#i used to be the first to know and telling everyone

[darkbluekies]

Til death do us part

Yandere!mafia oc x reader

Summary: A summer romance turns dark as Silas can't accept that you've married someone else

Warnings: kidnapping, murder, blackmail, threats, Silas belittling darling, violence, isolation, jealousy, possessiveness

Word count: 5k

He’s everything you could have ever wanted. He’s sweet, caring and works at a bank. He can provide for you. He’s from a good family. Everything about him is perfect, everything you could ever have dreamt of. You could never have imagined that you would find a man like him after what happened last summer. 

You had met a man on the way home from dinner with a friend, someone that had helped you after the grocery bag you had bought food in on the way home. He had introduced himself as ‘Silas’ and had walked you home, carrying the groceries for you. You had thanked him. Silas had asked if you wanted to meet for coffee sometime, and you had agreed, innocently thinking nothing of it. You had gone out with him multiple times. Never actually becoming a couple, but acting like it. It was harmless, you thought. You kissed, went on dates and you knew that if things continued like this, you’d fall for him. 

But you noticed that something was weird about him, and it made you feel cautious in his presence. He never told you anything about his life and when you asked, you noticed that something shifted in his dark eyes. As if he tried to come up with a lie. It creeped you out somehow, because why couldn’t he tell you? Maybe you shouldn’t have trusted a man who tried to cover up his tattoos.

You finally got to know the truth at the end of the summer. A friend who had seen the two of you together had recognised him from a newspaper. He was a criminal, a leader of a mob, who was more dangerous than you could have anticipated. You had cut contact with him and moved away so that he wouldn’t be able to find you again. 

But he did. Somehow, he did. 

Letters have been piling up in your mailbox during these last few weeks, addressed to you and written in red ink. Your heart had stopped when you read the first one. 

“Y/N, I’ve missed you. I’ve missed you so terribly much. My heart bleeds and aches for you. You left me because you were scared. I get that. I get that very well, this is a world you should be afraid of, but I will protect you. I will take care of you better than that man ever could. Yeah, I know that you’ve found someone new. I know that you’re planning to get married. Quite quick, don’t you think? You haven’t known him that long, and now you’re getting married? Silly Y/N, you’re so cute. Do you really think you love him? Are you trying to reassure yourself that I’m a part of your past that will never return? Or are you trying to make everyone around you believe that you’ve gotten over me and moved on? I know you still think of me. I know you want me. And I want you too. I have never wanted someone other than you. You and me are meant for each other. Don’t marry him. Come back to me. It’s you and me til the end.”

You hadn’t shown your fiance, but he had noticed that something had been wrong with you. You had become silent and distant. Letter after letter came to your mailbox and he realized that something serious had happened. You had no choice but to tell him about Silas and your past with him, the present he doesn’t want to let go of, and the future he demands. Your fiance had promised that he wouldn’t get to you, and that he was only trying to scare you. 

You had been expecting to see Silas at your wedding, but he wasn’t there—or at least you didn’t catch a glimpse of him. Maybe your husband was right? Maybe he was just trying to scare you?

The start of the honeymoon is set to be on the SS Anastasia, a proud liner with three yellow funnels, a solid superstructure and a great reputation. It is set to take the two of you to Spain, where you have decided to have the rest of your honeymoon, away from all eyes and to be with no one but each other. 

A steward welcomes you on board. You thank him and give him a smile. He lets you know that your luggage, which you left down at the terminal, will be delivered straight to your cabin, a suite in first class. Only the best for the newlywed couple.

“I’m so excited to see the room”, you admit as the two of you navigate the ship to find the mani staircase. 

“The agent said that it would be nice”, your husband replies and chuckles. “Now, if we only could find it …”

You laugh. It takes you nearly ten minutes to find the right door among mazes of identical white doors. The suite is divided into three rooms: a bedroom, a sitting room and a bathroom, all decorated with expensive materials and fashionable colors. Polished dark wood and electric lights. 

“This is so nice”, your husband smiles, letting his eyes wander around. “I think we’ll have a good time here.”

You hug him and he chuckles, hugging you back. 

“I can’t believe I married you”, he says. 

Me neither, you think. 

Your mind drifts back to Silas and you feel your heart sink down to your stomach. You won’t be able to relax until you know that the ship has left harbour. There’s a constant, heavy feeling in your chest that you can’t explain. But you tell yourself that it’s just that; a feeling. Nothing more than old worries that haven’t been able to come up to the surface before now. You squeeze the man tighter, sighing out. You’re going to be okay. You’re going to be safe. 

You have been promised a fantastic dinner, and the food delivers to your expectations. Everything is tasting like gold, served on a silverplatter. Sitting in the first class dining hall has given you an excuse to dress up. Everyone around is wearing their best clothes, and it is a silent competition in who looks the best. You look around, discreetly admiring everyone else’s attention to detail. You wonder how many of them have spent the entire day in their cabin, doing everything to look their absolutely best. The first night is usually relaxed, but a first time impression will always be remembered. 

“What would you like to do after?” your husband asks and sips on his wine. 

“I think I need to take a walk”, you joke. 

“Oh, yes, the night sky must be so beautiful out on deck. I reckon that you’ll be able to see the stars much easier out here. No city pollution.”

You walk hand in hand down the promenade, looking up at the starry night sky, pointing at familiar shapes. 

