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a-daydreamers-stories · 3 months ago

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Hey! This is an AU I thought would be fun and thanks to my friend @sherriesherbet I decided to write it! I'm not an expert in COD or UFC, so things will be wrong, sorry. This will be multiple parts, not sure how many yet. Hope you enjoy it!

The reader is a plus-size reader, this will be an 18 + story, minors do not interact

Never done this fandom before so if you'd like to be tagged for future parts let me know

Chapter warnings: Violence? Nothing really specifically mentioned yet

Chapter 1

Reader’s POV

“Please come with me! I won these two amazing tickets and my bud that was supposed to go is sick.” My brother whined out as he looked at me with big puppy dog eyes. I sighed and instantly regretted letting him into my apartment, it was my night off and I had been looking forward to lounging in my pjs as I ate takeout and watched sitcoms.

“Don’t you have any other friends to take?”

“No! Everyone else is busy or out of town since its last notice.”

“And you assumed I wasn’t busy?” I raised an eyebrow at him, he turned to look around my living room and then to the pjs I was already wearing.

“You are?”

“Yes I am,” I huffed at him and folded my arms over my chest as I snuggled deeper into the couch. “Now fuck off, I’m not going.”

“Please! I have no one else, I’ll get you dinner too! Anything that you want just please come with me…” He begged even going so far as to get on his knees and hold his hands together.

“Fine... Fine! I’ll go, what the hell do I even wear to this?”

“Just go put on jeans and a shirt.” He jumped up and fist-pumped the air like the dork he was.

“Whatever you owe me,” I grumbled as I got off the couch, pushing him onto it as I made my way to the bedroom. I quickly showered and changed into jeans and a nice black tank top before putting on my sneakers. Walking out of my bedroom my brother popped up from the couch as I did with a big smile on his face. I couldn’t help but smile back, though I did shake my head at him.

“Ready?” He asked excitedly.

“Yeah, I’m ready.” After grabbing my phone and purse, I nodded and gestured for him to head out of my apartment. We left my apartment before I locked it up and headed to him to his car. “So how did you win these tickets?”

“Radio contest spent a whole day listening to get these and I swear I called like 20 times but then I won! They’re amazing tickets too, fucking front-row seats!”

“Okay okay calm down before you start hyperventilating.”

“I’m just so excited!”

“I can tell, remember to breathe though I don’t want to die because you passed out at the wheel.”

“Shut up,” He playfully pushed my shoulder as he continued to drive towards the stadium. I couldn’t help but laugh, it was so funny to watch him get so excited like a teenager going to their first concert. We eventually made it into the stadium, parking had been a nightmare situation to try and figure out. He pulled out the tickets and we were guided to our seats, my brother moved into his seat and shot me an excited grin as I sat beside him.

“Are you going to fangirl when these guys come out?”

“No!” He narrowed his eyes at me in a playful glare.

“Uh-huh,” I smirked at him and he rolled his eyes before something behind me caught his eye and he gasped.

“Oh god…”

“What?” I asked in confusion before looking in the direction he was looking in, an older man with mutton chops was slowly coming down one of the walkways. Tight black t-shirt molded over his wide shoulders and straining on his biceps and jeans that molded to a very delicious ass. The back of his shirt had the number 141 on it. “Who’s that?”

“That’s John Price, he’s the head coach for the 141 Academy, his top boys are fighting tonight, and behind him coming out for the first fight is Gaz!”

“Gaz? What kinda name is Gaz?” I asked as I spotted the handsome bronze man, probably somewhere near my age or my brother’s, coming down the hallway behind him in gold UFC shorts.

“Well his real name is Kyle Garrick but he goes by Gaz in the ring.” Gaz flashed a smile and waved at the crowd causing a lot of girlish giggling and whistling as he moved to the ring. John patted him on the back and whispered in his ear, Gaz nodded back to him twice before flashing him a bright smile and clapping John’s shoulder. He practically bounced into the ring, full of energy and oozing charm. It was hard to believe someone as pretty as him, fights for a living but then his fight starts and you can see the hardness settling into his features, making him a little sharper and his entire focus is on the fight.

He and the other man in the ring are similarly built but Gaz is faster and more calculated with his strikes, it doesn’t end in a knockout but Gaz does win the fight in the end. The referee lifts his arm at the end which causes a quick grimace to fall on Gaz’s face before he flashed the crowd a blinding smile, that’s only slightly bloody, which causes the crowd to lose their minds as they erupt into ear-piercing screams. I couldn’t help but clap for the man before he got out of the ring and John patted him on the back with a proud smile, saying something to the fighter. Looking him over before nodding to a different hallway than the one he came out of.

“He’s sending him to the medic to get looked over, the other guy managed to hit him pretty hard in the ribs.” My brother explained as Gaz walked away, cheers following him as he went. John moved his sight back to the other hallway and a few minutes later another man appeared from there, this man had a mohawk and was a bit broader than Gaz had been with blue UFC shorts on.

“Who’s this one?” I asked my brother.

“Oh! This is Soap! He’s from Scotland.”

“Soap? Why the fuck is he called Soap?”

“Because he’s a slippery motherfucker.” My brother smirked and I snorted at that rolling my eyes.

“Alright, gotta admit that’s pretty original for a UFC fighter name.”

Soap stopped in front of John and started talking, it was still too loud to hear him clearly over the crowd but there were bits and pieces of an accent that reached us, John rested his hands on Soap’s shoulders and made the younger man look at him before he started talking to Soap. Soap nodded to him, a smirk on his face, there was a cocky yet capable attitude to him. John squeezed Soap’s shoulders before nodding to him and stepping aside, Soap got into the ring. The man he was facing was slightly taller than Soap and not quite as wide.

The fight started and it was clear why they called him Soap, even with his wide frame, Soap dodged hits smoothly. He taunted his opponent with a smirk and a cocky joke but while his opponent grew hot-headed, Soap remained cool and calm. Gaz came back in the middle of the fight and stood next to John to watch Soap’s fight. He cheered Soap on from the sidelines till the fight ended and Soap was pronounced the winner, the crowd went nuts for the Scot.

His lip and was split and he had a black eye forming but overall he was in good shape as he made his way out of the ring. Gaz patted him on the back in congratulations and John rubbed his head affectionately as Soap beamed at the two of them. John pointed towards the Med hallway and Soap shook his head before saying something to John with a lopsided grin on his face.

There was a hush that settled over the crowd suddenly and I looked at my brother confused, he nodded excitedly towards the hallway the men of the 141 Academy had been coming out of. My breath caught in my throat as I turned to look at the man coming down the walkway, he was an absolute tank of a man in red UFC shorts. Taller than the other two fighters and his biceps were bigger than my head, with crocodile scars covering them and the upper part of his chest.

“That’s Mace…” My brother whispered in my ear, his voice in awe.

“His UFC name is Mace or his actual name?”

“Honestly? No one knows, he only goes by Mace.” My brother shrugged. We watched as Mace made it to the other men by the ring. John nodded toward him and Mace threw him a feral smirk and a nod in return, before getting into the ring. The crowd erupted into loud cheers and screams as he made it into the ring. This fight was the most interesting so far, Mace was a vicious opponent and his opponent couldn’t do more than block the harsh blows that Mace landed. By the end his opponent was a bloody mess that had only managed to land a few good blows, even though they didn’t seem to phase Mace much, it didn’t surprise anyone when the referee lifted his arm as the winner. He got out of the ring and wrapped an arm around Soap’s shoulder, smirking as he talked to him, Gaz, and John.

“Next is the main event of the night, it’s the last fight!” My brother told me and then pushed my shoulder excitedly as the hallway door opened again. My gaze traveled to the man coming out and my eyes widened as my stomach fluttered, this man was huge too. Just as big if not a little taller than Mace, though his arms were slightly smaller, he was no less intimidating though maybe more so with the look on his face. He had blonde hair, that was short on the sides and slightly longer on the top. He had scars on his face, small ones scattered along his face, a large one going diagonal from his chin to the bottom of his eye, and another larger one going down through his eyebrow on the other side. He had on black UFC shorts but right above where the short ended on his right leg was the design of a skull.

“That’s Ghost…”

“Ghost?”

“Yeah, no one knows what his name is either. They just call him Ghost.”

“Let me guess because he’s a killer in the ring?” I smirked though I couldn’t take my eyes off the man as he made his way down to the ring.

“That but he’s also a spooky fucker.” My brother chuckled. Ghost stopped in front of the other fighters and John, who spoke to him for a moment. Ghost just gave John a curt nod before he made his way into the ring. There were no smirks, no waves, he barely acknowledged the crowd gathered to watch him fight, only that his eyes scanned over the stadium while he waited for the fight to start.

A shuddering breath escaped me as his eyes met mine pausing in his scan, the only thing that came to mind as this god of a man looked at me was to smile at him. His head tilted slightly and I could have sworn I saw a tick of one side of his mouth, almost like he would return it before he looked away towards his opponent. An intense focus settled over his face as he rolled his broad shoulders, waiting for his opponent to strike first.

#cod #simon ghost riley #ghost #ghost cod #cod x reader #call of duty #task force 141 #tf 141 #141 x reader #cod 141 #simon riley x reader #simon ghost x reader #simon riley x you #john price #kyle gaz garrick #john soap mactavish #johnny soap mactavish #mace cod

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radioactive-reactions · 5 months ago

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Just a quick little idea for a reaction, could you maybe do companions (and maybe Mr. House) finding out that the Courier is a pre-war ghoul?

Of course! The New Vegas fandom has just celebrated Mr. House's 4th birthday, so consider this my small contribution.

Ghouls were anything but uncommon in the Mojave, but those who had lived through the Great War were particularly exceptional. Everyone knew about the ghoulish Courier - zombies rising from the grave made good saloon talk, after all - but only those closest to them were trusted with the knowledge of just how old they were.

Raul is just happy to have another viejo around to commiserate with. Invariably, he begins to keep the two up long into the night trading stories of the Old World - and more often than not, the Old World's failings - around the campfire. "Hey, boss, you... you remember Cuna de Lobos? Ahh, the bomb dropped right at the end of Season 91, just when Catalina was about to show everyone what she'd been keeping stashed under her eyepatch. My grandmother would have killed to see it. She could have, too."

Boone is as unflinchingly stone-faced as ever, and his thoughts are quickly summed up in three succinct words: "I pity you." There's a moment of consideration, a realization that he may have gone too far, and he tries again. "You and all the... others. There are a few in the service. You knew what came before. Saw it with your own eyes. Christ, the rest of us must be like kids playing dressup to you. In your shoes, wouldn't have bothered staying around to see how it'd all turn out. No point."

Veronica has a million questions. Try as the Brotherhood might to hoard pre-War knowledge, she's never come quite as close to a living, breathing repository of it as she is now. "Wait, wait, back up, like... five steps. You're telling me you could walk into the bunker anytime you please and totally school Elder McNamara and you've just been sitting on that?! Oh my God! Okay, okay - is it true that every kid back then was raised by a robot slave? A-and did you really have to ritually encase all your food in Jell-O before you ate it?"

Cass gives an impressed whistle, looking the Courier up and down just to make sure they haven't actually been feral this entire time. "Fuck me. Uh, that's not an invitation - I don't want anything falling off. But that'd make you, what, two-hundred-something? Older than the Republic, the way they tell it. We've got some Rangers like that, supposedly the ultimate badasses if you look past the bad knees and the death rattle... but between you and me, I think you've got a sturdier claim to the title."

Arcade freezes up at the news, getting that awkward, wavering smile he always flashes when he's backed into a corner. "Wow. Uh... hey. Just so we're clear, I in no way endorse - o-or endorsed - the whole Enclave 'cleansing of the world's tainted' thing. I'd like to think that goes without saying, given the way my life has gone since then, but... just so we're clear. Uh, if you need any kind of specialized care, please just say the word. I've given Beatrix enough topical collagen to fill a bathtub... if one inexplicably wanted to do something like that."

Lily doesn't quite seem to get it, bless her heart, but enough careful explanation does slowly get her to regard the Courier as more of an equal than a grandkid. "MY MISTAKE! YOU DON'T LOOK A DAY OVER A HUNDRED, DEAR. WHATEVER YOU USE, I'VE JUST GOT TO GET DOCTOR HENRY TO MAKE ME SOME! IF I HADN'T MADE A PROMISE TO MY HUSBAND, REST HIS SOUL, I COULD JUST EAT YOU UP."

Mr. House predictably uses this as ammunition to further his own plans. There's no change in the face on the flickering screen, but whatever cold mental calculus drives him moves the Courier up a few spaces in his strictly regimented list of priorities. "Then you, more than anybody, understand what we have to lose - or rather, what we have to gain. Put another way, you are in a unique position to understand the resources at my disposal. Imagine the luxuries you enjoyed before the barbarians in Washington reduced you to this base, hardscrabble existence among the ruins of their shortsightedness - and I think you'll appreciate that ruins isn't simply a turn of phrase here. Imagine having them again: not just the house and the car, not just the material indulgences, but the structure that made them possible - will continue to make them possible. We alone know what's been lost, and we alone hold the potential to see it returned."

#fallout #fallout new vegas #fnv #fnv companions #reactions #raul tejada #craig boone #veronica santangelo #arcade gannon #lily bowen #mr house #rose of sharon cassidy

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bluejaysandblackbats · 10 months ago

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Catch and Release

Fandom: DC Comics, Batfam

Summary: AU where Jason doesn't die in the explosion and he and Tim end up attending the same high school months later.

Chapters: 1/?

Characters: Jason Todd, Bruce Wayne, Alfred Pennyworth, Tim Drake, Dick Grayson, Barbara Gordon, Sebastian Ives, Jack Drake, Janet Drake

Relationships: TBA

Additional Tags: Jason Todd Lives, Jason Todd-centric, POV Jason Todd, POV First Person, Tim Drake Has Issues, Tim Drake is Not Robin, Jason Todd is Not Robin (Anymore), Bruce Wayne Needs a Hug, Alfred Pennyworth is the Best, Alfred Pennyworth Knows, Stalker Tim Drake, Jason Todd Has Chronic Pain, Jason Todd Has PTSD, Angst with a Happy Ending, Unlikely Friends, Injury Recovery, Emotional Baggage, Rage, Bruce Wayne is Bad at Communicating

Chapter One: Counting Backward

"Good," Bruce replied.

Despite Alfred begging me to use the stairlift, I came down the stairs on foot. It was a dumb idea, but I was tired of feeling broken. My leg still hadn't healed. Mostly everything else had. I wondered if Bruce would urge me to stay home longer and focus on my recovery. I know he meant well, but I was tired of wasting away in the manor. I felt like I was a living memorial of the Jason he lost in the explosion. I haunted the place every moment I was there. Even my laugh was a painful reminder of what was.

A wave of pain shot up my spine and into my lungs, and I missed a step. I wasn't as quick on my feet as I used to be, but Alfred managed to catch me before I could falter. That bothered me. I didn't want anyone helping me, but my body was so broken it couldn't be avoided. I wanted to return to how I was, but honestly, I wasn't even halfway there. I mumbled a word of gratitude to Alfred, and he escorted me down the few remaining steps against my will.

My crutches leaned against the baluster. I remember when it felt like a victory. It meant I could walk. After a few months on them, it felt more like a loss. I couldn't rush recovery, so I was stuck. I bitterly pushed forward and went to the kitchen to make myself breakfast. Bruce sat at the counter, sipping his coffee. Despite his silence, I knew what his presence meant. "I'm going to school today," I announced. Bruce nodded. "I don't want you checking in on me today."

"Jason, I'm not trying to baby you... I'm just worried that your return to public school is premature," Bruce replied. He set his coffee aside and looked at me, studying me with his eyes. "Healing takes time."

"I can only heal at home for so long," I muttered as I opened the fridge. Bruce didn't help me, as a rule. I didn't want him to. I poured myself a glass of milk, and Alfred started making breakfast. I knew it was the only way Alfred would let me go, so I ate. I was stubborn but not half as stubborn as Alfred. "Thanks for breakfast, Alfred."

