fought an embarrassed smile. Always so humble, her partner. “Okay. As long as you know that I care about you.”

“I do. And I care about you, too.” She picked up a gold scarf and dropped it into the crate. “Maybe we should go to the Keckleon’s shop tomorrow and—”

She stepped on the letter. Vertigo crashed over her like the waves that had once threatened to drag her under the icy, crushing depths of the sea so many moons ago, biting into the wound in her transformed shape. The storm had dragged her to shore, a blessing and a curse at once—the current had dashed her head against a stone, wounding her further and robbing her of her identity. Her first impression after that had been Lu’s frantic spew of words at seeing all the blood welling from behind her ear and soaking into the sand beneath her weak, limp body. All she’d remembered were her name, the fact that she was supposed to be human, and not, in fact, a Pokémon, and a vague sense of loss that had never resolved until she’d encountered her original partner face-to-face in the Underground Lake.

Her partner, whom she had rescued and nurtured and protected with her life. Her partner, who had devoted himself to fixing his world at the cost of his own life for the sake of those that would come to be. Her partner, who had refused to grieve her before he’d ever accepted that he could have lost her forever before their time, but had lost her anyway because she hadn’t recognized anything about him except a faint sense of familiarity and trustworthiness.

The memories flooded like the tide, overwhelming and sharp like the pelting of frigid rain against bare skin, and when she came up out of it Lu was already holding her steady, repeating her name urgently with concern in his eyes.

Eliana reached out to him as best as she was able, clung to him tightly, and wept harsher than she ever had before.

[estrellami-1]

Weiter prompt: fluffy platonic Stobin pls & thank you

Literally a month later and I still have so many more of these (mainly from you lmao thanks babe)… we’ll see how many I can churn out!

Also I should probably be sleeping right now. I’m not. Also I should work on “If I Should Stay” sooner rather than later because I’m running kinda low on prewritten parts but ADHD has decided the deadline is not close enough yet.

Anyways… I hope you enjoy! ❤️

“Tammy Thompson,” Robin had whispered, high on Russian drugs and shaking. Terrified and brave.

Steve doesn’t understand how she just said the words. He’s choking on them now, on any words at all.

He’d dragged her into his bathroom as soon as she’d gotten to his house. It seemed fitting, and Robin hadn’t seemed to mind. But now his ass is going numb, and his leg is cramping, and his heart is going crazy, and he can’t look at Robin.

“Okay,” she finally murmurs. “C’mon, come sit next to me. Clearly you can’t look at me for whatever you have to say.” She manhandles him over against the wall and sits next to him, shoulder-to-shoulder. She grabs his hand and squeezes it, and he squeezes back.

He finally finds words. “Y’know Bowie?”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah.”

It takes her a second, but she’s smart—a genius, really—so it isn’t long before she’s pulling him into a hug. “Thanks for telling me,” she whispers, then sits back and looks at him with a huge grin. “So?”

He frowns. “What?”

“Who is it?”

Steve groans, puts his head in his hands. “You’re gonna tease me.”

“Only a little,” Robin agrees, laughing.

He leans forward, rests his forehead against her shoulder. Loses tension in his own shoulders when she cards a hand through his hair. His next word is quiet. “Eddie.”

Her hand stutters, but doesn’t stop. “As in Munson? As in the kids’ Dungeon Master? As in the Freak of Hawkins High?”

“At least he can sing,” Steve grumbles, smiling when Robin squawks indignantly.

“Low blow, dingus,” she says, but her hand is still in Steve’s hair, so he knows it’s okay. “Tell me about him. Why?”

“I dunno, Robs. He’s just… so unashamed to be himself, y’know? I didn’t learn how to start doing that until I met Dustin. He’s so passionate about the things he likes and he’s really good with the kids.” He sighs. “And I know we’re probably completely incompatible and he’d never want me anyways, so it’s all a moot point.”

“I dunno,” Robin says thoughtfully. He leans back to look at her. “I mean, there’s that whole opposites attract thing for a reason, right? Like yin and yang. And I could see him being your yang. Passionate and excitable where you’re more even-keeled. He’s definitely the dad of the group, and I think I’ve actually heard Dustin call you mom before.”

Steve snickers. “He did. He was so embarrassed.”

“Beet-red, I know. He’s off in fantasy land half the time, and you need someone to transport you like that. And he needs someone practical to tell him when it’s time to land.” She shrugs a shoulder. “It’s not the craziest thing I’ve ever heard, at least.”

He leans his head against the wall and regards her. “I love you,” he says softly, and strangely enough this is when the tears come. He looks away, tries to wipe them quickly, but more come the second they’re gone and he knows it isn’t going to work, not when they’re already trailing down his cheeks.

She leans into him, gathering him close, putting his head back on her shoulder and wrapping both arms around him, squeezing. “I love you,” she whispers back. Doesn’t tell him to stop, that there’s no reason to cry, and he appreciates it.

“Thank you,” he finally murmurs, sniffling and leaning away, reaching for toilet paper so he can blow his nose.

“C’mon,” she says after he’s done, smiling wide and grabbing his hands, pulling him up. “Movie time. I have it on good authority that The Princess Bride is an excellent movie to watch after heartfelt confessions.”

Steve snorts. “Whose authority?”

“Mine.” She grins at him.

“Then I’m sure you’re right,” he agrees, chuckling. “Snacks? Chips? Popcorn? Ice cream?”

“All of the above,” she agrees with a nod. “I’ll get the movie started, you do the snacks?”

He snags her hand before she can walk away. He’s not ready to be alone, but he’s not sure he can say it. He pulls gently, not hard enough to sway her, but enough she knows his intention. She looks in his eyes, studies him, and nods. “Together,” she murmurs, tangling their fingers. Steve thinks he could cry again.

He walks into the kitchen instead, Robin by his side. They grab their snacks then make their way into the living room, where Robin proceeds to recite the entire movie. Steve attempts to throw popcorn in her mouth every time it opens wide enough.

The next day they have work. Robin doesn’t say anything, but gives him a look when she takes her break. He doesn’t understand it until the door opens less than a minute later and Edie walks in.

Steve realizes she must have seen him coming.

He’s never loved her more.

[supereffectiveartblog]

TTRPG's in 2024

So compared to the last couple years of tabletop games with friends, we got a lot more game sessions in. A large part of that being my willingness to step into the role of Dungeon Master, and basically pushing my campaign for a large part of the year. We were also flexible in availability and the number of players per session. But I'll go into those details later when talking about specific campaigns.

The other big change this year is to do with the title of this post. This is not just a celebration of D&D play anymore. Our other recurring Game Master this year had us playing other types of Tabletop RPG, experimenting in different types of game rules and storytelling. This same GM introduced us to the Pokémon TTRPG a couple years back, but with the addition of Vampire the Masquerade this year, I felt it disingenuous not to acknowledge our variety in game systems in the title.

Here's our stats for 2024:

We played 27 sessions of TTRPGs this year, across 3 ongoing campaigns in D&D, PTU, VtM, and 2 One-shots. This corresponded with 27 session arts.

I was a player character in 2 campaigns, and a DM for 1 campaign and the two One-shots.

The Lich Who Stole Christmas was last year's Christmas/New Years One-shot, but I finished the art and summary this year.

Call of the Netherdeep was our main Dungeons & Dragons long campaign for the year, and I was the DM.

We completed sessions 1-4 of Netherdeep last year, and sessions 5-16 this year. This also includes accompanying parallel sessions 5A, 10B, 11B, 12B, 13B which were played from the perspective of a rival party. The total number of sessions in this campaign this year was 17, bringing the total to 21.

Pokémon Oster, our Pokémon Tabletop United campaign, returns from last year. Sessions 1-5 happened in 2022, sessions 6-9 happened in 2023, and sessions 10-16 happened this year.