He nodded and set my backpack and lunch on an empty chair. Bruce seemed displeased with all of it. Ever since I came home from the hospital, he'd examined my every move, documenting my every nightmare, every misstep. It felt like he was judging me, but I knew better. Bruce was frightened for me. "At least let me take you to school... It'll help me breathe easier if I can see you off," Bruce requested. I nodded.

I didn't feel like arguing with him about small things like drop off and pick up. I stood up and put on my backpack before grabbing my crutches. Bruce looked up, and before he could ask me, I nodded. "I was in an accident. I don't wanna talk about it... The fewer details I use, the better," I whispered.

I followed him to the garage and sat in the front seat. The drive was unbearably long and silent. Neither of us had anything to say that the other wanted to hear. I watched as kids poured into the gates, and I hesitated. "Second thoughts?" Bruce asked.

"No," I stubbornly answered as I got out of the car. I took a breath and braced for an imaginary threat. I hopped up the steps and went through the double doors. I walked towards the metal detector, and the security guard shook his head. I thought it was irresponsible for him to let me through, but that wasn't my business anymore. I went to the front office and knocked on the attendance door. The office attendant smiled and told me she'd help me in a moment. I sat down and waited for her to ask for me.

"You can come up now," she welcomed me. I told her my name, and she gave me my class schedule. "If you'd like-." I smiled and shook my head.

"I was enrolled here last year... I'll manage, but thank you," I interrupted as politely as possible.

My first class was halfway across the building, so I went there right after I left the office. The door was locked, so I stood there, waiting for the teacher to show up. That's when I noticed him. A wild-eyed kid with no backpack. He only had a notepad and pen. If I didn't know better, I would've mistaken him for an undercover cop. I caught him staring at me and immediately took offense, but I wasn't dumb enough to pick a fight on my first day. Besides, he looked out the window as soon as he noticed I was staring back. I could tell he was sheltered by the way he looked at people. Most people who grew up in the rougher parts of Gotham would've known better. Had he met me last year, he might've gotten a friendlier reaction from me. I might've even overlooked him, but something about him didn't feel right.

The bell rang, and the teacher came to unlock the classroom. "Nice to see you again, Jason," she greeted. I tried to grasp for a name, but I couldn't remember her. I couldn't remember a lot of things after the accident.

"It's nice to see you too," I smiled. It was better to fake it and glance at my class schedule later than to explain why I suddenly couldn't remember the name of a teacher who obviously noticed my absence. I was bitter, but I wouldn't be rude to innocent people.

She logged into the computer and pulled up the seating chart. I sat by the door where I was placed and watched as the creepy kid strolled in. He sat by the window, and I looked for his name on the roster. Tim Drake. I wrote it down in my notebook and caught him staring at me again. A few other kids came in. One of which knocked my crutches over without picking them up. I picked them up and sighed. I'd have to deal with that for another month, at least.

Then there'd be more physical therapy and exams... And more of Bruce's pained glances when I missed a step or took a sharp breath. I knew he felt guilty for not being there. I did my fair share of blaming him in the earlier days of my recovery. I wasn't proud of what I said but never apologized, especially after he took Robin from me. It was the only way I could cope. Bitterness protected me from the harsh realities of the accident. I felt like I was experiencing the five stages of grief backward like I was mourning the death I should've had.

The second bell rang, and the rest of the class rushed in, some narrowly avoiding the third and final late bell. Eventually, wandering eyes started to recognize my face beneath the scarring. That wasn't the thing that bothered me, though. It was the whispering that followed the stares. I could make out some of it, but my hearing wasn't as good as before.

"I thought he died."

"I heard he got shot in the face."

"No, Professor Pyg turned him into one of those Frankenstein things, and he spent the summer in Arkham."

I swallowed it because I had to, but I could hardly conceal my growing rage. "Jason," our teacher whispered. I looked up at her. "Are you alright?"

I smiled and nodded even though every lethal and violent scenario imaginable flashed through my mind. I only had a few more hours of self-inflicted mental and emotional torture, and then I could drive home in agonizing silence. It would've gone great had he not pushed me.

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quietwings-fics · 5 months ago

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the scariest thing here

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply Fandom: Doctor Who Ship: ElevenSimm Additional Tags: Episode AU: s05e01 The Eleventh Hour (Doctor Who), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Young Amelia Pond, First Meetings Wordcount: 1003 Summary:

Two men end up crawling out of the blue box that crashes into Amelia's garden.

Prompt:

"Hmm… 11Simm, Simm is around for his Baking Period instead of going back to the war, and this affects our Doctor."

Amelia Pond remembers, a few months ago, when it rained so hard that the streets outside of school flooded. It hadn’t been so bad, even though no one had come to pick her up so Mels had promised Rory when his dad came, “Don’t worry, I’ll walk her home.” By then, his dad’s car was already making huge waves as it drove away. Neither of them had an umbrella or raincoats, so they’d sprinted between trees and bus stops as it continued to pour down. The streets became rivers, and when they caught their breath on Amelia’s front porch, they’d turned back to look at the unrecognizable world of their neighborhood almost underwater. Mels’ cold, wet hand in hers, Amelia had watched two rats swimming across the street, scrabbling over each other with tiny splashes and biting their tails to stay together until they got to the other side.

Anyway, that’s why she thinks Mels would understand her letting the men from the blue box into her house once she saw that they were soaking wet and why Rory would probably tell her she shouldn’t try to pick up rats because they might have rabies.

“If he’s the Doctor,” says Amelia to the man who stole all of the Doctor’s leftovers, (or was it stealing when no one wanted them?) “then who are you?” She’s been thinking of him as the rude Doctor, seeing as they both came from the same box, but that might be unfair. To the Doctor. She can’t just go assuming two men from the same box share a name.

“The Master,” he tells her, shortly. Amelia squints up at him.

Amelia doesn’t care much about politics because her aunt doesn’t care much about politics. Still, there are all these newspapers that someone must have bought that sit in the lounge and they both forget to clean up.

“Why do you look like the Prime Minister?” At that, the Master grins. His teeth are too sharp.

“Because I ate him.” Amelia wrinkles her nose at him. He’s going to have to try harder. Mels is much better at scaring her than he is.

“Stop that,” the Doctor tells him. “She’s-” He looks over Amelia curiously and guesses. “…Five?”

“I’m eight,” Amelia corrects and stands a little taller.

“She’s eight, and there’s a nasty crack in her wall that’s scaring her enough. You don’t need to make it worse.” The Master huffs and crosses his arms, but he does glance down at her again. She doesn’t think he’s decided to be nice, exactly, but maybe that he’s decided even if he isn’t lying and he does eat people, that Amelia wouldn’t be very tasty. He extends a hand to pat her on the head, and Amelia bites at it. She doesn’t manage to get him, but he snaps his hand back. He grins at her.

“She should be scared. I’m surprised she’s even still here.” Amelia frowns at him the same time the Doctor does.

“What do you mean?”

“Explain that, Master,” the Doctor’s voice flips from fun to serious very easily. She likes that about him. Most adults never use their serious voices around Amelia, only the fun ones, even when they have bad news to deliver.

“You’re counting the doors, Doctor. I’m counting the bedrooms.”

“So?”

“Amelia, you said you only live with your aunt?” the Master asks, pointedly. Amelia scowls at him, even though a part of her is delighted that they were paying attention to what she said.

“Yes.”

“So, why,” he emphasizes, “are there too many beds in this house?” The Doctor stops examining the crack and turns to him. Amelia watches a wave of something awful wash over his face. It makes her squirm, and despite herself, grab onto the Master’s hoodie.

“Oh, Amelia,” the Doctor says, “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry for what?” She doesn’t like it, any of it, not the crack and not the feeling in the pit of her stomach that something’s gone terribly wrong. She doesn’t know what it is, but she knows- She knows- She can’t remember why she’s crying. The Master’s hoodie is grimy enough already, so she sticks her nose in it to wipe her face clean. He smells like a wet dog.

“First things first,” the Doctor says, “whatever was in the crack is now out of the crack.”

“I know. I can smell it.”

“So, we take care of that. Amelia,” he addresses her again. Amelia pulls her face out of the Master’s hoodie to look at the Doctor. “Do you mind if I pick you up?” Amelia is too big to be picked up anymore, at least by her aunt. Still, she nods. “Good. I’m going to put you in the safest place I know.” The Doctor picks Amelia up easily, like she would pick up one of her stuffed animals, and then deposits her, without hesitating, into the Master’s arms as he protests.

“I don’t want her. Take her back.” Amy wriggles, but despite that, he doesn’t drop her.

“I wasn’t lying. Whatever prisoner zero is—I’m working on it—you’re far more dangerous.” At that, the Master hums, pleased with himself. Amelia thinks the Doctor might be even more mad than she’d assumed. “Which also makes you safe.”

The thing is, Amelia thinks, the Doctor isn’t wrong. She looks at the crack, and she looks out her bedroom door down the hall they say contains a monster, and nothing scares her.

“It’s a little early for us to adopt,” the Master mutters.

“Sorry, can’t hear you. Too busy hunting an intergalactic fugitive. You’d know all about that. Amelia, did you know he’s wanted dead or alive in over two hundred galaxies? In multiple time periods.” Amelia looks at the Master for confirmation.

“Two hundred and fifty-three,” he says.

“What’d you do?”

“Everything.” He carries Amelia out, following the Doctor, and only gets interrupted telling her a story she’s not sure she believes about taking over an entire planet when the monster shows itself.

(Enjoyed it? Any interaction is welcomed. You can even support me on Ko-Fi <3)

#fanfiction #1001-5000 #teen and up audiences #doctor who #elevensimm #thoschei #amy pond #eleventh doctor #the doctor #simm!master #the master #canon divergent #young!amy

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sequinsmile-x · 9 months ago

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Take My Hand, Take My Whole Life Too

“We know about you and Agent Hotchner.”

“Oh,” she says softly, clearing her throat as she bites the inside of her cheek and attempts to read their reactions, “You know?”

Her father nods solemnly, the same look on his face he’d had when she accidentally broke a priceless vase when she was 9. It makes her feel like a teenager, like a kid who didn’t know any better, not like a woman just shy of her 23rd birthday.

Emily and Aaron's love story, and how they never let go of each other's hand.

-x-

Hi friends,

This is a birthday present for the lovely @prentissinred!! I am forever grateful that this fandom and our mutual love of these idiots brought you into my life <3 And, here's hoping we get to hang out again at some point this year.

Love you very much, and I hope you enjoy another instalment of young hotchniss!

-x-

Words: 5.2k

Warnings: Estrangement from parents

Read over on Ao3, or below the cut

September 1993

She feels anxiety spark in her chest the moment she turns onto her parent’s driveway, the oppressive nature of the forcing her to blow out a shaky breath even from the other side of the gate.

Even though she was living back in DC after finishing her masters she didn’t see them very often. Their relationship had always been strained, her resistance to be controlled like they wanted to control her, to fit perfectly into their lives, something she hadn’t grown out of once she left her teenage years like they hoped she would.

If she had a choice, she wouldn’t even be there this evening. She’d be at Aaron’s place, snuggled under a blanket on his couch as they ate Chinese food from the restaurant down the street from his apartment building. She’d be spending the evening with someone who loved her for who she was, not who they wanted her to be. But her dad had called her, something that was even rarer than her mother calling, and he’d asked her to come to dinner, an edge to his voice she didn’t remember hearing before, and her curiosity had won out.

She punches in the key for the gate without thinking about it. The number had always been the same, something that had driven every security professional her mom had ever hired crazy. It makes her smile as she thinks of her boyfriend, of how he’d still mention the code to the gate, his dry sense of humour something that never failed to make her laugh, and she shakes her head. She wishes he could be here with her and be by her side, but her parents didn’t know that they were together and, even though they’d been together for over a year, she didn’t want to tell them yet.

Part of it was a desire to protect him. He thought he understood how the world she had come from worked, that he’d figured it all out in the few months he worked for her parents on behalf of the FBI.

She frowns when the gate doesn’t open, and the small light under the number pad flashes red, she puts in the number again, making sure she pays attention this time, and the same thing happens.

“If that’s a sign I should just turn around and leave I don’t know what is,” she grumbles to herself before hitting the intercom, tucking her hair behind her ears as she waits for it to click through.

“Hello?”

She smiles softly at the sound of the housekeeper's voice, “Vanessa, hi, it’s Emily. The gate doesn’t seem to be working.”

“Miss Prentiss,” Vanessa answers, “I’ll open it for you now.”

“Thank you.”

The gate is almost agonisingly slow as it opens, but she takes the time to try and centre herself, sighing as she briefly checks her reflection in the rearview mirror. She makes sure her lipstick isn’t smudged, smiling softly at herself as she thinks of the gentle kiss Aaron had pressed against her lips before she left his place, and then she sits back in her seat and drives further up the driveway.

By the time she’s sitting in her parent's living room, her anxiety increases, mixed with the usual sense of irritation she had whenever she was here. This place had never been home to her, not really. They’d rarely spent more than a few months here at a time when she was young, moving from country to country based on her mother’s placements, so she’d never had a chance to settle, to feel relaxed here. Ironically, the longest she’d ever been here at one time was the summer between her undergrad and her master's.

The summer she met Aaron.

She’s pulled out of her train of thought as her parents walk into the room, and she stands up, hugging them both as they exchange greetings, and then she sits back down on the couch and they sit on the couch opposite.

“How are you, Emily?” Elizabeth asks as she sits down, “It’s been a while since you called.”

Emily smiles tightly, stopping herself from replying that phones called both ways, that she never called her either. Instead, she clears her throat, and takes some sort of twisted comfort in the fact she’d made out with Aaron more than once where her parents were currently sitting.

“I’m good,” she answers, using the skills they’d taught her when she was young against them, her ability to say so much by saying so little was one of the things they had passed on, one of the ways they’d so often have conversations without really saying anything at all. “I got confirmation I start the academy in January.”

She knew they didn’t approve of her decision to join the FBI and their reactions confirm it, the slight tightening of her mother’s shoulders and the way her father sits up a little straighter telling her all it ever needed to. They thought it was below her and had said as much, claiming that the education they had paid for could offer her so much more than the career she was choosing, but it didn’t deter her.

It was part of the reason she was hesitant to tell them about her and Aaron’s relationship. She knew they’d take it to mean that she was doing this purely because of him, that she was being led by her almost 30-year-old boyfriend to follow in his footsteps, and the thought of it drove her crazy, another reminder that they didn’t know her at all.

When had she ever done something because someone else wanted her to?

“I see,” her father says, clearing his throat as he looks at his daughter, “Is there anything else you need to tell us?”

She stares at them for a moment, her heart skipping a beat in her chest as she licks her lower lip, and she shakes her head, feigning innocence, “What else would there be?”

Her mother sighs and looks over at her father before she looks back at Emily, a flicker of disappointment that she was familiar with and something new, something she couldn’t put a name to.

“Emily,” Elizabeth says, clasping her hands together in her lap to stop herself from picking at her nails, a habit Emily had picked up from her when she was small, “We know about you and Agent Hotchner.”

For a moment, it feels like the air is sucked out of the room. She stares at her parents as she tries to think of what to say, already aware it is too late to deny it. She knows that they hadn’t been particularly subtle over the summer, and it wasn’t entirely a shock to learn that her parents had found out about her relationship with the man they’d hired to co-ordinate security at the house whilst they were away, but she’d wanted to tell them on her terms.

Emily had never been close to either of her parents, and she didn’t have a relationship with them where she shared details of her life when she didn’t need to. But she was serious about Aaron, the 15 months they’d been together now largely in secret some of the happiest of her life, and she knew it was time to come clean.

“Oh,” she says softly, clearing her throat as she bites the inside of her cheek and attempts to read their reactions, “You know?”

“Yes, Emily,” he says, “We know.”

The nerves she’d felt earlier as she walked into the house make themselves known again, making her chest tight and capturing the breath she’d sucked in, holding it in place, as she watches her parents look at each other before they look back at yer, both privy to something she does not yet know about.

___

He’d only popped out to get ice cream.

Aaron knew she’d be upset and irritated when she came home from her parents, she always was, and he realised he was out of any of the sweet food she liked so he’d gone out to get it. He sighs as he steps out of the store and sees that it has started pouring rain since he got there. He tucks the ice cream under his arm and starts to jog towards his building, grateful that he’d only gone to the place a block away. He frowns as he gets closer to his building, his pace increasing when he sees her sitting on the steps, seemingly unaware she is getting soaked to the bone.

“Em?” He asks, coming to a stop in front of her, sitting on the step next to her when she doesn’t react, not caring about the material of his pants sticking to his skin. She jumps slightly as he cups her chin to make her look at him, seemingly only just realising he was there, “What are you doing, sweetheart?” He asks, encouraging her to stand, his hand on her back, “You’ve got a key you could have gone in.”

She nods absentmindedly, rain dripping down the slope of her nose, her dark hair plastered to her skin, “Yeah, sorry.”

His concern only deepens, swirling in his gut as he leads her up the stairs, his hand never leaving her back as he almost drops the ice cream whilst he digs his keys out of his pocket, “Nothing to apologise for sweetheart,” he assures her, kissing the side of her head, “Let’s get you inside.”

She’s silent as they walk to his apartment and he doesn’t push her, worst-case scenarios floating through his mind as he unlocks his front door. He puts the pint of ice cream down on the side table and shrugs off his coat, letting it drop to the floor as he leads her to the couch. He pulls the blanket off the back of it and wraps it around her as he encourages her to sit down.

“Aaron, the couch I’ll ruin-”

“I don’t care about that,” he says, sitting on the edge of the coffee table, his knees on either side of hers as he reaches for her hands, wincing at how cold her skin is, “You’re freezing.”

She chuckles dryly and nods as he covers her hands with his, easily enveloping them as he tries to press warmth into her skin. She’d almost loved his hands, the comfort they gave her. They were one of the first few things she’d noticed about him, how large they were, how they made his cell phone look like nothing more than a child’s toy. She remembers the first time she held his hand, the first time she felt the strength she’d spent weeks imagining shifting under his skin as she led him out of a party her parents were hosting.

She’d kissed him that night, the first of many, the start of a new chapter of her life.

“Yeah, I guess I am,” she says, only now realising how cold she felt, shivering violently under the blanket she’d napped under more than once. She swallows thickly as her eyes meet his, concern and love swirling in his gaze and she blows out a slow breath, “My parents know about us.”

He raises his eyebrows, unable to control his surprise, “Oh,” he says, still rubbing his hands against hers, “I thought you weren’t going to tell them yet.”

He didn’t blame her for not wanting to tell them. He knew their relationship was difficult, that it always had been, and he never wanted to make her feel uncomfortable. He knew what it was like to have the parents you wanted, to not be able to share things with them. In a strange way, he thinks it’s one of the reasons he and Emily worked so well. They understood each other in a way so few people did, their childhoods wildly different yet painted with similar themes.

“I didn’t tell them,” she says, pressing her lips together and shaking her head, choking on a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob, “They already knew.”

They fall into silence and he watches her carefully, how she shrinks back into herself, her face turned to press into the blanket around her shoulders as she breathes in the scent of it, “I’m assuming because of your general demeanour it didn’t go well.”

She laughs and shakes her head, “No, it didn’t go well,” she looks at him, “They…they told me if I didn’t break up with you they’d cut me off. Take away the trust fund.”

“What?” He asks, his grip on her tightening, anger and irritation licking at his insides as he clenches his teeth. It seemed absurd, ludicrous that they’d threaten such a thing to their only child just because she dared to be happy in a way they didn’t understand.

She nods, “They think it’s best if I end up with someone more like me,” she says, shaking her head, “And they live in a world where money is at the centre of everything so…” she shrugs, “I guess that’s how they think they can control me.”

The silence is awkward for a moment as he tries to read her, tries to figure out if her demeanour is because she has to break up with him and doesn’t know how to. He knew exactly how much money was in that trust fund. She’d told him once, casually mentioning the millions of dollars she had to her name and how it paid for her rent, how one day she hoped it would pay for a house she would buy. Something she considered to be full circle, using the money that had meant she hadn’t ever had a home to get one.

“What did you tell them?” He asks carefully, making sure his voice is even and soft. He wouldn’t blame her if she made that choice. Haley had left him for a whole lot less than potentially losing her parents and more money than most people saw in their lives.

“I told them to go fuck themselves,” she says bluntly., her eyes finally meeting him, a desperate laugh escaping her chest as she shakes her head.

He laughs too, her responses shocking him as he shakes his head, “Em-”

“I literally said that to them,” she says, cutting him off, unaware he’d even started to speak, “I told them to go fuck themselves,” she repeats, biting the inside of her cheek to stop herself from smiling, “You should have seen my mother’s face.”

Aaron can’t explain the guilt that washes over him, hot and overwhelming as he looks at her, her hair still stuck to her skin as she sits wide-eyed in front of him, “Sweetheart,” he says carefully, unhooking one of his hands from around hers and cupping her chin, “I’d understand if…”

She feels her heartbreak as he drifts off, the words he hadn’t said hanging in the air around them, heavy and suffocating. She knows he means it, that he’d happily accept her breaking up with him because of her parent's ultimatum, and she shifts forward so she’s closer to him, one of her hands on his cheek.

“I’m not breaking up with you,” she says firmly, the relief on his face palpable, only making her ache more, “And it’s not even about us really, or you,” she says, “They would have done this no matter what, used this as leverage over me for my whole life if I ever did something they didn’t agree with. This way I’m free.”

“To be who you want to be.”

She smiles at how he’s phrased it, how he’s centred her in it and not himself or their relationship, “Yeah,” she says, pressing her lips together as she nods, “I can be who I want to be,” she blows out a shaky breath and rests her forehead against his, “I’ll have to move out of my place. Even if I could find a way to continue to afford it…I don’t want them to know where I live.” There were so many things she hadn’t even thought of yet, so many details she’d have to consider and change now she no longer had contact with them, but a place to live was her main concern, “I don’t know if you’re ready for a roommate-”

“Sweetheart,” he says, cupping the back of her head as he pulls back to look at her, “You practically live here anyway. I was actually trying to figure out how to ask you to move in.”

She raises her eyebrows at him, her eyes shining with tears he knows she’ll wait until they are in bed to shed, the comfort of his embrace and the safety of his bedroom the place where she could finally let go. “Really?”

He smiles at her disbelief, at the way she frowns at him and he nods, “Really. Just ask Dave, I’ve been asking him for advice,” he kisses her cheek and then stands up, encouraging her to do the same, “Come one, let's go get you in the shower and then into bed, I don’t want you getting sick.”

She nods and lets him lead her to the bathroom, her head against his shoulder as they walk together, both of them aware that they had so much more to talk about, but that it could wait.

In the morning, they find the melted pint of ice cream on the side table, and Emily doesn’t think she’s ever loved someone as much as she loves him when he goes to buy her some more.

___

January 1998

Aaron chuckles as Emily crawls under the covers of their bed, sighing loudly as she sits next to him and rests her head on his shoulder.

“Long day?” He asks jokingly, as if they hadn’t spent the whole day together, and he presses a kiss to her forehead

She hums as she raises her eyebrow, “I don’t know how you’ve worked with Gideon and Dave as long as you have.”

He smiles and tucks some of her hair behind her ear, making sure to stroke her cheek as he does so, “They aren’t that bad.”

She’d only recently joined the BAU, a decision that had been delayed by the Section Chief being unsure if she wanted a husband and wife working together on the same team. Ultimately, her track record, and what she’s sure was not a small amount of meddling from Dave, spoke for itself and her transfer from Counterterrorism was approved.

“Whatever you say, honey,” she grumbles. She watches as he clenches his hand in and out of a fist a few times, his brow furrowing as he suppresses a groan of pain. “Is your hand hurting?” She asks, already knowing the answer when he stops flexing his hand, a soft smile on his face that lets her know he hadn’t even realised he’d been doing it.

“A little,” he replies, playing down the ache in his palm like he always had, “It’s always worse when it’s cold.”

He was 13 when it happened.

He’d gotten in between his father and his mother and walked away with what he would later find out were two broken bones in his hand. He hadn’t been taken to the hospital, the injury treated instead by bandages, ice and a guilty smile from his mom as she assured him it would be fine. It was years later when he was in hospital for an unrelated injury, a sprained wrist he’d got during training at the academy, when he found out the bones had been broken all those years ago. The doctor who told him said that the bones hadn’t healed properly, and the persistent pain he’d felt for half his life would be permanent.

Emily knew about it, they had no secrets from each other, and he remembered the mix of sadness and anger in her eyes when he told her. How she’d looked outraged and devastated for the teenage version of him in equal measure. She’d asked if she could help, if there was some way she could make him feel better, and he’d told her massaging it made the ache go away.

She smiles softly at him as she reaches for his right hand and holds it between both of hers, she presses her thumbs in an upward motion on his palm. She makes sure her touch is firm enough to push out the tension but gentle enough that she doesn’t hurt him. She repeats the motion again and again, the ache dissipating as she does. As if she wasn’t only helping with the pain, but with removing his father’s violence and his mother’s indifference from his past, from where it lingered under his skin, and replacing it with her love and affection, two things she always gave him freely and without condition.

It was how they loved each other, how they’d built their life just the two of them.

She hadn’t spoken to her parents since the night they’d given her the ultimatum. She’d removed herself from any circle where they may overlap, no longer wanting anything to do with people who tried to force her into a box she had never truly fit into. She’d found a job in the few months between it happening and her starting at the academy. She worked as a waitress in a diner with bright pink seats and an exuberant owner, serving coffee and all-day breakfast to people who barely looked at her. Aaron would rub her feet when she got home from work and tell her she didn’t have to do it if she didn’t want to, that they’d get by on his salary for a few months if they needed to, but she’d been insistent, desperate to have something to do in the long days when he was at work.

They still went to that diner occasionally. It’s where they’d gone for lunch after they got married at city hall, neither of them wanting a fuss about something that simply felt like the next step for them. They’d left a generous tip when the owner refused to let them pay for their meal and left hand in hand, their hearts and stomachs full and their smiles wide.

She’d never for a second doubted that she’d done the right thing by refusing to give into her parents demands, but the life she’d built with Aaron was worth more to her than any of the money she’d lost.

They had a house together, a mortgage. They had bills and disagreements about the best way to budget, and it was so beautifully ordinary sometimes it made her ache.

“Is it feeling any better?” She asks, still concentrating on massaging his hand.

“My hand always feel better the moment you hold it,” he replies and she shakes her head as she laughs.

“You say the most ridiculous shit,” she says and she raises his hand to her lips to kiss his fingertips.

“And yet you married me anyway.”

She smiles as she looks up at him, “Yeah,” she says softly, kissing him, putting everything she felt for him into it, “I did.”

___

“I am going to kill Jason.”

Aaron clears his throat and raises his eyebrow at his wife, “Sweetheart,” he says, waiting until she stops pacing and looks over at him, her arms tight over her chest, “Maybe stop threatening our friend in front of the doctor?”

She clenches her teeth and looks back and forth between Aaron and the doctor standing next to the gurney he was sitting on, blood splattered from his forehead down his face and onto your shirt.

“Jason is your friend, not mine,” she corrects, “Especially after today.”

It was like it had happened in slow motion as she watched an unsub lash out at him, grabbing Jason’s gun from his holster and hitting Aaron in the forehead as they attempted to restrain him. Aaron had briefly lost consciousness. Every second he was out felt like a lifetime to her, everything else around them disappearing as she desperately tried to wake him up.

It wasn’t even close to the worst injury either of them had been on the receiving end of since they’d joined the FBI, but it didn’t make it any easier. She hated when he was hurt, hated the reminder that so much of her happiness was reliant on him, but she knew that was the price for love.

It was a price she’d happily pay for the rest of her life.

She knew Aaron felt the same way. She’d had her appendix removed shortly after they’d got married, and he’d been a wreck. It made her wonder what he’d be like when they eventually had a baby or two, something they both wanted when the time was right, and the thought of it never failed to make her smile. The image of her usually unflappable husband on edge as she brought their kid into the world something she couldn’t wait to see.

She wanted to build their family, to have even more of her husband to love, but whenever he suggested starting to try she put it off. No matter how much she wanted it, she couldn’t shift the feeling that she’d be like her mother. That the lack of maternal skills were genetic, and it wasn’t in her to be the mother she so desperately wanted to be.

Aaron smiles at his wife and reaches out for her, offering her his hand, “Come here, Em.”

She sighs and walks over, sitting on the edge of the gurney as she sandwiches his hand in between hers, squeezing tightly, “Need me to hold your hand whilst you get your stitches?”

He smiles softly, “Always,” he says, winking at her, “It will be good practice for when we eventually have a kid, anyone that’s half you will inevitably end up in a few scrapes.”

She chokes on a laugh and nods, unable to stop herself from smiling at the thought of their kid. Someone half him and half her with a scraped knee insisting that they were fine. All her anxieties disappear for a moment and she simply lines forward and presses a kiss to his lips.

She hums as she pulls back and squeezes his hand again, “That’s a lot of talk for a man who’s about to have his forehead stitched back together.”

___

June 2003

She relaxes the moment she parks on the driveway.

She wastes no time in getting out of the car, desperate to see her husband and their little girl even though she’d only been out for a few hours. Penelope had convinced her to go out for dinner with her and JJ, claiming it had been far too long since they’d last done so, and she’d agreed at Aaron’s insistence.

Emily smiles as she opens the front door, “Honey, I’m home,” she calls out, surprised when she’s not greeted by either Aaron or Evelyn. The four-year-old would usually run to her, her smile wide as she threw herself into her mother’s arms. She furrows her brows, “Hello?”

“We’re in the living room,” Aaron calls back and she smiles as she starts to walk towards them, looking forward to spending some time with her family.

It was strange to think it had almost been 10 years since she’d last seen her parents, since what she thought would be a normal, awkward dinner with them had turned into the ultimatum that had permanently torn them apart. She was proud of what she’d built from nothing, of the fact her daughter would never doubt that she was loved unconditionally like she once had, and she never looked back.

She smiles as she steps into the living room, her heart swelling in her chest as she stops in the doorway, her eyes fixed on Aaron and Evelyn. Aaron was sitting with their daughter in his lap, she was already dressed in her Spiderman pjyamas and had her hair in neat pigtails. She had Aaron’s hand in between hers and she was rubbing her thumbs up and down his palm, her tongue sticking out as she concentrates on what she was doing.

“What’s all this?” Emily asks as she walks over, sitting down on the couch next to them. She stamps a kiss against Evelyn’s forehead and then Aaron’s lips, “Hi.”

“Hi,” he replies, kissing her again, “Evie here is helping with my hand.”

She has to press her lips together to stop her smile from getting too wide, sure her cheeks would ache with it. She cups her daughter’s cheek and smiles at her as she looks up, “You’re helping Daddy, huh?”

Evelyn nods enthusiastically, “Just like you do.”

When she’d first found out they were having a girl she’d panicked, her fear that she would turn into her own mother seemingly coming to life. Aaron had talked her down just like he always did, comforting her with his love and patience like he had learnt to do that very first summer together. Every fear had been unfounded just like he said it would be, the moment she’d first held Evelyn she knew she’d do anything to protect her, to make sure she knew she was loved.

She’d never understood her mother less than when she’d become one herself. She thought about her more in the last few years than she had in the first few they’d been estranged. She wondered what her mother had felt when she watched her take her first steps, or the first time she said Mama. She wondered if she’d felt as nervous about her starting school as Emily felt about Evelyn starting in the fall.