The GM for Pokémon Oster decided to put the campaign on hiatus at the end of the year to start his Vampire the Masquerade campaign.

The Southern Blood Rush is our VtM campaign. We played one session this year, and it will return next year.

Phandalin After Dark was our D&D Halloween One-shot for the year, and our first time trying the 2024 rule changes.

Call of the Netherdeep

My main contribution to D&D for the year was as Dungeon Master for a prewritten campaign called Call of the Netherdeep. This is an adventure set in the world of Exandria, the setting for Critical Role, which I made sure was not required reading for my players. Player buy-in became more about integrating the stories of individual characters as part of the adventure.

Since this year of TTRPGs was just as about my players as for me as a DM, I decided I would highlight their characters as a main part of this art.

Since I ran Netherdeep as a milestone campaign, it was up to me to decide when my players had achieved enough to level up. In my opinion, the middle part of the adventure, that aims to cover levels 5-9, is nowhere near enough content to justify that much experience. So I used aspects of several characters' backstories to invent longer side-quests. Of the 17 sessions I ran this year, 8 sessions explored adventures not in the book. Refer to sessions 10A-14A for one side adventure, and sessions 12B, 13B and 15 for the other.

Since I was running for 8 players, 5 in one party, and 3 in a rival party, I decided that once the party reached the main hub town, I could just run for whoever was free that week. This changed when I started running those aforementioned original adventures, but since those two stories ran in parallel, it became, "If I have all the players of Party A free, I'll run a session in their POV, if I only have players from Party B free, I'll run a session in their POV". The number of sessions I ended up running would not have been possible without this flexibility.

Pokémon Oster

Pokémon Oster is based in the fictional continent of Oster, the Pokémon equivalent to Australia. Our party of trainers has been exploring the west and central parts of the continent to uncover the mysteries of corrupted Pokémon called "Typos", and thwart the plans of evil(?) organisations Tech Industries and The Galactic Corporation. Last we saw our party, they met with a group of researchers searching for Oster's obscure Legendaries in hopes to stop a bigger force.

In this campaign I play as Darryl Fisher, a bogan from the south-east of Oster who has a drive for mystery and adventure. Darryl is a man of the sea; a fisherman, and a diver, who only trains Water type Pokemon. His partner Prinplup has helped the group out of a few scrapes, and his recently evolved Gyarados is sure to help them overcome many odds.

I play Darryl as blunt and a little stupid, but he is curious, and has a taste for the supernatural that I use to prompt my natural note-taking playstyle. I have the final roster of Pokemon he wants to train in his team already (once they all evolve of course). But if one of those mysterious Oster legendaries is a Water type, maybe he'd be intrigued.

The Southern Blood Rush

Vampire the Masquerade is a system that takes place in a world adjacent to the real world, but vampires and other supernatural creatures are real, and hide in the shadows, pulling the strings and having hidden wars of politics and espionage. The Southern Blood Rush is a story based in the World of Darkness's equivalent to the south coast in NSW Australia. The GM is actually running two campaigns that will run in parallel, with my group's campaign set in the city of Wollongong. Maybe further into the campaign we will have a crossover?

Graham Watson is my Vampire character. An Englishman by birth, Graham lived most of his long fulfilling life in Australia, before being turned into a Vampire at the age of 77. Graham's natural inclination to both the sciences and the occult attracted the attention of House Tremere, a clan of vampire mages. Since turning, Graham has gained the ability to control water, a discipline called Neptune's Wrath, and has used it to convince other vampires in Wollongong to make alliances.

I play Graham as careful, studious, and paranoid. He was about to ready to die, but now that he has eternity ahead of him, he is afraid of death more than ever. Graham tries to take a back seat in his coterie, but knows that the smaller presence of Tremere in his city means that he must sometimes show his hand to get what he wants.

One-Shot Adventures

The Lich Who Stole Christmas

October-November last year, I had my players for Netherdeep make spare characters for a One-Shot I ran called Frozen Memories. When it came to actually running the adventure, only 4 of my 8 players were free. But I had another adventure I wanted to run later, so on New Years Eve 2023, I ran another one-shot called The Lich Who Stole Christmas for all 8 players.

This was a fairly short and lighthearted adventure, and there's not much more to add. There were a couple riddles and puzzles that engaged the whole table. Combat wasn't difficult overall, even if the final boss gave them a bit of a scare. But the point wasn't to be challenging, it was to be fun, and I think this One-shot achieved that.

Phandalin After Dark

Toward the end of 2024, a couple of new D&D core books came out introducing updates to the current edition of D&D, unofficially known as 5.24 Edition. Since one of my Netherdeep players, Aerith the monk, had been using playtest versions of the new character options already, I decided we could use a one-shot to try out the new rules, and see if I want to implement them in the core campaign.

Phandalin After Dark was a prewritten adventure about a group of characters visiting a portion of the Shadowfell. I had all 8 players make up a character, but again, only 4 could play on the day. The adventure was good at building atmosphere, and the combat encounters were often very intimidating. But many puzzles often led to no tangible reward, just letting the characters live. It was an overall positive experience, and served its playtesting purpose, but I think the next one-shot I'll run will be more of a traditional dungeon crawler.

Next Year…

As of a couple months ago, I had decided to put Call of the Netherdeep on hiatus. The DM for Princes of the Apocalypse has expressed interest in starting up again in January, and the GM for Vampire wants to get in a few months on that campaign before getting back to Pokemon eventually.

After a good break, I will pick up Netherdeep again and hopefully finish that campaign next year. After that, who knows.

[roadandruingame]

RAR Musings #30: Character Sheet Simplification

I'm pushing for way, way too many different projects by the end of the month, but one is trying to get up a one-shot introductory game of Changeling: The Lost.

It's my favorite of the WOD/COD game lines, but also a game I rarely have the chance to host, and have never gotten the chance to actually be a player in. And when I do run it, it's typically for people who don't really grasp what it's about, or make any attempt to.

Modifying The Fear-Maker's Promise to be a little more halloween-y (and trim down on the more 'things that had shock value in 2007' elements), I can't help but feel that the story commits a lot of page space to explaining and describing things that only the storyteller gets to read, and has several pages committed to creating full character sheets for certain pivotal NPCs, while also introducing a few side-NPCs who can be boiled down to a single skill check.

It's kind of annoying.

After so long hosting games, I try to use prewritten games whenever possible, and this is a great opportunity to get some ideas on how to structure certain elements for prewritten Road and Ruin test adventures. But when a game demands that I have several pages of full-page printouts, and keep referring back to numbers from other pages I have to flip to go check, I get worn out.

Part of it reminds me of trying to corral uncooperative players, where I practically have to keep a copy of their character sheet in arm's reach so that I can check one of their numerous skills and stat values, in case they don't know what it is, or are straight up lying about their character stats. It's work for the host, and it makes me wonder why all the NPCs weren't reduced down to a single paragraph sorted into columns and rows on a single page.

I'd been considering this from Road and Ruin's standpoint as well. The game has a LOT of stats, and especially with the new perspective of "spend your resources to push the Outcome", a lot of stats don't actually get brought into regular play. Evaluating a character's personal ability in each of the 60+ different proficiencies, that were explicitly designed to have as much overlap as possible for OldAndRuin's "add up to two relevant proficiencies together" system, very quickly blows out by the Outcome system, which doesn't like to be heavily modified, the character sheet, which would need to be packed full of proficiency spots, and my patience.

But then I'd considered:

What is the point to having so many proficiencies in the first place?

To begin with, most characters in stories aren't a wealth of different skills, and when they are, "a wealth of different skills" suffices to describe them. Most characters are defined by two or three, possibly even just one single ability for which they're known to be competent. A character isn't described as having seven different types of training that explain their strength, they're simply labelled as "strong", and an intelligent character might have areas that fall outside their education, but are usually just labelled "smart". Likewise, said intelligent character is, stereotypically, either socially awkward or less physically fit, but if they aren't, then those exact numbers don't get called to attention.

Put another way: Is there any meaningful reason to document... average-ness?

If a game gauges stats like Dexterity on a scale of 1-10, with average in the middle, does a minotaur need to have that value written down, if it's never really used? Does a siren need to document it's Strength?

If character proficiency is only noted if it's [High], [Specialized], [Weak], or [Bane], and you're only expected to document what would actually be character-defining, character creation becomes a snap, amounting to determining an archetype, and picking out perhaps 3-6 major features. I loathe games that try to reduce the game's stats to 3-6 for 'simplicity', but what if they weren't the same 3-6 on every sheet?

The topic of heroes comes into play. Heroes are often inexplicably good at MOST things, but rather than individually mark each and every skill in a way that shows that, why not just slap a 'Heroic' trait on the character, to show that anything not notarized as a Weakness or Bane is considered to have a value of +1 instead of +0?

Done this way, characters boil down to a simple list of basic archetypes, where "if something could be used here, feel free to". Potentially still on basis of Attribute + Proficiency + Specialization + Gear still, but with a high likelyhood of dismissing one or more on the basis of that it's not significant enough to matter. With fewer resources to note, we actually transition back to a place where each proficiency is multi-purpose, giving you choices on when and how to use each one, without there being a singular, specific proficiency to use in each kind of situation, and making the choice to spend that resource matter a lot more.

[shearlin]

Word count: 2395

Chapter 6: Wind

First || << Previous || Next >>

A day late but it's here!

This is a silly chapter, a tiny break from having angst in the first section :) I really like it. It inverts the formula of the previous chapters but I think it turned out okay.

A bit of a behind the scene update: I... might have scrapped 5k words of the 9th chapter because I didn't like how it was turning out. I've planned out and locked a new outline for it, but yeah I am really slow to write something new (that's the reason I've prewritten this fic before posting it excluding that last chapter, because 9 weeks is plenty of time, right?) and I hope I will be able to finish it on time, but... yeah :/

Anyway, Wind chapter is here! Enjoy :D

Barely a day has passed and Legend was already fed up. Worst part? He only had himself to blame.

He was justified as far as he was concerned. Not only was Ravio clearly going through his stuff and renting his adventure gear - again - they also only had a half an hour or so to spare to make a detour to his house and allow Legend to swap his gear and for all of them to restock potions and arrows at Ravio’s shop. They were in the middle of pursuit of a group of monsters. Who knew, what would the horde do if they let them get too far ahead or if the chain would be able to go back to his house once they finish the job.

The standard argument he had with Ravio almost every time he returned home after the merchant decided to move in, about whether the rental of his old gear was a good idea or not took him… more than they realised. 

So he kind of… shoved everything in sight into his bags and stormed off.

Well, not everything everything. He had a very good and clear reason to pack every single item he did and to leave those he didn’t behind.

If he could just remember what those reasons were now, that would be great.

If he could just remember what those reasons were now, that would be great.

So here he was. In another Hyrule, a day later, in the middle of the clearing where they made a camp to rest in for a day or two after the hard battle, trying to sort through the haphazardly grabbed items and somehow make his bag manageable again. He swore to every deity he knew the name of, if he would reach for one thing only to take out something completely different that was in its spot one more time- he was going to lose it.

“Need a hand with that, vet?” Four asked, keeping his distance outside of the circle of chaos around the other hero, doing impressively well to hide his amusement at the situation.

Four, among the others, tried to appeal to his reason when he was stuffing six-adventures-worth of items into his pouches. Only the fear of possible retaliation from the man with an entire arsenal in his back pocket stopped the ‘I told you so’s from spilling out.

“Do not touch my stuff,” he growled in response, putting all his seeds with the slingshot and the seed shooter - I never use scent seeds. Why do I still keep them with the rest? - and fishing out yet another shovel from the pile on the left, from between the different rods and canes. He knew he wanted to bring a backup to avoid the awkward situation from a week ago, when they were lacking in the equipment department but by Din this was an overkill.

Maybe they had a point. Maybe talking with Ravio distracted him too much after all…

“Why do you even have this many shovels? And why did you brin-? The question died on smithy’s lips at the murderous gaze Legend sent his way. “I’ll umm… I’ll be over there if you change your mind.”

With that, Four retreated to Sky and Hyrule on the other side of the camp, the three of them watching the whole ordeal from a safe distance.It didn’t mean he was left alone. Oh no. Far from that.

Read the rest on Ao3!

[ninjadeathblade]

Moulin Rouge Discotrain AU (part sixteen)

Summary: (Post-game canon) The Conductor and DJ Grooves agree to finally work on a movie together. They come up with 'Moulin Rouge', a musical drama filled with romance. Over time the two directors grow closer and discover that maybe they don't hate each other as much.

Beginning | Previous | Next

Word count: 390 (very short)

Warnings: None

Author's notes: This is the last prewritten chapter I have so I should probably continue writing. But we are now in my favourite part (arc?) of the story. Enjoy.

Grooves flicked on the TV as he sat down in his new apartment, mind zoning out slightly as he watched the news.

"-And now, a leaked behind the scenes clip of directors DJ Grooves and The Conductor!" The reporter announced and Grooves' eyes widened.

"Oh no," he breathed, watching himself and Conductor dance and sing together, cutting off just before Snatcher had shouted at them.

Grooves put the TV onto mute and picked up his phone, dialling Conductor's office number - because that seemed to be the only place Conductor ever was.

"Whaddya want Grooves?" Conductor yawned.

"Um, darling, you remember earlier when we were practicing? And Snatcher filmed us?" Grooves started.

"I don't like where yer headed with this."

"Well, he sent it into the news," Grooves finished and Conductor let out a groan.

"Peck neck," Conductor muttered, before continuing more clearly. "We need to get everyone to take time off so we can get away from the press."

"So what, we just run off for a while?" Grooves checked.

"Precisely. Can you meet me outside the studio in a few minutes?" Conductor asked.

Grooves sighed, already making a mental list of possible things to expect upon arrival.

"Okay darling. Want me to grab anything on the way over?" Grooves offered.

There was a stretch of near silence, only the quiet sound of Conductor's breathing.

"A snack maybe. Also, you should bring a bag with some of your stuff. I dinnae know how long our…absence from work might last so whatever essentials and anythin' extra you might want," Conductor explained. "I'll wait outside the studio for yer."

"Okay. See you soon."

"Right."

Grooves put down his bag as he reached the outside of Dead Bird Studio.

"There you are!" Conductor exclaimed, pushing open one of the doors and walking out to stand beside Grooves.

The owl was wearing the bright red coat over his usual dull clothes but still shivered.

"How are you always cold?" Grooves laughed, earning a shrug from his friend. "So, when are we leaving?"

"As soon as the cleaners finish. Then I'll lock up and we can go," Conductor explained.

"Why are they here? They usually only come in after we've finished movies."

"I wanted them to clear out the basement."

"Okay. And how are we getting out of here?"

"The Owl Express of course!"

[katelynnwrites]

pairing: Ona Batlle x f!Reader

warnings: angst

word count: 933

summary: you and ona broke up because it wasn’t your time but now, five years later maybe it is... based off the song see you later (ten years) by jenna raine

a/n: i still have writer’s block so this was prewritten but i’m posting it now because i can’t sleep

See You Later

'Cause time wasn't in our favour

This isn't goodbye, this is simply see you later

How to describe Ona Batlle? She’s kind, amazing, funny and the girl who broke your heart. The last one in particular is on your mind when your coach announces that the former Manchester United star would be returning home to Barcelona.