It was a constant reminder of what she never had, and what she never would, but what she’d always make sure her little girl would never doubt.

“That’s so sweet, baby,” Emily says, kissing Evelyn’s forehead, “Why don’t you go brush your teeth and then Daddy and I will come up and read you a story in a little bit?”

She nods enthusiastically and jumps off the couch, running out of the room quickly, her pigtails flapping behind her. Emily waits until she’s out of earshot and she reaches for her husband's hand, linking their fingers together.

“Did she help with the pain?”

“Not at all, her hands are way too small,” he says, smiling at her, “But she offered and it was so cute I couldn’t say no.”

She chuckles and stamps a kiss against his lips, “Once she’s asleep I’ll do it for you.”

He hums and kisses her again, “Thanks, sweetheart,” he says, “Once it’s all better, I’ll thank you properly.”

She bites her lower lip and winks at him, “You’ve got a deal.”

-x-

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companionwolf · 2 months ago

Text

for the better

Fandom: Blaseball

Summary: Parker MacMillan IIIII knows what is now is better. So why does it still hurt?

A/N: Takes place post canon in a 'verse where the game in universe evaporated and knowledge was lowkey wiped from the minds of the public. AO3 link.

Your name is Parker MacMillan IIIII, you were the intern-interim Internet League Blaseball commissioner, and once you were doing a great job.

Now, here in a world that has all but forgotten, that goes on without the game (how do they do that?), you struggle to keep yourself afloat.

(The ache in you says that has gone on far longer than just now, that it ate at you in the midst of Expansion, gnawed on your bones even back at the Era's start when you were still mercifully blinded by Her golden words).

...Even the Fans are gone now.

You are (still) so entirely alone.

And the worst part, you think, is that even the remnants mean nothing now-- the city(ies) of Los Angeli continue in their infinite sprawl, but no one wonders why, or remembers how they were, how they got that way.

Do you remember before.

Yes, yes, yes, and it's bitter wine in your stomach and missing something that will never ever come back, it's in the dark of night with the world spinning as you cradle the Microphone to your chest and desperately hope to hear something, anything, in the quiet feedback noise that sparks at the whispering of your breath.

(There's no one to hear it anymore.)

It's better this way, you think you hear Wyatt say.

Your vision tunnels, and not for the first time, you wish the End had taken you out with it, because what is the Commissioner without his League?

Nothing.

And yet, you know Wyatt is right.

You know this is better, that they are free now, that they are able to live out their fragile lives-- the ones the game once held in its merciless hands. They are Released and this is better.

(You did all of what you did for them, for the -- no, for your League, because you were theirs and they were yours, and you got what you wanted, right? You wanted this?)

"If it's better this way," you slur, "why's it feel so bad?"

There's no answer, save some vestigial echo of Her voice in your brain: You can't do this.

You tip your head back against the wall, staring at the same ceiling you've stared at for years from where you're slumped.

...You're right, mom, you think back at the ghost of Her. I can't do this.

(Despite the End, you've chosen to remain here in the home She gave you within the now former ILB offices-- the building melts into the background these days, and no one asks questions. You're left on your own.)

...You could leave, finally. Nothing is stopping you from doing that anymore.

(Why stay? What might be Wyatt's voice is quiet, concerned. Nothing’s here.)

"I'm the Commissioner." The words are barely coherent, mumbled around the mouth of a bottle. "And now that means I remember-- someone has to."

Somewhere, you think you feel eyes on you as that quiet voice says, I don't think that's really why you're still here, though.

The world lurches out from under you as you struggle to stand, and you hit the floor of your room hard, everything whirling nauseatingly.

Parker, says Wyatt, and the sadness in that voice makes you feel even worse.

(...Is this Wyatt? Has it ever been? Or is it all just you, pretending and pretending? You're not sure anymore.)

You lie there where you fell, close your eyes, imagine the night sky-- once, someone told you the stars were the eyes of the Fans, and you'd been so desperate for company you had believed that entirely.

"I miss them." It's a pitiful whimpering thing that sounds even more pathetic spoken aloud.

I know.

“And I miss the game.”

I know

"I--" Your head hurts. "I even miss Her.”

(And those are all true, terribly achingly true statements, but also not at the same time-- and you don't know how to handle the dissonance, really.)

I don't think this all could have gone any other way except in circles, says what may be the voice of Wyatt Mason. This is better. I promise you, this is better.

You swallow hard, bite back something cruel and selfish, opt instead to curl into yourself, the Microphone still clenched so tight in your hand it hurts a little.

"When will this start to feel like it?” you ask.

I don’t know.

The choked sound that escapes you causes slight reverb and in it you hear your own voice: Don't give up.

You press further against the floor, like you wish it'd fold under you and swallow you up into the Plane's depth of immateria. This has to be better, you think, and it's desperation.

It has to.

#wolf barking #tailstrokes #blaseball mines #blb #sorry parky yojre my fave so you get Whatever This Shit Is

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sizzlingpatrolfox · 1 year ago

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why do people surprised with jk coming up with the most simple thing for his album? he's always been like that tho. just by looking at his discography and things that he did in the past you shouldn't expect more. yes man can draw and he's pretty "creative" at that but he's never coming up with a concept that make people go "woah". just look at his photofolio, he chose vampire as his concept to express himself 💀 and youre right he's overestimated by the whole fandom and dare i say he's overrated too. i used to think 3j were the best performers in bts untill i saw a clip of him performing seven 😬 like yes he's a better performer than the other 4 members but he's just not at jimin and jhope's level esp when his perfomance incorporate dancing. i'm not hating or anything i used to "observe" each members when i was still an army and thats my thoughts. keyword for jungkook: basic.

Yesterday I was watching Olivia Rodrigo's live lounge performances and I was blown away. Literally 😭 it was so beautiful I watched them again a while ago. I was moved by her delivery and amazed at her voice. After that, I watched Troye's. Then, I remembered Jungkook had done it too so I went and watched it.

Seven was so uncomfortable to watch. It was so awkward and forced that I closed it after a minute or so. He also had a backtrack btw. The Oasis song was better, but then again he's always sounded best at ballads and that kind of breathy singing that Koreans love to overuse.

My point is to say that he might be the best vocalist or most stable in BTS, but he doesn't hold a candle to other vocalists outside of kpop. He was literally out of breath for seven, even though he was sitting down. Olivia doesn't have half the career experience he has and she ate him up with ease. Literally. It was like she was in her living room singing just for fun, while Jungkook was mumbling some parts of the song because je couldn't keep up with the English and was so visibly nervous it was impossible for me to keep watching.

He's always been considered so good because he was measured as member of BTS, but there are people infinitely more talented than him. Of course it's all because of armys tunnel vision and their lack of interest in other singers. Do armys even know what Adele sounded like at 16 years old? So the whole thing about glorifying JK in the singing department has always been eehhhh to me because yeah, he's good. But in the real world outside of BTS he's not the best as they'd like to believe.

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atelier-dayz · 1 year ago

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I was happy to just lurk in the Stranger Things fandom because I barely have the bandwidth for anything once I’m off from work nowadays, but then this prompt came along and ate my brain until I caved and wrote it.

So here you go! My first ST fic contribution ∠( ᐛ 」∠)＿

we only get better (from here)

It doesn’t go down the way he’d expected it to.

He’d known since the first time he realized he’d happily kiss a boy as much as he’d kiss a girl that it was only a matter of time before he got kicked out of the house -- or disowned. Or both.

But things had…escalated. Fast.

Two weeks after Starcourt, a week and a half after the hospital finally discharged him, Steve comes home from Robin’s house to find his parents’ car in the driveway and the lights on throughout the house.

“Shit.” He’d been hoping they’d be traveling longer. He goes to scrub his face, before remembering half his face is still one giant bruise. He’s not looking forward to this.

For a moment, he considers turning the car right around, but that’s just delaying the inevitable fight. With a sigh, he turns off the engine and gets out of the car.

No one greets him when he walks through the door, not that he expects it.

“Hello?” he reluctantly calls out, leaving his backpack by the foot of the stairs.

The answering dull thud of glass against wood is familiar -- his dad’s drinking; of course he is.

He steels himself, slowly making his way through the kitchen and dining room until he’s just inside the living room.

Richard “Rich” Harrington sits in the armchair by the unlit fire, a tumbler of scotch on the side table at his elbow, the day’s paper in his hands.

Steve doesn’t manage to even get a word out before his dad gives him a thunderous look, eyes roaming across his bruised face.

“What did I say about getting into another fight, Steven?” his dad growls, shooting to his feet.

“I wasn’t in a fight,” Steve says. “There was a fire at the mall.”

“Don’t backtalk me, boy!” his dad snaps. “And if you’re going to lie, then at least be a good liar.”

“I’m not lying!” Steve tries not to be obvious as he shuffles back a few inches. “It’s all over the news, and I worked at the mall, remember?”

His dad scoffs. “More lies? You probably weren’t even there; you were getting your ass beat. Again.” He stalks across the room towards Steve. “What did I say? If you’re going to pick a fight, you better win that fight.”

He should just let it go, let his dad think he’d been in some stupid schoolyard fight, but he can’t. He can’t let it go, not with how awful that whole night was -- the torture, the fear, Billy, Hopper.

“I’m not lying! I got hurt getting out of the mall fire,” he insists.

“Yes, I’m sure the fire grew arms and socked you in the face!”

Steve tries not to flinch as he finds his dad abruptly in his face, knowing his dad would just call it cowardice.

“Well? What else do you have to say for yourself?” his dad demands, but doesn’t wait for an answer. He scoffs in Steve’s face, breath ripe with the smell of scotch. “Nevermind, I’ve got something else for you to give excuses about.”

His dad stomps back to the fireplace, and Steve’s stomach drops at the stack of familiar-looking magazines he snatches up from the mantle.

“What do you have to say for yourself, Steven?” his dad repeats.

Despite the building dread, Steve can’t help but bristle at the violation. “You went through my room?”

“You live in my house; your room is my room. Now answer the damn question.” His dad rifles past a few magazines before holding up one particularly incriminating, with scantily clad men in suggestive poses and dog-eared corners. “What is this, Steven?”

Steven breathed in deep, steadying his nerves and squaring his shoulders.

Plant your feet, Harrington -- shut up, Billy.

“I think it speaks for itself,” he says evenly, and doesn’t even blink when the stack of magazines are hurled at his face, just turns his head so they hit his less injured right side instead.

Unfortunately, that means he’s too late to resist when his dad slams him into the wall.

“No son of mine is a goddamn queer!” his dad hisses, his big hands gripping Steve’s shirt collar in a near chokehold. “You hear me, Steven?”

But Steve’s completely out of it, everything going spotty and out of focus with the way the back of his head had struck the wall. His dad keeps yelling in his face, shaking him by the collar, but he can’t hear him over the intense throbbing of his literal brain and the rush of blood in his ears.

So it takes him a while to piece together what exactly had happened when his dad drops like a stone. Like he’d blinked and now his dad is facedown on the floor, still breathing but unmoving.

His mom stands in front of him, bathrobe wrapped hastily around her and a rolling pin raised high.

He flinched back on reflex, but there’s nowhere to go with the wall behind him.

“Oh honey, no, I’m not here to hurt you,” his mom coos. She drops the rolling pin like a hot potato before moving closer, gentle hands cupping his cheeks and bracing the back of his head. “I’m sorry I wasn’t down sooner. Oh your poor face, did he do any of this?”

“Did--did you hit Dad with a rolling pin?!” Steve gapes at her, even as he leans unconsciously into her warm touch.

His mom sniffs primly. “He had it coming,” she says. “Now, are you alright, bambino?”

Steve blinks, not having heard that nickname in years.

“Um, I’m not worse than I was,” he says truthfully, his head feeling less scrambled than a few minutes before.

His mom tuts. “Well let’s put some ice on your head, just in case.” She starts gently tugging him towards the kitchen, but he hesitates, throwing a glance at his dad’s prone form. “Your father is perfectly fine where he is.”

He’s at a loss for words as his mom sits him at the kitchen counter and digs out a bag of frozen peas. She hands it to him wrapped in a dishtowel, and he presses the bag to his head automatically.

“Now you sit there and rest. I’m going to call Hopper.”

“Hopper’s dead,” he says, trying not to think too hard about it and sounding to himself as hollow as those words leave him.

“Oh, oh damn, I’d forgotten.” She presses a featherlight kiss to his temple. “I’m sorry, honey, I know he meant a lot to you.” Like a good father, she doesn’t say, but they both clearly think it.

“I can’t--can’t.” He can’t think about that right now. He barely knows what’s going on right now.

“It’s okay, you don’t have to talk about it,” she reassures him. “I’ll call Phil then; he’ll be delighted to throw your father into lockup for the night.”

“Phi--Officer Callahan?” Then the rest of what she said catches up with him. “You want them to lock Dad in the station jail?!”

“Just for the night,” his mom repeats. “They can do that for drunken misconduct, you know. And it’ll keep him out of the way for the night.”

He stares blankly as his mom dials a number into the phone.

“Phil? It’s Gia, Gia Harrington.”

Steve doesn’t understand what’s happening. He feels like he’s hallucinating, or dreaming, as his mom tells Officer Callahan some story.

He doesn’t pay attention to what she says though, because suddenly, she’s stroking his head, running fingers through his hair, soft and soothing, and he wants to cry because he’s missed this, missed his mom so much.

He folds himself inwards, makes himself small as he rests his head on her shoulder.

Next thing he’s aware of, he’s parked on his bed, bundled up in his favorite sweatshirt and his comforter. His mother pulls shirt after shirt from his closet, an open suitcase at her feet. He realizes a few empty boxes are stacked on his desk.

“Why are you packing my things?” he asks, unsure if he should be upset.

“Because we’re leaving, bambino,” his mom says like that isn’t a big deal, not pausing in her packing. “But you rest for tonight. I’ll just pack your clothes, and you can decide what things you’d like to bring with you in the morning.”

“We’re--what?”

That does make his mom pause, as she turns to look at him with sad, apologetic eyes. With a sigh, she sets down the shirt she’d been holding and sits down beside him on the bed.

She takes his hands into hers as she says, “I’m sorry, Stefano. I’ve let your father get away with his awful behavior for far too long. I clung so desperately to my feelings for him, that I let him push me around, let him push you around, my own son.” She takes in a quivering breath with bright eyes still fixed on him. “I haven’t been here as much as I should have been; I haven’t been the mother I should have been to you these last few years, and I’m so sorry, bambino.”

Steve finds himself blinking back tears as he whispers, “Mamma.”

His mom smiles weakly, gently cupping his cheek. “I love you, my baby boy, and I’m more sorry than I can say if you ever doubted that.”

“No I didn’t,” he denies, “not--not really. I know Dad’s been…” He’s reluctant to say more, but she nods.

Year after year, his dad’s been getting worse -- more demanding, more belligerent, more miserable. And he takes it out on them, though Steve’s always been too afraid to know if his dad treats his mom even worse when they’re away from Hawkins. He knows at least that there are things she’d given up because of his dad -- her job, her favorite hobbies, some of her friends even. (And Steve too, he tries not to think.)

“You’ve obviously seen that he’s becoming…violent, especially when he’s drunk.”

Steve’s heart sinks, and he clutches his hand. “Mom, Mom, did he hit you?”

“Shh, I’m alright, honey. He did, just the once, but once was enough,” she says. “It was the wake up call I needed, really. I told him the next time he raised a hand at me or you, I’d leave and take you with me. He swore up and down that he wouldn’t, but we both know his word’s not worth much. I’ve had the divorce papers ready for weeks; I just wanted to be home with you before presenting them.”

“Are you sure you’re okay, Mom?” he fixates on that detail first, before the divorce papers.

“I’m fine, bambino, not even a scratch or bruise on me,” she reassures him.

“We’re really leaving?” He’s still not entirely sure if the whole night has been a fever dream. Though never in his wildest dreams did he think she’d ask for a divorce.