It had been five years since you had last played with her, five whole years since you had even seen her in person.

The breakup had been mutual, the both of you had chosen to put your careers first but that didn’t mean that it didn’t hurt. It had been your first and only heartbreak, Ona had moved to Manchester immediately after while you stayed on at Levante before making the move to Barcelona two years ago.

******

You knew it, the moment she arrived back in Spain because Mapi texted you saying she had picked Ona up from the airport.

What you didn’t expect had been for Ona to ask Mapi to drop her off at your apartment.

Opening the door after a few cautious knocks, hers had been the last face you had expected to see.

Ona inhales shakily as soon as she sees you while your stomach drops. She looked good, cheeks flushed with colour and a scattering of freckles across her cheeks.

She rubs her hands up and down her arms, biting her lip anxiously. She had new highlights in her hair and from what you could see, new tattoos too. She didn’t look much older but in her eyes, you could see a maturity that wasn’t there before.

Honestly, she looked amazing and the sight of her never failed to give you butterflies inside.

Shaking yourself out of your thoughts, you hesitate before quietly saying her name.

‘Ona?’

‘When I left you said time wasn’t in our favour but that it wasn’t goodbye, it was simply see you later.’ She begins anxiously.

You swallow hard, looking at the girl you had been in love with for years. How could you fall in love with someone else when you had already found the one?

Standing in front of you, she looks so unsure of herself and a tiny bit terrified as she wrings her hands nervously.

Despite everything, you carefully reach out to touch her hand, making her startle a little. It does the trick though, your touch making her calm down, just as it used to do all those years ago. It gives Ona a little hope inside and she exhales.

‘I never stopped loving you and it’s been five years but I'm here and I'm asking you now…’ Her voice cracks at the last part, her eyes hesitantly meeting yours.

Ona leaves the words unspoken and you let out a disbelieving sob, nodding and falling into her arms.

The fullback gasps, holding you tightly before placing her hand on your cheek and gently kissing you. She’s crying too but neither of you care, pouring everything into the kiss you’re sharing. You still fit perfectly into her arms and her lips still fit perfectly onto yours.

‘I never stopped either.’ You breathe and Ona holds you even tighter, afraid you’d disappear if she closed her eyes for too long.

******

Later that night, as you lie in her arms, she kisses you slowly, so carefully as if she’s expecting you to push her away.

She does it again and on the third time, tears are sliding down her cheeks.

‘I'm sorry.’ She whispers.

You shift a bit so that you can see her, taking in the distress on her face.

‘Ona?’ You ask, concern and confusion filling your voice. What could she possibly be sorry for?

‘I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.’ She repeats, burying her face into your chest.

‘For what?’ You cradle her close and she sobs even harder. She’s crying so hard, she feels sick.

‘For leaving! I shouldn't have. I should have known better. Mi amor I am so so sorry.’

‘Ona, we made the decision together and it wasn’t for nothing. You did well in Manchester and I did well here. Just because it hurt doesn’t mean it wasn’t what we needed at the time.’ You softly whisper, lightly placing your lips against her forehead.

Your bedroom was dark but there is just enough light from the street outside that you can see how distraught she is.

Ona takes a shaky breath in, ‘But I was the one who brought it up, I initiated it and I pushed us to make the decision.’

‘Baby you didn’t. Not in the way you’re thinking. All you wanted was for us to achieve more and we did. Now we’re playing for the best club in the world, making the starting eleven for the first team so I’d say it worked. We made our way back together again and we still love each other. I don't know about you but the separation only made me realise how much I love you.’

The Spanish international’s shoulders shake, she’s still crying as she looks up at you.

‘I love you. So incredibly much. In Manchester, I missed you so much it felt like I couldn't breathe sometimes.’ She admits.

‘I know. I felt it too.’ You hold her a little tighter and Ona responds by wrapping her arms around you.

‘I'm never leaving you again.’ She says seriously.

‘And I'll never let you go again.’ You promise.

Ona kisses you gently in response, letting herself melt into you.

More than happily you let her, content to have the love of your life back in your arms.

Spanish Translations:

mi amor - my love

[wooahaes]

lonely hearts club [epilogue]

pairing: non-idol!wonwoo x chubby!fem!reader

word count: 1.3k~

warnings: slightly suggestive joke and slight allusion to a sexual relationship ahead.

daisy’s notes: thanks for taking this journey with me. reader’s body type wasn’t as vital to this plotline as i would normally make it (in another world where i write this as an original story, there’d be a bit more talk) but it’s still important to me that mc is a canonically chubby woman. sorry to anyone that excludes, but i like writing stories for people like me sometimes. i think its important to feel represented in body type too.

(also im posting this now because im gonna take a final immediately after, so accept my prewritten notes there lol)

summary: With graduation gone by, you and Wonwoo share a rare morning together.

< prev || masterlist ||

Graduation felt like a dream, and the morning after it felt like the past four years had been a long period of sleep you were finally waking up from. People told you that high school felt that way, and it did. But college had been touted as the “best years of your life” (bullshit, honestly--there were good parts, but any year had the capacity to be “the best”), so that feeling had been... surprising. A welcome one, to be sure, but you hadn’t expected it. It meant you had to start figuring some things out for yourself, though. For the time being, you kept your job at the coffee shop. You worked more hours, sure, but the pay was fine for now. Wonwoo had been accepted into a graduate program for literature and he seemed excited about it, happy to keep studying what he was. His goal was to get a job in editing (something that was easier to get work in if he had a master’s rather than just his bachelor’s) one day. It’d keep him reading and he liked the idea of helping people pursue publishing if he could. You were happy where you were. Maybe grad school would be on your horizon, but you were young. You still had time to figure things out.

Like Wonwoo. You’d asked him out on a date officially not long after that night together, your label still up in the air. It’d been right before finals week, actually, and the two of you had blew off steam through going back to that same arcade where Wonwoo had to stop you from spending all your money trying to win him something from that claw machine. You realized then how some people looked at Wonwoo and saw someone cold when he wasn’t always smiling. You’d never seen it. Wonwoo had always been the smart, nice guy in your literature classes who was intimating at one point just because he seemed to tower over a lot of people. If anything, you were actually more intimidated by Minghao (who you came to learn could be just as soft as every single one of Wonwoo’s friends). But dating Wonwoo destroyed any perception that he was cold. You saw love in the way he would subtly check in on his friends, in the way he left you alone sometimes in his bed because of a late night emergency with one of them (always pressing a kiss onto your cheek with a promise to be back soon), int he patient way he taught Soonyoung how to play video games when he was always particularly bad at them. You saw it in the way he looked at you (and, fuck, Jiyoung had been right about how soft he was for you--even if you had denied it before), or the way he’d pull you closer to his side when you spent the night with him. All he wanted to do was hold you in his arms, softness and all, and keep you close. Sometimes he’d press gentle kisses into your neck and onto your cheeks when he came up behind you, arms wrapping around your plump figure.

Wonwoo wasn’t huge on skinship in public, but you liked the way he’d always take your hand just to make sure you were tethered to him. It was his way of showing off the fact you were his and he was yours, completely, without getting show-y with it. It was the little things like keeping an arm draped around the back of your chair sometimes, or gently reaching over to squeeze your thigh reassuringly when you needed it. Wonwoo once told you that no one ever flirted with him save for once or twice before (both of his previous relationships, according to him), which you soon learned was a goddamn lie because you’d left his side before and returned to see someone obviously flirting with him. He never looked uncomfortable, but always nonreciprocating (you realized after the first few times he just didn’t seem to notice as he kept a look out for you). The moment he saw you again that was enough to put an end to the other person’s actions. You’d seen more embarrassed faces than scorn when people realized they were flirting with someone in a relationship when you came back over to him.

It wasn’t exactly their fault though. Wonwoo only had eyes for you. Unless people were incredibly direct with flirting (asking for his number or if he was available was the quickest way for him to realize what was going on and shut it down), it’d go completely over his head. Like he couldn’t fathom anyone seeing him and not realizing that he loved you, especially when you were right there by his side.

Beside you, Wonwoo stretched slightly, tangling his legs with your own. He’d pulled you close at some point during the night after you crashed at his place. His glasses were still neatly set aside on the nightstand, but he was looking at you again. You understood what Jiyoung said when he always “had heart eyes” when he looked at you. It was the most tender expression that alone could soothe any insecurities you had about Wonwoo loving you. The AC buzzed in the background, keeping the room cold enough that the two of you could continue to cuddle despite the summer heat outside. Both of you could smell Mingyu making breakfast. He’d likely seen your shoes abandoned in the entryway when he got up--Wonwoo had told you once that Mingyu started looking ever since the first time you ended up crashing with him for the night. It gave him a way to take care of both of you. It was sweet how much his friends cared for you. Jihoon’s partner once told you that while they’d been friends with them all beforehand, dating Jihoon seemed to make everyone put an extra little bit of care toward them. Like they had to love them a little extra just because Jihoon did. Mingyu said it was payment in kind for taking care of Wonwoo.

You’d happily do it even if his friends weren’t sweet toward you (save for the teasing that was occasionally thrown your way--teasing everyone would receive in turn). Wonwoo took care of you when he could, and you loved doing the same.

Wonwoo reached out, gently caressing your face before nudging you to move forward. His lips slanted against yours in a sleepy kiss, eyes fluttered shut for just a moment. If your weight was crushing him at all, he said nothing (he’d once told you that was actual ideal, and you’d smacked his arm while your face was burning, but you liked the way he’d laughed before he came back in to kiss you). His fingers grazed the side of your face, other hand sliding up your back. Intentional or not, the motion dragged your shirt up with it. But then he let go, no question of this going any further. Which was fine with you: your relationship didn’t need to go that far. You were just fine sharing these moments with him as they were, sleepy and in love.

Wonwoo waited until you settled back into his side, head on his chest as you wrapped your arms around him. He stared up at the ceiling. He said your name for once, nickname abandoned in order to get your full attention. “I love you,” he whispered, hand finding your own.

He hadn’t said it yet. Neither had you.

Wonwoo pulled your hand up to his lips, pressing a kiss against your knuckles. “I’m glad I managed to get closer.”

You hummed in contentment, eyes fluttering shut as you listened to his heartbeat through the thin fabric of his shirt. The love he had for you was something he nurtured and let blossom. You did the same. “I love you, too.”

Maybe you were a little right when you said that falling in love was a good part...

... But being? Being was so, so much better.

final taglist  - thank you for your support 💙

@yoongischeeksluv​ @rebelspy​ @mystiicturtle @hwashiningstar @x-veex @nothingbutadeadesceane​​  @cersti-mo0​

[vodkassassin]

world state: refresh, chapter 1

Summary: Something goes wrong with the plant body contingency plan, and Shen Qingqiu and Shang Qinghua both end up perishing. However, it appears that the System isn’t finished with them, yet. And with their new promotions, this life they find themselves in seems more like a well-deserved vacation. / Back in their previous world, the people who knew them are still in mourning. And some of them are not willing to let them go.

—

“Dude! I thought the plan was to not die!”

“I —!”

“All that work for nothing! And you didn’t just fuck up, you had to drag me down with you? I thought we were bros, man. I thought we were cool!”

Shen Yuan shrinks back, watching him with wide eyes. “Why are you yelling at me?”

“Am I yelling?” Shang Qinghua crosses his arms and turns away. “I am just so sick of dying, bro! I thought we had a contingency, so I wasn’t worried, but now! What the fuck was that?”

“I couldn’t just,” Shen Yuan reaches up and pulls at his hair in aggravation. “I couldn’t just let that happen to Binghe!”

It’s kind of weird seeing him with such a slight build and shorter hair and big eyes a bright blue, when Shang Qinghua has long since become used to the broader shoulders and taller build and long, pin-straight hair of Shen Qingqiu. Shen Yuan’s got some curl to his hair. His eyelashes go on for days.

This must be how his bro looked like back in the real world. Or, their first world. After all this, there’s no way in hell that Shang Qinghua can call the world they’d just left fake or pretend.

He wishes he could.

Shang Qinghua makes a face and squints at his friend. Should he even call him that? After all, he… “You literally committed suicide. And you took me with you. Without asking! Bro, we’re both dead!”

“It’s not my fault that the plant bodies didn’t work!” Shen Yuan wails, and Shang Qinghua jerks back, stunned. Well, it seems that the cool and collected poker face of Shen Qingqiu had been left behind with the body itself. “You told me it was ready! And I didn’t ask you to stand so close to me when I detonated!”

“How was I suppose to know that’s what you were going to do?!” Shang Qinghua shrieks. He points an accusing finger at the other man. “We had a plan, you jerk! I kinda expected that we’d, oh I don’t know, go by it? Just a little bit? Play our parts? You changed the script on me without even giving me a cue!”

“Stop talking about it like it’s a stupid movie!” Shen Yuan says, and oh man his eyes are round and tearful. That’s not fair. “Binghe was going nuclear on us, Airplane! What was I suppose to do, let him destroy the world? Because you and I both know that’s what was about to happen!”

Shang Qinghua flinches back. He ducks his head and hunches his shoulder, looking away with a glare.

Shen Yuan sighs. He clears his throat, and says, “... I’m sorry I took you with me. I didn’t mean for that to happen. I tried to wait until you were out of range, but….”

Shang Qinghua sniffs.

“The only person capable of surviving a blast like that would be the protagonist.” He sullenly admits.

The both of them are silent at that. Shang Qinghua glares down at the vast expanse of blackness that surrounds them, leaving nothing to be seen but each other, somehow untouched by the dark. It almost seems like it might be a dream, but Shang Qinghua already knows what death feels like, and that had been it.

Can he even call himself Shang Qinghua anymore, if he’d left the body of that identity behind?

“I hope it was enough to fix Xin Mo’s influence on him,” Shen Yuan murmurs worriedly. “We’re not around anymore to mitigate the damage or direct the plot. What’s going to happen now? What if our absence means that the canon plot takes over again? Was it all for nothing?”

Shang Qinghua — Airplane drops his shoulders, rubbing his hands over his face tiredly. He feels way too old for this. Why can’t death be the final rest it was suppose to be? Why does this keep happening?

“Where even are we?” He asks.

There’s a familiar ding that echoes endlessly in the void around them. Airplane shares a glance with Shen Yuan, both their expressions bearing the same look of dread and exasperation.

“Why?” Shen Yuan bemoans.

“We’re not done?” Shang Qinghua demands, feeling suddenly furious as a window, slightly too light against the inky blackness, pops up before them. “Are you kidding me?”

He turns away from the blinding brightness and covers his face, muttering furiously under his hitching breath. It’s not fair! What are they, slaves to the System? Airplane is so tired.

“What,” he hears Shen Yuan breathe out beside him.

There’s a tug on his sleeve — they’re both wearing the same robes they died in, resized to fit their new (or rather, their old) bodies but just as dirty — and he turns to glance at his friend, only to find Shen Yuan gaping at the System window in astonishment.

“Airplane,” his friend insists, eyes wide. “Airplane, read it.”

With a put upon sigh, Airplane turns back toward the window and squints at it.

Congratulations, Host 74 and Host 81! Due to your exemplary efforts to rewrite the plot of World-0690, both of you have been promoted!