“First thing tomorrow morning, we’re leaving this awful house and your awful father,” she says, assertive like the woman he’d remembered as a child. “I hope you’ll give me a second chance at being a better mother.”

He swallows around his tight throat. “Even though I like…”

“Girls and boys?” she finishes for him with a soft smile. “Honey, I’ve known that since you were six. As far as I’m concerned, you can love whomever you like as long as you’re happy. I love you, Stefano; you’re my son, and nothing will change that.”

Like a dam breaking, Steve finally gives in to his tears. He’s still a little confused, a little in disbelief, but also happy and so relieved as he sinks into his mom’s arms.

The next morning, he wakes to find it hadn’t been a dream. His closet and dresser are empty, two suitcases standing by his door and boxes still waiting to be filled on his desk.

He still doesn’t quite believe it, even as he accepts a plate of bacon and French toast from his mom.

Even as he packs everything important to him into those three boxes and his backpack.

Even as he helps his mom carry their things downstairs.

Before he knows it, he’s sitting in the passenger seat of his own car, his mom in the driver’s seat and the rest of the car filled to the brim with boxes and suitcases.

He stares at the house for a long moment, his mom an almost unfamiliar quiet comfort beside him.

He hates that house, more mausoleum than home. He had feared that one day he'd wither away to dust in that house, and no one would be there to even notice. But he’s finally leaving that house.

They’re finally leaving that house, he corrects himself as his mom squeezes his shoulder.

“Let’s go, honey,” she says. “Are you ready?”

He nods, and with little fanfare, they drive away.

Neither of them look back.

His mom drives them through the still quiet streets of Hawkins, until they turn down the road into a trailer park.

Forest Hills, the sign at the turn says.

Hopper used to live here, he thinks, before forcibly forgetting that train of thought.

They drive deep into the trailer park, the Beemer sticking out like a painfully sore thumb, until his mom brings them to a stop in front of a double wide, tucked up to the edge of the woods.

It’s pretty nice, he thinks, at least on the outside. There’s a fresh coat of paint on the sides, a powder blue with white trim that reminds him of his mom’s favorite dress. The porch is just a slab of concrete, but a wooden awning covers the whole area, just missing overhead slats or canvas for shade. A single concrete step leads up to the front door, which is as bright white as the rest of the trim.

His mom sighs from beside him. “I know it’s not much…”

“What? Mom, this is more than enough,” he reassures him. “When did you even get this place?”

“The Callahans helped me,” she explains. “Once I knew leaving your father was inevitable, I began asking around. I didn’t want to take you from Hawkins, not with all your friends here. I’ve kept in touch with Samantha on and off over the years, and she pointed me here.”

It takes Steve a moment to realize she meant Ms. Sammy, Officer Callahan’s mom, who’s worked as a waitress at Steve’s favorite diner for as long as he can remember -- not someone in his mom’s usual circle of friends.

“Phil helped me get this place squared away and tidied up.”

Steve has many many questions, but a station jeep pulls up then, the very same Officer Callahan behind the wheel.

Steve hasn’t seen him since right after Starcourt, when the man had - bafflingly - visited him in the hospital. Phil looks rough around the edges, dark smudges under his eyes, but a grin on his face as he climbs out of the car.

“A fine morning to you, Ms. Gia! Let me tell you, seeing old Rich Harrington behind bars has made my week.” Before Steve can process any of that, Phil turns to him. “You doing okay, Steve?”

“Uh, good as I can be, considering--” he waves at his head in explanation. Phil knows plenty enough about his injuries, though of course not how he’d gotten them.

“Fair enough,” Phil says with a nod. He pulls a set of keys from his pocket and hands them to Steve’s mom. “Here are the keys. I’ll help you move everything inside.”

Inside, while the fixtures and appliances are a little outdated, everything is clean, no questionable stains in the carpet or hidden dust balls in a corner. The kitchen is a decent size and perfectly serviceable, and there’s more than enough room for the two of them while they relearn how to live together.

With Phil’s help, unloading the car takes no time at all, and the man soon leaves for work with a promise to visit later.

Steve stares after the departing jeep, before turning to his mom. “How come I never knew you were friends with the Callahans?”

His mom visibly hesitates before saying, “It’s a bit of a story, and I’d rather we be more settled before we talk about it.” She pauses, then adds, “And about other things.”

“We do have a lot to talk about,” he agrees.

“We do,” she sighs, “and I know a lot of that is on me. Let’s go buy us some furniture, and then see how far we get today.”

They go furniture shopping in the next town over.

By the end of the day, they’d managed to get most of their purchases delivered the same day or crammed into the Beemer.

Once night falls, dinner eaten and kitchen tidied, Steve finds himself sitting on their new secondhand couch, tucked against his mom’s side with his mom humming along to the radio playing softly across the room.

He still can’t quite believe this is real.

The last time he can remember spending time like this with his mom has to have been when he was…twelve? Thirteen? When he was a clumsy kid, all knobby knees and pointy elbows, afraid to be starting high school soon, afraid of what his dad meant by “old enough now.”

“I’ve missed this,” his mom suddenly says, voicing exactly his next thought.

“I’ve missed this too,” he says quietly. He swallows around a tightening throat, finally allowing himself to think about it. “I missed you, Mamma, so much.”

His mom wraps an arm tightly around him, but doesn’t speak just yet. She has always known when he has more to say, even when he struggles to say it, even though she hasn’t been around long enough lately to let him say more.

“My life turned upside down--” he internally winces at the word choice “--over and over, and you--you were never there,” he whispers. “You used to always be there, and then, you just…weren’t.” He squeezes his eyes shut tight, as if that will keep the stinging tears at bay. “I woke up in the hospital, and I was alone.” His mom makes some kind of noise, but he wants, needs to get the words out. “Then I--I woke up in the hospital again, and I wasn’t alone, I have Robin now, but you still weren’t there.” He sniffles. “Nothing made sense, and everything hurt, and I just--I just wanted my mom. I wanted my mom, and you weren’t there.”

“I’m so, so sorry, baby,” his mom barely gets out with a crack in her voice. She holds him close in an almost iron grip, tucking his head into her shoulder as she presses her damp face into his hair. “I’m so sorry, baby,” she repeats.

“I just--phone calls aren’t enough, you know?” he continues, even with his voice all wobbly from crying and muffled against her. “And I just kept thinking, why aren’t I enough? Why am I not enough to make you stay? Why couldn’t you choose me?” He sniffs. “But I mean, Dad’s an asshole, but I guess I’m--”

“Whatever horrible thing you’re thinking about yourself, stop that at once, because you are not,” his mom cuts him off, voice firm despite her own crying. “I’m so sorry I ever made you feel like that, because you are enough, baby.” She pulls them apart to hold his face between her hands, locking her eyes with his. “You are enough, and I love you so much. And this is me, choosing you, my son, my bambino.

I won’t give you excuses, because you deserve better than excuses. I spent so long chasing after your father, hoping it’d keep our family together, but that did nothing but the opposite. I should have realized that just you and me, we’re more than family enough.

I’m so sorry I left you all alone, bambino. You don’t have to forgive me, and I asked already, but please--please give me a chance to be a better mother to you.”

It takes a while for Steve to get his tears in some sense of control after that, not helped that his mom’s a crying mess as well.

Once calm enough to get some words out, he sniffles and says, “Well, hitting Dad with a rolling pin was a good start.”

They both break into giggles, collapsing into each other for support, the mood lightening immediately.

“I mean it though,” Steve says once their laughter peters out. “Leaving that house, leaving Dad, this--” he waves at the new home around them, at the two of them here together, “is a good start.”

“You think so?” his mom asks, dabbing away the last of her tears with the back of her hand. Her mascara’s ruined at this point, but Steve isn’t going to be the one to point that out.

“Yeah, it is. I think we’re going to do just great,” he pauses before adding, “I love you, Mamma.”

“I love you too, bambino.” She kisses his forehead carefully, hands brushing his hair out of his face. “Now, we have a lot to catch up on, but first, tell me about this Robin?”

Steve grins, happy to do exactly that.

(⁠*⁠˘⁠︶⁠˘⁠*⁠)⁠.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡

I have like two more parts to this AU percolating in the back of my mind, including a Wayne Munson POV and a Phil POV. IDK when I’ll get to them, but know that the ideas are there!!!

#steve harrington #stranger things #fanfic #my fic

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bohemian-nights · 1 year ago

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Personally I’ve always liked the morally grey/evil characters so long as something was compelling about them (i.e. the lannisters, severus snape, anakin skywalker etc) so when HOTD was announced I was hyped. Because who’s more morally grey than the members of an incestuous family. That being said I was thoroughly underwhelmed watching HOTD. Don’t get me wrong I still enjoyed it and will continue watching it (there are certain character arcs and events I want to see played out) but when remembering it’s an adaptation 🥴 all of the relationships have been reduced or made into something thy weren’t. Characterization has been either inconsistent or nonexistent.

And to make matters worse the fandom is split between Team Black vs Team Green and if you post something criticizing someone from Team Black you’re accused of supporting a r@pist (as someone who knows people who have been r@ped and or s@xually assaulted that is a disgusting thing to say especially when the post isn’t even about Aegon) even if you explicitly state you don’t support Aegon. Also if you don’t ship abuse (non consensual chocking during a relationship is domestic violence which is abuse) somehow you hate all women and support the patriarchy (I have seen several members of this fandom claim just that).

In conclusion I hate it here (lol) 🫠😊🤷🏾‍♀️

This adaptation is really just doing the bare minimum. It’s mediocre at best and an absolute letdown when you compare it to the early seasons of GOT(which is why they’ve been barely nominated/won any awards). They’ve got to stop there because, at a certain point, they won't be able to continue riding off the coattails of a show that ended almost half a decade ago.

This fandom is another clown to this circus 🎪Lol half of them(let’s be real, it’s the cult of Missy Anne. They are the worst part of this fandom at least Team Green tries to hear you out these people just start screaming misogyny while calling every woman they don’t like a c*nt, a wh*re, dirty, or racial slurs🙃) don’t have a leg to stand on yet they really get on you if you don’t worship the ground their Valaryan self-insert queen walks on and lie and say that Daemon lived, ate, and shat for her until his dying breath🫠(Don’t bring up Nettles or they’ll really start raging🤣).

#bnask #bnasks #these people have no room to talk #hotd fandom bs

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acrossthestage · 9 months ago

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MBC Show Champion in Manila

Date: September 3, 2016 | Venue: Mall of Asia Arena

MBC Show Champion was the first concert I've ever been to. It's a music show so many artists were included in the lineup, but I mainly attended to see my first K-pop group, B.A.P. Please be patient with me as I try to recall everything from 8 years ago.

I initially had no plans of going to this event. It was announced around the same time SEVENTEEN had their first show in Manila, where my parents did not let me go because I was too young and had no money to spend on a K-pop event. I expected that they wouldn't let me go to Show Champion either. However, while talking to my friend Shaina, she mentioned that she's going and told me that the general admission ticket only cost around PHP 1,500. I was not aware of this at that time and was extremely surprised. I thought that maybe with that price, my parents might allow me to go.

Since I really wanted to see B.A.P, I asked my mom if she could give me a week's worth of my school allowance in advance so that I could start saving it for the concert. I was so ready to be told no, but my mom surprisingly said yes, especially since I said I'd be going with Shaina. Later on, my mom proposed to hire a car to take us to the venue and back home on d-day.

Shaina and I went to SM Sta. Rosa after school to get our tickets. I believe this was August 19, 2016 based on my facebook post. Now that I think about it, ticketing was pretty chill back then because we were able to secure good seats even after hours since the ticketing started. Can't have that these days lol.

On the day of the concert, I wore my B.A.P hoodie and SVT face mask (SVT wasn't there but of course I had to let everyone know I'm a carat). Shaina and I tried to go freebie hunting and I think we were able to get a few. If I remember correctly, we also met another group's fan (an ELF, I think?) but we eventually separated with her. I saw a lot of BABYz around the arena and they were pretty happy to see me and tried to get me to join their group. But I was too shy to because I wasn't used to meeting my fandom that time. I was also with my friend, so joining other fans was out of the question.

Copy pasting this from my facebook post dated September 3, 2016:

BABYZ!!! 꺄아아아아아ㅏㅏㅏㅏㅏㅏㅏ 😭😭💘💘💘 Sorry kay ate na kumaway sakin at nag-yaya, I can't go with you kasi Baby x Army kami nung dalawang kasama ko hihi. 😁 SUPER DAMI NILA NAKAKALOKA ANG SARAP MAKIPAG FANDOM HUG. NGAYON LANG AKO NAKAKITA NG BABYZ IN PERSON. IT'S SO OVERWHELMING HUHUHU. Dami naming nakausap na Babyz, ang daming may shirt, banner, and headband ng B.A.P. I feel super happy ang daming pumunta to support the boys argh I wanted to talk to all of them soooo bad 😭💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖 THE FEELS MEN. THE FEELS ㅠㅠㅠㅠㅠㅠ

I can't remember much from the concert itself. All that's left in my head is how B.A.P absolutely blew me away and how I had an emotional breakdown in the middle of their performance. It felt so surreal seeing my teenage heroes in person and hearing my favorite songs live. I also really had fun seeing VIXX and BTS. The latter was actually just getting popular during that time, and the entire arena shook when they performed 'Fire'. It's pretty nice being one of the witnesses of their growth as idols.

MBC Show Champion was a whole new world for sheltered 16-year-old Stephannie. It opened my eyes to how breath-taking concerts are and I just knew there would be many more to come.

#concert

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fizzyxcustard · 2 years ago

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So Close.

Fandom: Stay Close

Pairing: Ray Levine x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Lots of fluff and sweetness. Smutty themes.

Summary: This is a follow on from this fic, which ended the small trilogy of short fics in which Ray Levine finds himself ghosted by you. This is a simple look into your new relationship with Ray as you both bask in the glow of your love for each other.

Comments: As always, if you like this fic, please consider a reblog. And if you want to be added to my tag list, let me know.

"I love you, you know?" Ray said. He was lay on his back, watching as you lifted yourself up, ready to head for a shower. He was smiling at you, so happy and content. More so than he could ever remember being in his life. "Come here," he whispered, beckoning you with a swish of his hand.

You couldn't help but grin and leaned down to him. His hand was cupping your cheek and his steel blue eyes were focused on you.

The kiss took you both away, unable to stop or back away. And within minutes, Ray was inside you again. Slow. Tender. Full of love. He rocked his hips upwards into you as you rode him.

Breakfast was where you felt the peace hit you the most. As you whisked eggs and unpacked bacon from the fridge, Ray swept in behind you and pulled you back into his arms. "I can't keep my hands off you," he chuckled.

As you both ate, he kept smiling at you.

You blushed.

"Is that a blush I see?" he asked. The two of you laughed at each other and with the clank of cutlery against plates, you kissed again.

He took you out that evening, to a restaurant. All the time and he couldn't keep his eyes off you, having to remind himself that this wasn't a dream. All of the joy and peace in his heart was real. You weren't just a mental image that he had created so many times when in the midst of sadness. None of those imaginations lived up to the reality of finally being with you.

Ray's hand drifted up your leg as you both sat next to each other at a round table. You leaned across the table and kissed the tip of his long nose, drawing a chuckle from him.

It must have been two years now that you had known Ray, and you could confidently say that you had never see him this happy. It was because of you.

"I love seeing you so happy, Ray," you told him.

"It's all because of you, love."

Ray returned to your flat for the third night in a row. The two of you snuggled up in the covers after more love making. He adored listening to your hitched breaths and knew that this life was something he could quite easily get used to. It was not only him that was happy, but he could see it radiating from you. That beautiful smile beamed brighter than ever before.

Ray's arm closed around you from behind and for a second you caught sight of her name. Cassie. Up his right forearm. You fingered the skin, tracing the name.