“What,” Airplane gapes. “A promotion? What the fuck does that mean?”

“Keep reading,” Shen Yuan urges him, eyes still round in shock.

In compensation for your hard work and the troubles faced in World-0690, Hosts have been given the choice of their next assignments!

“I don’t want to,” Airplane whimpers. He turns away from the half-read window and throws himself at his friend.

Shen Yuan lets out a sound of surprise as he catches him, and a hand automatically goes up to pet at Airplane’s head as he buries his face into Shen Yuan’s neck.

“I — Airplane? What’s — ?”

“I don’t want to do it again,” he says, eyes stinging. Fuck, he’s crying. He squeezes his eyes shut and clings to his friend. “I don’t want to. I’m done. I don’t want to anymore. Shen Yuan, I don’t want to!”

“Shit,” his friend mutters. The hand in his hair is comforting, stroking back and forth in a heavy pet.

Airplane sucks in a deep breath, which is a mistake, because it immediately bursts back out of him in a jarring sob.

He’s just so, so done. He doesn’t want to! He isn’t sure what he does want, just that he doesn’t want this! Please, please don’t make him! Not again! Airplane is done!

Shen Yuan speaks again, louder this time. “Airplane, listen. It’ll be different this time, okay? It’s giving us a choice!”

“I don’t want to,” Airplane cries.

“Um… How about I read us the, uh… the options. Okay?”

He sniffles. It’s not like there’s a decline button, he checked before he even started reading the damn window. This isn’t fair. This is so goddamn unfair.

Shakily, he nods his head against Shen Yuan chest. “... Okay.”

“Alright. So, um… option one is to be reborn with a system in a new world that requires a rewrite. It’ll be like how we ended up in PIDW, but we’ll have to read the plot beforehand so we know what we’re going into.”

“No,” Airplane jerks back, glaring up at his friend fiercely from beneath his damp lashes. “I will not be born again. I’m not growing up for another time. My childhoods in both worlds were shitty, I’m not letting myself be a child again, Shen Yuan!”

Shen Yuan gives him a weak smile. “Third time’s the charm?”

Airplane just continues to glare at him. The other man drops the smile and sighs.

“Yeah, okay, it’s a definite no to option one. I don’t wanna go through infancy or, hell, puberty again, either. So, option two…”

Airplane is quiet as his friend gazes up at the window and rereads their options. He refuses to turn around and look at it. He doesn’t want to see it. He’s so sick of the fucking System.

[Host….]

Fuck.

Shut up.

[This system apologizes—]

Shut up, shut up, shut up! Aren’t we done with you? Haven’t I finished what you wanted? Our mission is over, right? I don’t want to talk to you! Leave me alone!

[....]

“Okay, option two,” Shen Yuan says, eyes fixed on the window. Airplane lets his forehead drop to rest against his friend’s shoulder. “We can transmigrate into already written lives, fully grown bodies. Our task in that case would be to help stop the end of the world.”

“Fuck that,” Airplane and Shen Yuan both scoff at the same time.

Airplane draws back from his friend’s embrace to share a grin with him.

“I’m sick of responsibilities. How many options are there?”

Shen Yuan glances back up to scan the window. “There’s a few pages worth… Hey, System?”

There’s a ding. Airplane directs his gaze determinedly on his friend’s face and doesn’t look behind him.

“Can you filter the options?” Another ding. “Okay, filter out all options that require us to play a prewritten character or save a world.”

Ding! Airplane watches avidly as Shen Yuan’s expression smooths out into something pleased. The other man glances back down at him, and then blinks when he realizes that Airplane has been staring at him the entire time. He coughs, and pink flushes over his cheeks.

Airplane feels a smirk crawl onto his face. “Aw, bro. You know, you’re pretty cute like this. Is this how you looked like back — uh, in our first lives?”

Shen Yuan’s blush deepens. “I — uh… yeah, I think so? I don’t have a mirror, so I can’t be one-hundred percent sure…”

Then, the other man smirks back at him, a teasing light entering his bright eyes. “You’re not too shabby yourself, bro. Actually, you’re freaking adorable. If I knew this was what Airplane Shooting Toward the Sky looked like, I’d have never even tried taking your papapa scenes seriously.”

“You never took them seriously anyway,” Airplane scoffs, fighting off his own blush. He stares into the inky blackness of the void instead. “Besides, no one should have taken them seriously.”

“Eh? Why?”

The smirk crawls back over Airplane’s face, and he glances up at Shen Yuan from beneath his eyelashes. “I’m ace.”

Shen Yuan pauses. He stares down at him, speechless for a few long moments. Airplane lifts one hand to hide how his smirk has transformed into a grin. His shoulders shake with amusement.

Finally, Shen Yuan’s face breaks into incredulousness.

“You —? Are you serious?” The man wheezes. He reaches out and slaps a hand against Airplane’s shoulder, and then does it a few more times. “Are you fucking serious? A joke! The entire thing was a joke this whole time? Airplane, I’m gonna fucking kill you, oh my god!”

Despite his words, the slaps are gentle. Shen Yuan still has one arm wrapped around him in a hug.

Airplane bursts into laughter.

“I mean,” he giggles. “The story itself wasn’t a joke? But the reader count skyrocketed after the first smut scene, and the subscriptions mirrored that. I was just a starving college student, bro. I hadn’t eaten in three days, I needed some cash.”

Shen Yuan’s hits cease, and a serious expression overcomes his outrage.

“Was it really that bad?” He quietly asks.

Airplane bites his lip and looks away. “It’s been worse than that, but… Yeah. It’s what helped me make the decision to lead PIDW into the stallion novel genre. I kept the actual story to myself and just focused on writing what the subscribers demanded. It was a huge blow to my integrity as an author, and there were a lot of times that I hated myself for it, but I was too hungry to care most of the time.”

“Shit,” Shen Yuan presses a hand over his mouth. Airplane looks away entirely before he can see the pity that’s likely to be in his friend’s expression. “That’s shitty, man. I’m sorry.”

“Whatever,” he shrugs. “After being born into it, though, there’s a lot of times I wish I’d just gone with my original draft. Starving would have been better than… a lot of what happened, back there as Shang Qinghua.”

Shen Yuan’s arm tightens around him. His hand finds its way back into Airplane’s hair.

“Hey,” he says, quietly. “What’s your name?”

Airplane snorts. “Shang Lei.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

He buries his face into Shen Yuan’s chest and laughs. “No, that’s my name.”

“Oh my god, are you serious?”

He smacks Shen Yuan in the arm, grinning. “Yes, I’m serious.”

“You hack writer. You’re so original, I’m in awe.”

Airplane rolls his eyes and snuggles into his friend’s hug. “I’d offer to let you read the original PIDW, but I don’t have it with me, and I think it would hit differently now that we both uh, actually know most of the characters personally.”

Shen Yuan makes a face. “Man. I’d totally read it, too, if it wasn’t for that. And besides, the way you wrote Binghe... that’s not him. Not anymore.”

“Yeah. You raised him differently.”

There’s a quiet sound, like sniffling. “I … I don’t think I did such a good job,” Shen Yuan whispers, and his voice is thick.

Airplane closes his eyes.

“Anyway.” He says. “Our options?”

“... Right.” Shen Yuan coughs. He straightens up. His arm tightens around Airplane like one might clutch at a teddy bear. Airplane accepts it. “Um…. The filters have narrowed down the list quite a bit. How do you feel about being reborn as forest hermits in a farming simulation become reality?”

“Um. Pass. I’m not much for manual labor.”

Shen Yuan laughs. Airplane can feel the way his body trembles with it against him. He smiles and rests his head into the crook of his friend’s neck.