"I'm going to have it covered up," Ray told you.

"What with?" you asked, trying not to let that faint stab of sadness be known in your tone.

"Your name."

***

Follow Forever: @lathalea @i-did-not-mean-to @linasofia @luna-xial @knitastically @guardianofrivendell @xxbyimm @middleearthpixie @asgardianhobbit98 @rachel1959 @eunoiaastralwings @meganlpie @spidergirla5 @sunflwrnsunnieshine

#Richard Armitage #Stay Close #Netflix Stay Close #Ray Levine #Ray Levine x You #Ray Levine x Fem!Reader #Ray Levine x Reader

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outrunningthedark · 3 years ago

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In case you missed it, I discussed Buck + Christopher’s relationship from season two. Despite what fandom may make you believe, there wasn’t a whole lot to analyze because Eddie got back together with his estranged wife. Moving onto season three...

Just like Eddie waited for Christopher to bring him his helmet - without crutches! - in the season two finale, Buck waits for Christopher to come to him with a present (a card) in Kids Today. Please note how Christopher isn’t even properly holding one of his crutches so he doesn’t drop the card!

This gesture by Buck shows both patience and a confidence in Christopher’s ability to get to him safely without any extra help. (Shout out to Eddie, of course, for standing back and observing instead of hovering.)

The amusement park scenes on the pier are important because we saw that Buck is comfortable with letting Christopher behave “like any other kid” when the opportunity arises.

He went on the rides. He ate the cotton candy. He played games and took photos. Nothing about what he did before the tsunami hit was any different from what the able-bodied kids would have been doing that day.

(gif credit goes to @edmundo-diaz! This is the one moment I cannot find by using the search function.)

The above gif is all about Buck holding Christopher’s crutches and not worrying about him possibly falling while he’s got one hand on the photo booth in an attempt to bend down to grab the pictures.

“You ever think about what you want to do with your life? What you want to be when you grow up?”

“Astronaut or a pirate.”

“Some good choices. Cool outfits, too.”

“No, wait. A firefighter!”

“Yeah, me too.”

Christopher has grand plans for his future just like any other eight-year-old with an active imagination (or just like any eight-year-old boy who admires his dad).

Buck supports Christopher’s dreams as most adults normally would, and then in the next breath he acknowledges that things may not work out the way Christopher hopes - “But, Chris, if those career paths don’t work out, um…I hope you do find something you love.”

Buck is speaking from personal experience here, but this is something Christopher will have to remember as he grows older and understands his CP even more. Setbacks are not and should never be taken as a sign that someone is undeserving of a happy, fulfilling life.

Sink or Swim gave us this supportive Dad moment amid the chaos:

“You good, Chris?”

“Yep. I took surfing lessons.”

“Well maybe you can teach me.”

The next interaction I am highlighting could have gone much worse than it actually did:

“You amaze me, buddy.” (“I really admire that kid.” Please. Not this again.)

“Why?” (just trying to live his life!)

…

“You never say no. You never complain.” (😬)

But then he asked “How…how do you do that?”

By taking the time to ASK Christopher how he stays motivated and happy, Buck was acknowledging that it cannot be easy for Christopher to maintain a positive attitude despite what outsiders may think. And the fact that he asked at all shows his willingness to connect with Christopher in whatever way he can. “How…how do you do that?” is Buck encouraging Christopher to teach him something about himself, something that will help Buck understand him better.

(I don’t think “Me and you make a great team.” requires any commentary.)

In The Searchers we have the first and only time Buck has directly addressed Christopher having CP.

Buck never mentioning Christopher’s disability by name before this moment is not the story.

He says it to strangers while looking for Christopher during the tsunami.

What’s the first thing an outsider would notice about Christopher if they saw him? His disability.

Buck associated Christopher with his disability because that is what people who don’t know him would do.

I am concluding the first part of season three with the above gifs from 3x03 (Christopher walking into Buck’s apartment as Buck stares at Eddie // Christopher sitting on the table in front of the TV) because the “make yourself at home” vibes were immaculate.

…there will be more.

#tv: 911 #tv: 9-1-1 #christopher diaz #evan buckley #buddie #tina speaks

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lokischocolatefountain · 3 years ago

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Smoker’s Heart

Chapter 1- Stage 1A

Chapter Warning: Consensual non-con, choking, smoking, writing on the body, name-calling, humiliation, face slapping, gender roles, masturbation, anal sex, sexting

Navigation: Chapter 1, Chapter 2

Fandom: Squid Game

Pairing: Cho Sang-Woo x Reader

Rating: Explicit (18+ but has a lot of fluff)

Word count: 7.3k (sorry?)

Summary: Cho Sang-Woo, chronic smoker, knows the smoker's lung too well. It's dark, mottled and hyperinflated. A smoker’s lungs function better 2 weeks to 3 months after his last cigarette. The lungs can clean itself 1 to 12 months later. Ten years later, the risk of lung cancer is halved. But, when does the smoker’s heart get better?

A/N: It’s my first fic of the year and oh boy what a way to start a year. I hope you have a good year. I hope you'll be safe and healthy. Unlike Sang-Woo. He’s umm not in the best shape

My phone screen illuminated once again as I tapped on it, smiling as I saw my lock screen— the picture we’d taken on our balcony on our first day living together. I waited as the minutes passed slower than they usually did, taunting and torturing me before finally turning to 07:00 am. It was 09:00 pm back home and I knew she’d be back from work. I dialed her number and put it on loud speaker. It only took one full ring before I heard her sweet voice from the other side of the planet. It warmed my heart that she was just as eager to talk to me.

“Good morning,” she sang as soon as she picked up.

“Good evening, Jagiya… How was work?” I asked, my smile making me sound happier than I was to be so far away from her.

“It was great, actually. It was a rare peaceful day. Nobody died.”

“Good. Good girl.”

“I know. I’m the best. What did you have for dinner last night,” she asked, making me sigh. I hated being asked about food. It was a most unproductive question. Very pointless. Yes, I ate. It’s something I do everyday to stay alive. It was like being asked if I breathed today. And there was the complaining, oh god the complaining. No matter what I ate, she didn’t think it was nutritious enough. She was of the opinion that I didn’t take adequate care of her husband.

“I ate. That’s all you need to know.”

“That’s so rude. I’m just a wife missing her husband, wishing to know if he’s taking care of himself when I’m not there to take care of him.”

“I am taking care of myself. I’ll come home to you in one piece. Happy?”

“Not yet,” she said. I could picture her cute little pout as she said it. “Tell me what you ate.”

“Not pussy, unfortunately,” I said, directing her away from the topic of food.

“Unfortunately?” She gasped dramatically. “So you want to be eating pussy when you’re on the other side of the world where your wife isn’t.”

“You know what I meant. You know I only want you.”

“Good boy,” she breathed into the phone, making me gulp.

I quite liked it when she praised me. It made me feel all tingly. I did my fair share of the chores? Good boy. I remembered our friend’s birthday? Good boy. It was stupid to expect appreciation for the basic tasks I did at home, but it was much appreciated because I barely got any at work.

“Did you have dinner?” I asked, breaking my own rule regarding food-related questions. I just wanted to know if she ate. She came home much later than I did sometimes, so I cooked and made sure she ate before bed. Without me there, I was worried about whether she was feeding herself. She also tended to not cook when I wasn’t home, claiming that it was boring to cook just for herself.

“No. I’m on a hunger strike,” she mocked, clearly annoyed at my hypocrisy.

I decided to entertain her sarcastic response. “Oh? Why?”

“Because I miss my husband. AndI have decided I will not even touch a morsel of food until he comes back.”

“It's going to take your husband two short weeks to return to you. You must eat.”

“Everything tastes like ash without you here. I won't eat it. You must return at once.”

“Are you buying food from a restaurant? Because your food always tastes good, not like ash.”

“Nothing tastes good without you,” she whined. “Food alone can't nourish me.”

“Oh, Jagiya…” I cooed, opening the gallery on my phone. “We can't have that. Next time, I'll pack you up for my trip along with my clothes,” I teased. The conversation was quite unproductive and silly. I didn’t ever entertain pointless conversations. Until her. With her, I could talk about nothing for minutes.

“Or you could just come back home sooner. We would save the fees on the extra luggage.”

“Oh, I don't mind spending extra on luggage if I can have you here with me. I'll tie you up nicely, make you compact for the suitcase. You look great in ropes so that shouldn't be a problem,” I said, opening the drawer on my desk where I had pictures of her in compromising positions, bound tight by my skilled hands. “And umm I could still get close to the weight limit by not packing you any clothes.”

“It’s like 6 in the morning for you, you pervert!” She exclaimed, making me chuckle. “How are you so horny early in the morning? And so insensitive to my state of starvation. And now you want me to be starving and shivering in the winter cold? What kind of husband are you?”

“Hmm, you are very attractive when you’re shivering under my body…” I punctuated my words with a groan, recalling how I would trap her under my weight as she came down from orgasms I gave her.

“Wow,” she gasped. “That’s it, I’m getting a divorce.”

“Don’t even joke about that. You’re mine” I said, sternly. “I was just proposing a solution, trying to solve my dear wife’s problems. Come with me wherever I go, stay naked throughout, let me feed you nutritious food. And if that doesn't satisfy your appetite, there are other things I can occupy your mouth with. I’ll spare you a blanket if you can be a good girl. I’ll tie you up nicely to my bed, use you whenever I want…”

I flipped through the pictures of her, landing on the picture of her on her knees, her mouth full of my cock and her eyes full of devotion. The next picture was taken shortly after, her pure innocent face covered in my come. Feeling myself getting excited, I threw the pictures back in my drawer.

“That might actually kill me since you’re never home. You’ll forget again that you have a wife pining for you at home and I’ll starve to death. And you’ll come home late and just pass out after eating dinner and smoking and then also working on the weekends. So I’ll die of starvation and not even have a good fuck to show for it.”

I opened my mouth to defend myself, but she interrupted me. “Did you say you’ll spare me a blanket? Just a blanket!? You’re working on Wall Street and all you can give your food-starved, touch-starved wife is a blanket? So cheap.”

“I wouldn’t be passing out at night after work if you gave me something nice to be excited about. Change from your scrubs into a pretty dress and high heels. Greet me at the door on your knees. Do that and I can be more generous about what I’ll let you wear— my shirt maybe, no bra, and have the top three– no, top four buttons undone.”

“The buttons stay done and I’m wearing pants too. I’ll be more generous and doll up for you if you give me a reason to.”

“Is having me as a husband not reason enough?”

She scoffed. “What's so special about having you as a husband? You aren't even here to feed your starving wife. Instead you're plotting to keep me cold and hungry.”

“I'm not planning to keep you cold and hungry. I'm planning to keep you well fed and naked for my pleasure. Feeding me is part of your job and I’d be taking it off your shoulders and feeding you myself. I would just be helping you with your wifely duties. In return, I just want you to put all your energy into your most important duty as a wife.”

“Most important? What would that be?” She asked, her voice dripping with lust.

“Being a good fuck for me.”

“I am a good fuck. A great fuck. You’d know that if you were here.” I could hear the hurt in her voice when she said, “But, I can’t really be of service when you forget about me and fly off to a foreign country every now and then.”

“Jagiya… I miss you dearly,” I confessed. We were trying to have a baby and saving up money to buy a house. So, we’d both been working long tiring hours. Unfortunately for us, my work took me away from home often. I told myself that it was just temporary– that we’d return to normal once we made the downpayment on the house. But as the days passed, it felt like the new normal. “And I haven’t forgotten you. You’re always in my thoughts and I can’t wait to be with you when I’m home. But until then, I have to do this. I should make some money. For our future.”

She sighed and said, “Yeah yeah I know, don't get so crabby. Maybe you should have breakfast early. You sound grumpy. Wear a scarf and an overcoat when you go out. It's really cold there.”

“It is especially cold here today…” I was able to survive with just my suit jacket yesterday, but today it looked like I’d need a sweater and an overcoat.

“I know. I check the weather forecast for New York everyday.”

“You do? That is so sweet in a nerdy way.” She cared. It never failed to warm my heart to be reminded of how much she cared about me. At first, I thought it was just her small-town girl naivety, but her kindness was all her unbridled love for the people in her life.

“Hmm, I know you like being romanced in a nerdy way. Maybe we can talk about our annual household budget over a candlelit dinner?”

I laughed at that and said, “You know me so well. We’re having dinner at Jungsik once I come home, okay?”

“Jungsik is expensive. You don’t have to woo me with a Michelin star restaurant, okay? Just buy me streetfood and fuck me however you like. And please don’t buy me too many gifts like last time. If you have to stay away from me to make money, don’t spend it on gifts. Save it for the house.”

Aish! She was always weird about money. In the early stages of our friendship, I bought her some snacks and she promised to pay me back once she got a job. She still had the receipt six years later even though the ink faded long ago. “It’s not about wooing you. I just don’t want to be one of those men who stop putting effort into their relationship after getting married. The gifts I buy you aren’t expensive enough to make a dent on the house funds. And they’re a way for me to show that I love you.”

“Show who? Not me. I already know you love me. You do it as some weird status symbol thing– putting me in expensive dresses and nice jewelry and showing me off to your colleagues. I’m not gonna lie, it kind of turns me on in a weird way that you want me on display hanging off your arms like I’m just your pretty little thing. But you have to reel in the spending, okay?”

“Okay. What can I buy for you, then? I might go shopping tonight after work. Just tell me one thing you want.”

“What did I just tell—”

“Just one thing, come on,” I begged, interrupting her scolding. She stayed silent for a few seconds and sighed, a sign that she was giving in.

“Fine. Only one thing. Something small. Okay?”

“Okay.”

“Oh and don’t buy a pack of cigarettes. I know you’ll use how cold it is as an excuse to smoke.” She knew me well, but she was a bit too late in her warning. She never liked that I smoked. I managed to hide my habit from her for years until she caught me when she moved into my apartment. At first she thought it was sexy, but began pushing me to stop when she realized that it was a habit.

“Yeobo… I already bought a pack. They’re cheaper here. And nicer.” I could’ve easily lied to her, just said okay and ended the conversation. But she hated my lies more than my smoking.

She sighed before saying, “Can you just try the nicotine gum please? I don't care about the nicotine, it's the tobacco that's really really bad for you. I know they have those nicotine gums in America.”

“Okay, I will,” I said, not even believing it myself.

___________________

Her: Are you planning to come home or not?

Me: Stuck in traffic. Maybe you can use this time to look pretty for me?

Her: I already do…

Me: Show me.

Her: You’ll see when you come home

Me: Give me a sample. Please.

My phone dinged as it loaded the picture she sent, stopping my heart as I took in the curves of her body in the red dress I bought her from my last trip abroad. She looked sinful. It was on the slutty side, revealing the curves of her breasts and her beautiful back. She never wore it outside, uncomfortable with how much of her body it exposed. But, she put it on at home just for my eyes. While I liked her in this dress, it was not suitable for what I had planned for her.

Me: I love it. You look like desire personified.

Her: Aww someone’s a little romantic all of a sudden… Missed me too much?

Me: I did. The dress is great, but I want you to wear something else for me.

Her: I like this one. It makes me look sexy

Me: Everything makes you sexy. Like that white dress with the lace you wore to your friend’s birthday. Put that on.

Her: Eh, I’ll pass. I don’t like that dress

Me: I thought you were dressing up for me.

Her: I am

Me: Then wear what I tell you to.

Her: I don’t like that dress anymore! Besides, it’s a cutesy dress. Not a sexy one

Me: Don’t argue with me.

Her: He comes back to Seoul and goes straight to work, neglects his wife he hasn’t seen in one and a half months and has the audacity to tell her to change her outfit after she spent an hour getting ready for him 🙄

An hour? I suddenly felt a little guilty. I just showered at the airport before work and washed my face with hand soap in my office bathroom.

Me: Yes. I do what I want. And you do what I tell you to. Change.