“Yeah, neither am I. Uh, there’s…. Demon Lords — nah, that’s R18. We know how that goes, and since you’re ace, no thanks. Um, there’s actually a lot of otome-type worlds. Weird. System, filter out those ones.”

Airplane yawns. He’s still feeling upset over all of this, but he’s come to a decision.

Whatever new world they end up in — and goddammit, it’ll be together — he’s not going to allow Shen Yuan convince him to let himself become attached to the characters this time. He’d done so well, in the first half of his life as Shang Qinghua, keeping himself distanced from his peers and enemies alike. Life went by quick and mostly painlessly, when you didn’t connect with anyone. The real pain came after Shen Yuan talked him into seeing the people of that world as actual people.

It was lonely before then, sure. He’s not sure the hurt that came after was worth it, though. Plus, this time he’ll have his bro at his side. That’s all he’ll need.

“Oh, hello.”

He pulls back from his friend’s comfy embrace to look up at him. “Find a good one?”

“I think so,” Shen Yuan tells him. He’s smiling up at the window, and he’s got one eyebrow raised. “This one is ‘Become Game Masters of an ARMMRPG.’”

“Eh?” Airplane frowns. “... Doesn’t it mean, uh, a VRMMORPG? Like in anime?”

“No. This one is Alternate Reality Massive Multiplayer Role Playing Game. Instead of being a virtual world, in this… story, I guess? In this story, the player characters are actually people capable of dimensional travel. Each ‘game’ is a different dimension, and the people can only die in their home dimension. From the description, it’s basically the same as the synopsis of your run of the mill VRMMORPG anime, except the virtual games are real worlds.”

“Sure, but if they’re real worlds, then what does being a Game Master mean?”

Shen Yuan grins down at him.

“Hey, Airplane,” he says. “How do you feel about being an actual god?”

—

Luo Binghe curls up on his throne like a child might sit in their mother’s lap, but there is no warmth to be found for him in this position. He clutches his knees to his chest and fights off another bout of these ceaseless tears. What’s a throne worth, what’s the seat of an emperor worth, what is all the power that he’s spent years accumulating worth, if Luo Binghe himself is actually useless regarding what truly matters?

He’s the king of an entire realm, territories a-plenty in the human one as well, but none of it matters anymore.

Nothing can matter, not now.

He launches himself off the throne, startling the line of servants that kneel on the gilded floor. He ignores their jolts and their gasps of surprise, turning on his heel to leave the room entirely. It’s only a few doors deep into the private wing behind his throne, a room in the center of his palace that is more secure than any place else in all the world.

He throws open the door, and catches it before it can slam shut. He closes it with barely a whisper.

It feels wrong, making too much noise in this room. Being too loud.

Shizun never liked it to be too noisy.

Luo Binghe’s eyes sting as he approaches the shrouded and still form that lies on the dias in the center of the room. He kneels before it, and then lowers himself further to press his forehead against the cold stone floor.

“Shizun,” he whimpers. “This lowly disciple is so sorry. This scum will repent for as long as it takes. Binghe will kneel for eternity if that is what it takes. But please, please. Come back.”

His voice cracks on the last word. It echoes quietly in the room, bouncing off the walls and reaching back to him until all the Luo Binghe is able to hear are the reverberations of his own useless please.

Just like every time before, the form he kowtows to is silent and unmoving. Cold. Dead.

Luo Binghe has made the worst mistakes, and there is no way to fix them.

[Read ch. 2]

[bl-garbage]

to dance is to unshackle

um, okay—how else do i express this buoyant happiness that Gaya sa Pelikula has awoken inside me? i’m in complete and utter awe. i did not expect a drop of what the sixth episode has brought us. more than satisfying, it’s utterly fascinating. this is quite a lengthy post, but if you have the time, please bear with me. and since we’re already here, let’s fucking dissect the shit out of this:

right off the bat, it’s sweet how consistently written Vlad was the entire time of the show. at the start of the episode, for one, he was concerned with Karl’s disposition, saying, “anong iniisip mo (what are you thinking)?” and, later on, as we know, he pops that question again in this episode. what are you thinking? always in limbo. true, it’s considerate, yet more than that, it’s always a sign of waiting for permission. Vlad has been like this since the beginning: observant and willing to reach out, confident on the surface, yes, but always afraid of going overboard. 

that is not to say that Karl isn’t. in fact, the whole dynamics of their relationship rest on the fact that they can lean on each other and just be honest. many moments show this: Karl’s desire to shift; Vlad not getting  into the film lab and Karl knowing something was up; the entirety of Vlad’s birthday; Karl and Vlad’s reticence to open up to Anna, in contrast with how comfortable they feel with each other. in a nutshell, they’re each other’s homes. more on this later.

the part i was most frightened at with this episode was when Karl finally told his parents his desire to shift. to be honest, personally, i wouldn’t know exactly how that pressure on Karl feels, as i was able to study the degree i wanted. yet, back then, i had already known that my parents, who wholly supported me just the same, would have wanted a degree that leaned on science or engineering. that still sucked to know. Karl’s situation is much more complicated. his desire to shift to another course is to make up for lost time, a sense of hurrying before it really becomes all too late. this was a heavy lot to take in. the disappointment and anger in his father’s face when he dropped the bomb was too much to handle. Karl had expected it, yet its impact still hurled shrapnel that he was not able to dodge, sustaining him with several wounds. it would be curious to see how his parents come to terms with his confession. i am certain that a number of people have connected with Karl here.

which brings me to another point. Gaya sa Pelikula creates these characters with their own agency. it’s touted as a BL series, yes, but our two main characters’ point is actually not to fall in love — but to live, part of which is to fall in love. they have their hopes and dreams and own burdens to carry, and while falling in love takes centerstage here, we see how they can stand alone, on their own two feet. falling in love is central to their growth, but it is evident that love is not the whole point of their existence. 

speaking of which: ate judit. ah, yes, where do i even begin to explain the exquisiteness with which ate judit was written? how, after all of five episodes, it was only now did it make sense why judit was overly, unnaturally caring and protective, a mama bear that would not let anything happen to his little Vlad. now we know why: guilt.  

imagine that. being told you were the reason why your whole family went into shambles. there is much vindication in Vlad’s line of questioning, “why would you say that to a child?” (god, i’m tearing up even as i write this.) this was a pivotal scene, with a focal point on judit, the likes of whom we cannot entirely fault for not knowing any better. the fact remains that we are still in an era that fails to understand the spectrum of gender identities and the far utopia that we seek, where gender and sex would not be a damning classification anymore. and for true allies, it is in admitting that they “didn’t know then what [they] know now” that their support gains more strength. it is in confessing where they got wrong, how harmful their actions were, and in the commitment to do more, that their promise is made good.

parenthetically, can we talk about Vlad’s mom as well? have you all noticed how her voice broke when she said, “siguraduhin mong hindi ka na itatanggi niyan, ha (just make sure he won’t deny you, okay)?” was that pain, or guilt even? i wonder if we’re ever going to see her. it would be a regret not to. for so long Vlad had thought that he was the reason his father left, and that his mother was mad at his queerness. i wouldn’t want this simple call to be the resolution that the show had for him. at any rate, we have two more episodes to await, so i am not going to strike my gavel on this judgment just yet.

but whereas Vlad found his longtime coming reconciliation with his sister, Karl had no one to turn to. his call to Vlad was a cry for help. it was heartbreaking to see him like this. Karl had always put up a fake smile against any adversity that had come his way. to him, these were trivial matters that would pass, and they did so — until now. after all he was, as we would later come to know, living a script that had been prewritten before he even came to being. that explains his nonchalant demeanor toward life, the seeming discontent behind those dead eyes, and a repeated hinting that he was always yearning for so much more. at the end of the call, Karl instinctively goes to the closet - and his proverbial closet - and sees the skeletons he had hidden inside, drop in a mess. 