Her: No. I already put on my make up and I’ll have to start again for the white dress

Did she do her make up differently for each dress? I had never noticed. So clearly, it wouldn’t affect me if her make up didn’t match her white dress.

Me: Not my problem. Change or else.

Her: Or else what

Me: I won’t let you cover up the bruises I leave on your body when I fuck you today

Her: Oh? You’ve been neglecting me for so long. I doubt you still remember how to leave bruises on my body

Me: I haven’t forgotten anything. But it seems you don’t remember how to be respectful to your husband.

Her: 🙄 That’s your fault, Oppa. If you want me to know my place, you should put some effort into showing me my place

Me: Or you can simply listen to your husband. Make my life easy.

Her: Where is the fun in that?

Me: It’s fun for me. I love it when you do things without me having to tell you.

Her: I also love it, but you still don’t buy the groceries without me telling you 100 times. I’ll start being an obedient little wife when you can buy tomatoes without reminders from me 🙄

Me: You know I don’t suffer brats. Do what I say. End of discussion.

Her: 😑 fine. This better be good or I’ll be so pissed

I smiled at the text and scrolled up to see the picture she sent me again. God, she was a sight. Either she’d grown more beautiful in the time I was away or being separated from her for a month made me more desperate to have her. All those lonely nights in my hotel room wanking off to pictures of her were torture. We spoke on the phone, of course. But nothing compared to the closeness I felt with her when we fucked.

I took a drag of my cigarette and rolled down a window as I fantasized about her in the white dress. She better have listened to me. If she didn’t, it was her loss.

The traffic moved slowly and it felt like I would never reach home, but by some miracle I finally did. My eyes fell on our bedroom window as I counted the notes in my wallet to pay the driver. There she was, waving at me from the window, my dutiful wife in the beautiful white dress I asked her to wear. Seeing her put a smile on my face immediately. I hurried the counting and gave my driver the cash, not bothering to wait for the change or thank him for driving me through all that traffic. I dragged my suitcase to the front door, reaching just in time for her to open the door.

The white lace hugged her body tight until it reached her waist from where it flared out. If she twirled, she’d look like a beautiful doll you would buy for a child. Her makeup was light and that was about everything I could say about it. She looked so sweet, so pure in the dress that hid her sinful body so well. Anyone who saw her on the streets dressed like this wouldn’t take her for the kind of woman who would pose nude for her husband to take pictures to wank off to.

She leapt into my arms and I wrapped my arms tightly around her. I hummed in relief as I breathed in the familiar scent of her perfume, finally feeling relaxed and at home. I loved the work I did. It gave me purpose, the drive to achieve and climb the ladder. But, after a long day’s work– a month and a half in this case– there was nothing better than coming home to my wife.

“I missed you so much,” I said, placing a kiss on her head.

She looked up from my chest, giving me a sweet smile. “I missed you too, Oppa.”

I bent down to kiss her, but she recoiled and pushed at my chest.

“Come on, give me a kiss,” I said, pulling her close to me but she attempted to wriggle out of my arms.

I brought my lips close to her again, but she turned her head away. “You smell of cigarettes. Like you smoked every single pack they had in America.”

“It was a stressful day. I was angry that I couldn’t come home straight to you after missing you for so long,” I said, caressing her hair.

“Yeah, that’s not going to work on me. And everyday is stressful for you. Go shower,” she said, walking away, depriving me of the kiss I was looking forward to ever since our last one from a month and a half ago.

“I’ll go shower after you kiss me,” I grumbled, grabbing her by her wrist. She tried to shrug me off, but I tightened my grip on her.

“I’ll kiss you after you shower,” she said, turning around to burn holes into me with her eyes.

I tugged her towards me, grabbed her by her throat and slammed her against the wall. She shoved at my chest, but her strength was nothing compared to mine as I claimed her lips in a kiss. As hard as I tried, she refused to kiss back. I bit her bottom lip and she cried out, giving me room to slip my tongue into her mouth.

With no response from her, I pulled back and glared at her. “You’re going to deny me a kiss?”

“I don’t want to kiss you,” she mewled, struggling to speak with my hand around her throat. I loosened my grip enough to let her speak, but not so much so that she wouldn’t feel my authority. “But I think you should kiss me anyway.”

A guttural growl escaped my throat, making her flinch. “You don't get to tell me what I should do with you. Your job here is to just shut up and be a good set of holes for me to take. Is that understood?”

She cowered under my gaze, too stunned to speak. She gasped as I choked her harder. Her dainty hands came up to her throat and tried futilely to pry my hand away.

She flinched as I screamed, “Is that understood?”

“Please don't do this... let's... let's talk. Please,” she stammered over her words.

I tilted my head slightly and gave her an unamused smile. “Maybe that's the problem… I let you talk too much and you start thinking you’re allowed to talk back to me.”

Her voice lowered to a whisper as she pleaded, “Please, no…”

“Shh... Now, be a good girl for me.”

“Please, don't do this. I'll do what you say, just don't do this.”

“It's a bit too late for that. Now, shut up like I told you to or you'll make me angrier.”

“Don’t hurt me, please,” she said, rooted to the spot with her back to the wall, her eyes looking around frantically. I took her hand in mine and gave it a squeeze. She squeezed back, letting me know it was alright to proceed. It was our mechanism for us to let each other know during such sexual adventures that we were still comfortable with what was going on. If she squeezed my hand back, we were good to go. If she didn’t, I stopped everything. We had safewords, but we had this too.

I traced the lacy neckline of her dress with my index finger, enjoying her trembling under my touch. There was an innocent little pink ribbon fashioned into a bow at the center in between her breasts. It made the modest dress look even more innocent. Above the ribbon rested the heart-shaped pendant I gifted her for our first wedding anniversary. I flipped the pendant to its backside, revealing the engraving of my name. Mine.

I brought both hands to the center of her dress and pulled it apart with all my strength, making her gasp as the dress ripped in the center. I tugged harder, making the tear deeper until her bra was exposed to me.

“That was a nice– aah!” she cried as I slapped her on the cheek.

“So irreverent,” I mumbled, stroking her cheek with my thumb. She pouted up at me, her eyes brimming with tears. “I bought you the dress and I’ll do whatever I want with it,” I said, reaching into her bra and pushing the cups aside to expose her breasts. I took my phone out of my pocket and took a few pictures of her in her state between innocence and slutty. It would be a great help when I next travel.

“Were you a good girl when I was gone?” I asked, lifting her chin up to meet my eyes.

“Yes, Oppa,” she said, nodding.

“Look at you, lying to me without hesitation,” I said through gritted teeth, slapping her again. She gasped and struggled in my grip, her tears now escaping her eyes and running down her cheeks. My cock twitched as I took in the sight of my innocent little wife so deliciously exposed and so in fear of what I would do to her.

“I’m not lying, I promise.”

“You’re sure?” I raised an eyebrow at her as I bunched up the skirt of her dress around her waist. I let my hand travel up her legs slowly, barely touching her yet making her shiver. I touched her through her panties, finding her wet and ready for me. “Liar,” I said, slipping her panties aside and feeling her deliciously wet cunt.

“What did I tell you?” I asked, slipping a finger inside her.

“Not to touch myself.”

“And what were you doing?”

“I just wanted to be ready for you,” she whined defensively, earning another slap. Her cunt clenched around my fingers and I slapped her a few more times to savor the feeling.

“You’re lying again. Why didn’t you kiss me if you really were preparing your cunt for me, huh?” I asked, wiping the slick from one pair of her lips on her other.

“I want you, but not like this…please. Please just shower. I hate the cigarette smell.”

“Oh?” I said, reaching into my pocket and retrieving my lighter and a cigarette from the pack I brought back from my trip. I forced the lighter into her hand and slipped the cigarette between my lips and gestured with my eyes to light it for me. When she hesitated, I squeezed her neck, reminding her of what I would do if she did not follow my orders.

My hand left her throat and took her hand, squeezing once again to check if she was okay with my demand. She had told me several times that it was unnecessary for me to check so frequently, that she would use her safeword if I happened to cross a line, but I needed to check for my own peace of mind. Especially with such extreme play. She quickly squeezed back before lighting my cigarette.

I sucked on it, blowing the smoke out without inhaling any. She wrinkled her nose and turned her head away from me. I grabbed her chin and forced her to look at me before blowing out more smoke in her face. “Do you have something to say?” I asked before slipping it back between my lips. I smirked down at her as she shook her head and gave me a drunken smile.

I unbuckled my belt with one hand and pulled it off my pants. I passed the metal end behind her neck and let the buckle rest on her throat before passing the other end through it, creating a makeshift collar and leash. I tightened it around her before pulling her along with me towards the sofa. I sat back comfortably as she kneeled at my feet, her eyes begging to be let go.

“Is my smoking such a turn off?” I asked after blowing a puff of smoke in her direction.

Her shoulders slumped and she shook her head.

“Good. Continue with what you were doing before I came home,” I said, finding her cunt with the tip of my shoe. “I want to see what’s so good about touching yourself when I explicitly forbid you.”

“Oppa…please,” she begged, her voice choking with emotion. “I’m sorry, I won’t do it again.”

“What are you so afraid of? I just want to know. Go on, fuck yourself for me.”

She reached under her skirt and touched herself. I would’ve made her move her skirt to display herself for me, but I liked this better. It retained some of her innocence. My pretty little wife, dress torn, tits out, my belt wrapped around her delicate neck as she touched herself for me to watch— what more could a man want…

“You know how many nights I spent wanking off to you in my room? Thinking about how my obedient wife was depriving herself when I was away? And here you were all along, touching yourself. Breaking the rules, disobeying me. I understand why you want to keep touching yourself. It’s such an agony for me to keep my hands off you. But at some point, you should learn that your cunt is not yours to touch.”

She nodded, her eyes focused on me as her hands went to work under her skirt. I pulled her up by the belt and blew the smoke in her direction. I smiled as she sobbed from the humiliation, her hand moving noticeably faster. More tears flooded out, ruining her mascara as they rolled down her cheeks in dark grey droplets.

She was so good for me, so fucking perfect. She was the intelligent doctor who saved lives, the sweet respectful girl I introduced to my family, the elegantly dressed lady when she accompanied me to work events, the sweet wife who texted me during a busy day at work, the cockslut who begged to be broken and fucked as I liked. She was everything in one diminutive package.

Normally, she would kick me out for smoking at home. But now, she was getting off to me blowing smoke in her face. Perfect package, indeed.

I freed her necklace from under my belt and took another look at my name on the pendant. Her friends thought it was the most romantic thing that I presented her with a pendant with my name on it. Each time they did, she was reminded of the actual reason she had it on— because I wanted anyone who looked at her to know who she belonged to. I wanted them to take a look at the hickeys she tried so hard to cover, look at my name around her neck and know to whom she afforded the privilege.

“God, I can fucking smell your desperate cunt. Says something about your little drama about hating it when I smoke. You love it, don’t you? You love it when I smoke around you.”

She whimpered a meek, “No.” I threw my head back in laughter at her defiance.

“Stubborn bitch,” I said, still smoking. I dropped the belt to the floor but kept my hold on it under my shoe. I used my free hand to grab her breast, and fondled it lazily. I blew one last cloud of smoke in her face before I inhaled the smoke fully. I took her free hand and placed it on my cock. The expert that she was, she wrapped her delicate hand around me, stroking so lightly that I wasn’t in danger of coming but with enough pressure for me to feel good. Her hand on my cock combined with the smoke in my lungs was enough to relax me.

I found my foot on uneven ground and looked down to see the marker we used for writing down our chores on the whiteboard. Grinning, I bend down to pick it up. A smile slowly built up on her lips as I uncapped the marker.

I pulled her closer and she closed her eyes, her knowing smile letting me know she had guessed exactly what was coming. I took the tip of the marker to her chest, enjoying as the ink glided over her beautiful skin to spell out ‘Sang-woo’s slut’. My name looked quite good on her breasts. I took to the other side and scribbled out ‘Disobedient Whore’, smiling as I admired my work.

I alternated between inhaling the smoke and exhaling into her face, taking a few pictures of her here and there to document how stunning she looked. Her moans grew louder as I showed her the pictures. Behind the last cloud of smoke, her face contorted in pleasure.

I put my cigarette out in the glass of water on the side table and pushed her to lie down. I spread her legs apart and hiked her skirt up before prying her hand off her cunt. She cried and tried to free her hand from my iron grip, but I did not relent. With my other hand, I touched her, feeling just how sopping wet she was before slapping her cunt. She yelped and closed her legs, locking her knees together to keep me from hitting her again. I forced her legs apart effortlessly. A few more slaps to the disobedient hole and her building orgasm crashed and ruined, giving her just a glimpse of what she could have had as it fizzled out into an unsatisfying end.

“Were you going to come? Were you going to come, breathing in the smoke I blew out?” I taunted, pinching her swollen clit between my thumb and index finger, making her kick her legs around in pain.

“Nooo!” She screamed as I pinched her again.

As I felt around under her skirt, my hand caught something unexpected and cold. I ran my fingers over it tentatively as I tried to discern just what it was. I pulled at it and she hissed through gritted teeth. “What a lovely surprise,” I drawled, leering at her.

“Please don’t,” she whimpered, clenching her ass as I tried to remove the plug.

“How can I not when you’ve prepared your holes so well for me, hmm?” I taunted, pushing and pulling the plug. We’d been dating only for a few months when we were talking about what we’d like in bed as we watched porn together. After some teasing and persuading, she buried her shy smile in my chest and mentioned that she was interested in anal. Her confession aroused me so much that I couldn’t resist breaking the law. I managed to sneak the buttplug into the country when I was coming back home from the US some years ago.

“Please…” she whimpered, her thighs still shaking from her ruined orgasm. “You can’t do this to me, please. I’m your wife…”

“Hmm, I am allowed to do this because you’re my wife.”

“Not now, please… Not like this. I’ll let you take me later, just not now.”

I snorted. “Let me? Who are you to let me?” I asked flipping her over and positioned her with her ass exposed to me. She wriggled out of my grasp and ran to our front door. I caught up to her and held her back by her leash.

“You‘re going to run away?” I mocked her with a pout and tugged my belt, letting it choke her. “Are you going to escape? Do you think someone will rescue the slut with her tits out for everyone to see? They might just take a piece of you for themselves. Will you go to the police? Complain about your husband? Do you think they’ll believe me, a respectable businessman or the wanton slut who has her ass plugged? And my name is right there on your body… They might just return you to me, ask me to take better care of my property.” I said as I moved my hands up the belt, pulling her closer the farther above I got. I uncapped the marker with my teeth and spat out the cap.

She slid down to the floor as she sobbed, hugging her knees to her chest and hiding her face from me. I didn’t like that… I wanted to see her tears, taste my victory in her submission. I forced her head up and her knees apart. She no longer resisted my touch, letting me move her around and expose her to my eyes. I took the marker to her skin again, writing, ‘If lost, return to Cho Sang-Woo- 011 246 7871’. I forced her up on her feet and unlocked the door. “You are free to go now,” I said, grabbing her by her once perfectly done hair as I opened the door. She hugged me in an attempt to keep herself inside the house as I pushed her out the door. I lifted her up as she accidentally stepped on the threshold. I wasn’t going to stop taking care of her even when pretending to kick her out of our home.

“Come on, get out. Didn’t you want to run?” I asked, tilting her chin up gently.

“I’m sorry,” she wailed, wrapping her legs around my waist. “I’m sorry! I’m so sorry— please! Please don’t do this to me.”

“Why not?” I asked, frowning. “Our neighbors would love to see you. I have seen a lot of them drool over you when you walk by. Don’t you always say we should be good neighbors? Let me take the first step, share my toy with them.”

“No, no,” she whimpered, dropping to her knees and hugging my legs. She looked up at me, her eyes begging for mercy. “Please, I beg of you. Please.”

“Aww, how adorable…” I cooed. “Alright then, get the plug out for me,” I said, patting her cheek in a condescending manner.

“No, please. I don’t want to,” she pouted through her tears.

“Aish! I gave you two options, both of which you were prepared for— one, staying put as I take your ass which your have so generously prepared for me. Or two, getting out, which you tried to do only seconds ago. But now you reject both. What am I supposed to do with you?”

“I can’t, please. It’ll hurt,” she mewled, shrinking into herself.

“It will hurt?” I gasped, tilting my head and placing a hand on my heart. “That is quite unfortunate. For you. I think I’ll quite enjoy it. Actually, no. It is very fortunate. I will enjoy it even more knowing that you’ll be in pain. Thank you for letting me know,” I said, pushing her to lie on the rug face-first. I looked down on her, stepping on her ass through her pure white dress as I reached into my pocket for another cigarette. I lit it myself this time and hummed in satisfaction as I felt a faint burn in my lungs from the smoke.

The delicious sound of her sobs accompanied by the nicotine sent a high through my body, making me feel euphoric. I thought she’d stop putting up a fight by now, but she continued wriggling under my shoe and begging to be let go. While I liked breaking her and putting her in her place, I liked it more when she fought uselessly as I took my pleasure from her unwilling body. I took two puffs of my cigarette before I unzipped my pants, freeing my painfully hard cock.

I knelt on the ground, her struggling body trapped between my legs. I squeezed her hand again. Just in case. Just for my own satisfaction. She squeezed back.

She relaxed as I gave her a comforting rub on her back. I pulled the buttplug out gently and it came out with a very faint wet sound that I wouldn’t have heard if she weren’t silent for me. Some of the lube she used to get it in leaked out and I managed to gather some of it, smearing it on my cock before I inserted the tip inside.

She breathed hard and loud in between her sobs. I pulled out, giving her time to adjust before pushing back in slowly. She inhaled sharply and put her hand up. I exhaled the smoke, put my cigarette back between my lips and took her hand.

“Hold me…please,” she whimpered. I obliged, intertwining our fingers. I plucked my cigarette out of my lips and put it out on her dress, making sure it was the floor on the other side and not her body.

“Yes…” I moaned as I felt her walls tightening around my cock as I pushed in and out. “You like that?”

“No!”

“Good.”

“Stop, please!”

“BEG ME,” I demanded, my nails digging into her plump ass.

“Please, I can’t! It hurts so bad. I— please Oppa, I’ll do anything. Anything but this! Let me go,” she cried, kicking her legs. I turned back swiftly and pushed the glass coffee table behind us out of the way in case she kicked it and hurt herself. I ran my fingers through her hair and pulled hard, making her scream between her sobs. She tightened around me, sending a ripple of pleasure throughout my body. I pulled again and again just to recreate that feeling.

“Good girl, good little fucktoy, cry for me,” I grunted, thrusting in.

She whimpered and whined pathetically into her hand, the muffled sounds encouraging me to thrust harder and faster. Her cries made my cock harder, made me want to hurt her more just for that hit of pleasure I got from her pain. Her sobs for mercy sent a rush of power through my veins.

I bit down on my lip as she clenched around my cock. Her thighs trembled and her cries grew more animalistic before she came down screaming my name. I lied on her, imposing the weight of my body on hers as I grunted into her ear.

“God, what a whore,” I blurted as I thrust in and out. “What kind of woman comes with a cock in her ass? Such a deceptive little bitch, walking around the streets like a good, respectable woman, pretending to be an innocent little thing,” I whispered into her ear as she stared mindlessly into the distance, her body still shivering from the effects of her orgasm. She pushed up against me and I lifted my body off of her for long enough to let her slip a finger inside her cunt.

A soft strangled sound escaped her. “I— I’m respectable! I don’t… I don't like this!”

“Stop lying to yourself. You just came for me. And you’re still touching yourself. A good woman likes to be taken gently on a bed. You like being thrown around and beaten and forced to debase yourself. You’re just a common whore in a pretty dress.”

“Fuuck!”

“What will people think of you when they—” I stopped to catch my breath. “What will they think of the whore who plugs her ass under her pretty lace dress?”

“Sang-Woo!” She mewled, sending ripples of pleasure through my body. Being much younger than I was, she rarely ever said my name. It was always a sweet ‘Oppa’ in front of others and ‘Yeobo’ when in the privacy of our home. Hearing my name from her lips was a rare blessing, a goddamn weapon that she knew how to wield against me.

More pliant from her recent orgasm, she tightened around me quickly, screaming my name again as she came.

My vision faded to black. A fire of desire pooled in my abdomen and muscles tensed up. I knew there was no way for me to stall, no way to extend the euphoria of being inside her as the world disappeared around me and there was just her, still moaning my name in her shaking voice. My lips cried out every expletive it knew as I hit the peak of pleasure and quickly came down, spilling inside her.

I nuzzled my face in her neck, breathing in the intoxicating smell of her perfume combined with our sweat and our lust. I placed a soft kiss on her jaw and she moaned in satisfaction.

I could hear her smile in her voice when she said, “Welcome home, Yeobo.”

I laughed and placed another kiss on her soft skin. “That was a warm welcome. A hot, tight, welcome,” I teased as I rolled off her. She shoved me and hid her face behind her hand, but I could see her shy smile between her fingers.

“I missed you so much.” I took her hand and placed gentle kisses on the back.

“I miss my dress more,” she said, sticking her tongue out at me.

“I’ll buy you a new one.”

“I don’t want a new one, I want this one.”

“Problem solved, you still have this one. You can wear it out for dinner with me this weekend,” I teased. She gasped, offended, before throwing her hands at me. I pretended to block them, but let her slap me as much as she wanted. They didn’t even hurt.

“About that kiss, Jagiya…” I trailed, leaning in. She grabbed my face and squished my cheeks together before pushing me away. I laughed. Still no kiss then. The woman just let me smoke all over her but wouldn’t give me a goddamn kiss.

“Go brush your teeth, steam engine,” she said, sticking her tongue out.

Fine, I’ll just work for it.

_______________________________________________________________________

Cho Sang-Woo Masterlist

Read my fics on AO3

Sang-Woo would (and does) kill for money and I would kill for comments and reblogs. Feed your local fanfic writer pls

#squid game #squid game fic #cho sang woo #cho sang woo fanfic #cho sang woo x reader #cho sangwoo x reader #cho sang woo x ofc #cho sang woo x you #smoker’s heart

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mcheang · 4 years ago

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@pendoodlex Do an Adrien Salt where Lila lies about Chat Noir and Ladybug being in a relationship and Adrien confirms the lie.

It’s my love life!

It’s easy to lie about stuff people want to hear. Alya was greedy for any gossip about Ladybug and loved support for her theories on Ladybug.

Recently they debated on Ladybug’s true age. Was she an immortal with teenage hormones and atttiude? Or simply a teenager?

Now they were on to Ladybug’s love life.

Lila: Of course LadyNoir is a thing. Ladybug just denies it because she doesn’t want to give Hawkmoth any more reason to target Chat Noir, but it’s obvious how much they care for each other.

Alya: Yes! A witness to Ladynoir!

Marinette: a lying witness

Nathaniel frowned. “I don’t know, Lila…”

Before Lila could insist she was correct, Adrien actually jumped in. “It’s true. Ladybug and Chat Noir are a couple. Sorry, Nathaniel, but she’s off the market.”

Marinette froze. Did Adrien just lie to Nathaniel about her love life? Just so no one would interfere with their beloved Ladynoir fandom?

WTH???

Overwhelmed by her hurt and rage, Marinette actually grabbed Adrien’s hand and dragged him out of the classroom, her face burning red.

Some assumed she was trying out another one of her confession schemes. Lila thought Marinette was going to tell Adrien she was a liar (eh, he already knew.)

In a far off corner, Marinette was whisper-yelling at Adrien. “What are you thinking? It’s one thing to ignore Lila’s lies, it’s another to endorse them! LadyNoir is not real!”

Thinking that Marinette still had a crush on Chat Noir, Adrien winced and rubbed his head. “I’m sorry, Marinette. But it’s true. Ladybug and Chat Noir are a couple.”

“No, they are not! Where’s your proof?“ She demanded.

Adrien thought quickly. “I saw them kissing on a rooftop last week.”

Marinette raised a brow. “Are you sure you weren’t just dreaming?” Her voice was heavy with skepticism.

Adrien: Positive.

Marinette: Well, I’m not sorry to say that you’re wrong. Ladybug and Chat Noir are not a couple.

Adrien: and how are you so sure? Just because you have a crush on Chat-

Marinette: Because Ladybug visited me after my dad was akumatized!

Adrien:…what?

Marinette took a deep breath. She hated lying but she also couldn’t stand lies about her.

“Ladybug consoled me after Chat rejected me. She reminded me about the other great boys in my life and ones I have yet to meet. And I asked her why she wouldn’t date Chat. Do you know what she told me?”

Adrien was quiet.

“She said she was in love with a boy from her own civilian life, not Chat Noir. To be honest, he’s not even her type.”

Adrien perked up. “Ladybug has a type?”

Marinette: Obviously. From what I hear, she’s more into the sensitive soul kind of guy.

Adrien: Chat is sensitive!

Marinette just stared at her crush in disbelief. “Um, yeah, no. The dude sulks whenever he gets rejected and has no idea what no means. For crying out loud, he gave me a pink rose before dumping me, and that was after he ate the treats my dad baked for him.”

Adrien: For someone with a crush on the hero, you sure sound bitter.

Marinette exhaled again, calming herself. “I’m not bitter. I’ve moved on, truly. Enough to see what Ladybug meant when she said I’ll move on soon enough. I’m over Chat.“

Adrien raise his brows.

Marinette continued, “I’ve been able to analyse his actions without the hero-crush filters. Be honest, Adrien, how would you feel at having to constantly reject the same person over and over again? Wouldn’t you be annoyed by their repeated flirtations?”

Adrien shrugged. “I reject fans all the time. Well, not exactly. I just ignore their love letters.“

Marinette shook her head. “That doesn’t count. You don’t know those people. Let’s say Chloe was going to confess her love to you every day. And you have to reject her every day. When you reject her, she raises a fuss and causes an akuma. How would you feel about your childhood friend?”

Adrien grimaced. “That would suck. I would avoid Chloe just to avoid her confessions.”

Marinette raised her hand, like there you go. Point proven.

Adrien wasn’t done. “But,” he insisted stubbornly, “it’s different for LadyNoir. They’re partners. Yin and Yang. A superhero duo. Who else is she going to end up with if not her partner? These kinds of pairings always win in the end.”

Marinette: that’s just sad. You’re comparing Ladybug’s love life to fiction. Life isn’t a fairy tale, Adrien. you don’t decide who Ladybug ends up with, and it’s not right for you to lie about her either.

Adrien: LadyNoir will happen. I’m sure of it.

Marinette: You’re not even going to take back that lie, are you?

Adrien: Why would I? It’s going to be fact.

Marinette said sadly, “Goodbye, Adrien.”

After school, Marinette tore down her posters of Adrien. Filters removed, indeed.

Tikki: Don’t worry, Marinette. I’m sure things will come right in the end.

Marinette: that doesn’t mean I can’t help set things back in order. Tikki, spots on!

Alya turned around at a tapping on her window.

Alya: Ladybug!

Ladybug: Hey, Alya. Listen, I’ve been reading your blog, and I need to set some facts straight.

Alya: Is this about revealing your love life? Because honestly, it would be better to be honest about your love life than to let others hope they have a shot with you. Remember Copycat?

Ladybug: That’s my point. I’m not dating Chat Noir. I don’t even like him that way. Lila has been lying to you, Alya.

Alya: Um, she’s your Best Friend…

Ladybug: When did I ever say that?

Alya:…….. ……….Why didn’t you correct me before today, then?

Ladybug sighed. “Because i had called her out in front of Adrien, and she got akumatized. And when she disappeared for a while, I figured there was no need to bring her up.“

Alya: Hold on. Adrien knew Lila was lying?

Ladybug: Yes. Though I’m sure he must have his own reasons for protecting Lila. But back to my point. I am not dating Chat Noir, and I am not interested in him like that. My love life is mine to decide, not for others to insist on just because they prefer me with Chat. How would you like it if Parisians started pairing you with Pegasus or Monkey King instead of Carapace? With them insisting you break up with Nino just to be with someone they chose for you?”

“That would be annoying,“ admitted Alya. “And invasive.”

Ladybug: I want to do a live interview, to clear the matter up once and for all.

In this interview, Ladybug was professional and succinct as she stated she doesn’t know Lila Rossi and she is not in a relationship with Chat. She doesn’t want to hurt her fans, but her love life is for her to handle.

Unable to help herself, Alya asked, “If you don’t like Chat, who do you like? You don’t have to give any names, but just one little tidbit, please?”

Eh, why not?

Ladybug leaned back on her hands and smiled, her eyes going faraway and dreamy. “Mature. That’s all I’ll say.”

After all, Luka had always supported her crush on Adrien. He never pushed her, but was always there for her. Why didn’t she how good he was? Oh right, Adrien filters.

Lila was fuming. How could she show her face again? Where was an akuma when you wanted one?

The akuma was drawn to a LadyNoir fanatic.

Fight fight fight. Chat was noticeably sulky at having been rejected on air.

When Alya came over to interview, he insisted he would not give up on Ladybug. Alya raised her brows, “Yeah that’s fine. But just don’t be pushy about it. And from your attitude earlier during the battle, I don’t think you fit Ladybug’s ideal criteria.”

Chat flushed and turned away, using his baton to propel himself home.

At school, Lila was playing truant, and Alya was grilling Adrien for keeping quiet.

Adrien: her lies weren’t hurting anyone!

Alya: I’m taking into account your isolated childhood, so let me just say, lies are hurtful. And it’s not right to encourage and spread her lies either.

Adrien: LadyNoir has to happen!

Nino shook his head in disgust. “You sound like that akuma last night. Ladybug has the right to decide who she wants to be with. If you ship LadyNoir, that’s fine. But you shouldn’t let it get this far to decide for Ladybug who she ends up with.”

Alya sighed, “Let’s blame Gabriel for this and hope Adrien can still be saved.”

Alya also understood when Marinette gave up on Adrien after seeing his behavior. She was interested in Luka but decided to wait because she didn’t want him to be a rebound guy.

Anyway, Adrien learned to keep his opinions to himself when all they got him was disapproval.

Ladybug’s interview caused the Parisians to question if the Italian diplomat should even still be in Paris if her daughter likes to spout lies about their heroine. How could she let her own daughter lie about stuff like that? It was enough that Mrs Rossi was questioned at work and her ignorance unveiled.

Yeah, Mrs Rossi would be lucky to keep her job after this but it was suggested Lila be sent outside Paris since she would certainly be unhappy with her new pariah status. Lila was sent to a correctional facility where no one was charmed by her falsehoods. Hell, she couldn’t even contact her mother because she was even busier trying to make amends.

When Ladybug finally told Chat she was happily in a relationship with her new boyfriend, he was sulky. Oh sure, he continued to fight alongside Ladybug but he was hopeful that she would break up with her boyfriend.

Plagg: that’s a horrible reaction. Can’t you just be happy for Ladybug?

Adrien: love is irrational and can’t be reasoned with, Plagg.

Plagg: then can you at least be polite and respectful to Ladybug’s wishes that you stop flirting with her?

Adrien: fine. Being Chat Noir was a chance to finally express myself, though.

Plagg: there’s a difference between freedom of expression and being rude/disrespectful/obnoxious

Adrien tried to date Kagami, but she broke up with him. There was no point in continuing the relationship when Adrien was so fixed on Ladybug.

I’m gonna leave this open ended. Any ideas how you would end this story?

#miraculous ladybug fanfic #miraculous ladybug fic #ml fanfic #ml fanfiction #ml fic #miraculous ladybug fanfiction #ml salt fic #Adrien salt #Lila is exposed #Lila gets exposed #post-Chameleon #Marinette x Luka

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