that it was Karl’s brother who was in the photo shook me. that past was so well thought out. things made so much sense in this episode: why Karl tried to fit in, why everything seemed so fake. why he was so discomforting to watch, even! that made sense now.  

and what do you do when everything has become a mess? the once seamless film that had been rolling without any glitches now sprawled on the floor, entangled in a hodgepodge well beyond fixing. when that happens, what do you do? well, you dance.

i have so many things to say about faux masculinity. it is a fact undisputed that in this society, gender roles are still very much pillars that we have yet to dismantle. our genders have been geared toward performativity, and our consolation is the external validation we receive through the acts of fitting in. in the process, we lose sight of what we really want. we blur the lines between what is and what should be, in favor of what society has demanded upon us. Karl took that role and lived by it religiously. yet, those things has gone haywire in this episode. more than his parents, it was to himself that Karl has finally admitted that the act can be dropped now: the fixed posture, those rehearsed lines, that painfully faux masculinity, on guard all the fucking time. all of those things were dropped.

that is not to say that Karl was faking all of it. there is no denying that Karl has been a masculine person most of the time. but the show portrayed before us a discarded femininity that Karl had been trying to bury deep inside him — one that all people who have been and who are still in the closet know by heart. the thing is, all of us have masculine and feminine sides, the expression of which vary at different levels in different situations. sadly, we have been preconditioned to believe that male persons must be masculine, and female persons must be feminine. Gaya sa Pelikula acknowledges this hegemony, and then throws it away all the same. true, Karl may very well be comfortable in his masculine expression, but his femininity must also be allowed to grow. one cannot be complete without embracing the entirety of who they are. many have died — been killed — for simply living who they are. society has long been a vicious environment. but people have also long fought for their fundamental right to perform these things, and through them, we know that things can change. that things are changing.

it is against this context that imprints more meaning, more gravity to when we finally, finally see Karl dance. in every sense, his dance was the show’s climax for me. it is, quite emphatically, freedom incarnate.

when i say i fucking bawled at this scene, you best believe it.

quite important to note: when Karl sees Vlad, he stopped abruptly, only for Vlad to signal to him, in an OK sign, that what he was doing was perfectly fine. that Karl could be effeminate all he wants, and who the hell in this earth should care? this allowance has given Karl all the needed validation he will ever need, at least, for that one night where they could bare it all. it was only the two of them, but the house has never been more crowded, because their feelings have seemingly exploded and have been overflowing in a glorious climax for all of us to witness. in this scene, Karl has unshackled the chains with which he had been bound all that time, and it was Vlad who helped him finally break the last of those chains. in this moment, there was only pure bliss.

(that the song playing here was Ride Home by ben&ben is the perfect giveaway. for non-Filipino readers who have only listened to ben&ben now, check this band out. it’s one of the best bands to have ever come out of the Philippine music industry.)

and, of course, in this waterfall of emotions, it is only perfect to time the moment of their first kiss. they have accepted each other, haven’t they? in a meaningful act (the gravity of which we will only realize in full later when Vlad tells the story of his dad), Karl rumpled Vlad’s hair, but only after Vlad had already consented to it. then, afterward, it was Vlad’s turn to ask, what are you thinking? to which Karl had this—and i know we all expected it, nevertheless—to say: i don’t want to think anymore. then they kissed.

i swear to god. i only watched this for the 92432475781 time.

the denouement was so well put, too: now everything is put back into its own place. Karl’s brother. his death. his parents’ expectations. the substitution. Vlad’s father. his parents’ expectations. the horror of realizing one’s difference. the abandonment. in these stories, it becomes more and more permissible to believe that Karl and Vlad have easily found comfort in each other. to say that they are soulmates (as the creator, juan miguel severo, told on his twitter) is not an exaggeration.

and, make no mistake: Karl and Vlad did not find each other’s embraces out of pity. no. it would be unduly harsh to view them that way. rather, they found solace in each other’s embrace and warmth, but it is still they who will muster the courage to face their own demons. the only difference is, they now have each other to find some sort of release. they are not destructively dependent on each other; instead, they help each other grow into the versions of themselves that they can be proud of.

finally, a couple of small things: look at the way Karl was inviting Vlad to lie in bed with him. that simple gesture harks us back to the early days of their dynamics: Vlad had expressed that it was okay to share a bed, but Karl was adamant that they do not. Karl had once dreamed of Vlad joining him there, and that scared him shitless. in contrast to that, now we have this: Karl himself inviting Vlad, and Vlad accepting for Karl’s wholehearted invitation. the moment this happened, there was a consummation of the expression of their love. if they had their doubts prior to this, those could not have been more obliterated now. 

needless to say, i fucking, fucking loved this. as one who has only ever written three fanfics (2gether and History 2!), all of which seemingly related to sleeping (what the fuck, do i have a sleep fetish or something), this ending to episode 6 is just the cherry on top. 

their lines by the end particularly strike me. here we have Karl who wishes to create his own stories. on the other hand is Vlad who wishes that he be in charge of the endings, too. how do they do that? who knows? but the certainty that defines their pact is that they shall do it together, unbound and free to dance to the song they have chosen of their own accord. and that simple promise, made in each other’s tight embrace under artificially warm lights amid that early january weather, with no certainty at all of what tomorrow has to bring, has made all the difference. 

in 34 minutes, Gaya sa Pelikula has, yet again, done more than we could have ever expected.

i just checked and this reached 2k words. i’m not even gonna attempt to proofread this anymore. anyway, this is all i have to say for now. i just simply cannot let go of the best episode i’ve seen in this show without expressing my own reaction to it. 

(also: i’m thinking of writing a fanfic; that is, the morning after. just a one-shot, hopefully a cute one. as usual, an introspection of these characters, and what lies ahead. hope i actually get to write it!)

thank you so much, Gaya sa Pelikula. you are proof that things do change.

[serpentstole]

As I work on my Luciferian Challenge prompts, the word dogma has begun to lose all meaning. I think it’s reached inane buzzword status to me. I feel like there’s better ways one can phrase what a Luciferian ideology should take a stance against that better articulates what we really mean: authoritarianism, blind and unquestioning obedience, a refusal to challenge oneself or one’s beliefs...

I think this challenge is good, and to be honest it has been more of a challenge than I initially expected. At first I thought the hardest part of it would be writing down all my thoughts, as I was pretty confident in them going into it. Now, however, as I’ve prewritten almost to the point of completing it in advance, I’ve been left pretty weary, disheartened, and longing all the more for a proper community. I certainly have that when it comes to the purely occult side of things, but I rarely talk to many Luciferians directly, which is something that’ll be touched on in a later prompt that’s more community specific.

The positive side of this is that I’m being forced to reflect in depth on my own religious beliefs, and how I identify, and what I believe. That is what I wanted from it, as these months are supposed to be a time of reflection for me. However, I’ve also had to confront a lot of past experiences with fellow Luciferians, Satanists, and the general vague “Left-Hand Path” identifying people I’ve known. Those experiences have not been universally bad, but I think my lingering bitterness comes through now and then in how I see them treat beliefs other than their own. Sometimes this comes from an understandable place of pain, especially among those badly harmed by their religious upbringing, or those who are very young and still developing a more complex view of things. Sometimes, however, I wonder if it’s just spite and hostility for the sake of it.

There was a time when I wanted to become more involved with the occult community as a whole. Run a proper wordpress blog like the writers who originally inspired me on this journey, maybe work towards making a little shop so I could scratch the itch I have to try creating new things to share with others... I think a lot of us dream of being the village weirdo. Now I wonder if I’ll only become more and more solitary and closed off with my religious and magic practice.

Just feeling less like a Fool and more like a Hermit these days.