The next morning, after breakfast, the two of you walk to the lounge, deciding to take a calm day. Well deserved after planning a wedding and executing it. The lounge is cozy, reminding you of a simple living room rather than a first class room on an oceanliner. Maybe to make the passengers feel more at home.

Your husband takes the opportunity to indulge in a newspaper, finally having the time to sit down and actually read it.

You let your eyes wander around the large lounge, enjoying to admire the small details that give the room it’s cozy feel. But the feeling is quickly switched once your eyes land on someone. A man sitting in an armchair on the other side of the lounge, dark eyes feasted onto you, a small smirk playing at his lips when he notices you noticing him. You can feel your body go numb, feel yourself sink through your armchair, through the floor and through the ship’s metal. Feel yourself sink down to the bottom of the pitch black ocean. You forget how to breathe, head going blank. 

He found you.

You glance towards your husband who’s still invested in today’s news. Silas raises his eyebrows testingly as you look back at him, as if to say “yes, I’ve noticed him, you think he compares to me?”. 

Suddenly the air in the lounge seem to lose all oxygen. You need air, or else you will faint. 

“I-I have to get some fresh air”, you hear yourself mumble. 

“Are you okay?” your husband asks and looks up from his newspaper, eyes full of worry. 

“Yes—”

“Do you want me to come with you?”

“N-No, I’ll be fine, I’ll be back soon.”

You need to get away. 

You hurry out of the lounge and out onto the enclosed promenade. The fresh air hits your face harshly. You grab onto the wall to support yourself while trying to find a way to breathe that doesn’t feel like needles poking through your throat. 

“You thought I wouldn’t find you?” 

You feel your heart stop. Quickly, you spin around, seeing his face way too close to yours. He tilts it, almost mockingly. You back away, stumbling over your feet and hitting your shoulder against the wall. Silas corners you, stopping you from escaping. 

“What do you want?” you breathe out shakingly. 

“Didn’t you get my letters?” he asks. “Or did you simply not read them?”

“Leave me alone. I-I’m married now.”

He smirks, tilting his head back and putting his hands into the back pockets of his suit pants.

“Indeed, you are”, he says and sighs out. “But do you really think that’s real?”

“What do you mean?” you almost stutter. 

Silas meets your eyes. He’s smiling. 

“Don’t you think I could have taken you whenever I wanted?” he asks. “The only reason you were able to marry that boring son of a bitch is because I let you. But, in the end, you belong to me. Isn’t that right?”

You don’t answer. You turn your head away, look out over the endless sea, and feel your eyes fill with tears. He wipes your tears with his thumb and you push his hand away. 

“I don’t”, you say, wondering where you have gotten the sudden bravery from. “I don’t belong to you. I belong to him.”

You show him the ring on your finger. Silas clenches his jaw and grabs a hold of that hand, forcing it closer. He pulls of the golden ring, scoffs at it and throws it overboard. You gasp and try to run forward, hoping to catch it before it falls too far, but he pushes you back against the wall. 

“Don’t ever say that again”, he warns you. “You don’t belong to him, how could you? I met you first. I claimed you first. He will have my seconds. Everything you do to him, you’ve done to me first. And he will never do anything as good as I did.”

“I left you because of this!” you hiss, reminding him. 

“No, you left me because you were scared. You don’t understand that you are in more danger if you aren’t with me. I’m the only one that can protect you. I didn’t want you to know about it because I know you’d be scared, but—”, he cups your cheeks, forcing you to look at him, “—but I won’t hurt you. You’re so special to me. I love you so much. You did read my letters, I can see it in your eyes. You know how much I love you.”

“Let me go”, you plead. 

“No. It’s you and I til the end, don’t you remember? I’m not letting you go again. I’ve been letting you have your fun for too long now. It’s about time I take you back. I’m not going to hurt you.”

“Don’t hurt him either.”

You can see his eyes darken, his jaw clench. “You decide if it’s going to be violent or not.”

You freeze in his hold. 

“You can choose to come back to me, quietly and easy”, Silas starts and caresses your cheek. “We will be happy and your boy will be left alone.” He traces your jaw with his finger. “Or … you reject me and I take out my competition and take you with me once we reach Spain. No one will see you again.”

He seems to tell that you’ve stopped breathing, because he sits you down on one of the sun chairs and massage your throat. Your eyes are stuck onto nothing, empty. 

“I will give you until nine”, he whispers in your ear. “If you’re not outside my cabin at nine, A-30, knocking on my door, I will kill him.”

“You’re a liar”, you breathe out, voice barely audible. “You’ll kill him either way …”

Silas shrugs simply. “Maybe, but don’t you want to take your chances? You might save him.”

Silas stands up. You sit frozen. 

“Oh, and Y/N?” he says as if remembering something and looks down at you. “If I were you I wouldn’t tell anyone. You know, for obvious reasons.” 

He gives you a small, teasing smile before walking back inside. You sit still, not daring to move. Worried that if you move you’ll break down and realise what’s going on. You can feel your heart pound in your ears. No. No, this can’t be happening.

“What are you doing out here?” you hear a familiar voice ask. “You’re going to get sick!”

You feel your husband hang his blazer over your shoulders. The warmth, the familiar scent from him makes your heart hang heavy in your chest. You can’t help but feel like you’ve betrayed him, as if you’ve cheated your relationship, thanks to Silas’s threat. But if you cheat on it, you might save the love of your life. Can you cancel out a bad thing with a bad thing? Is it really a bad thing then? Can you be excused? 

You can’t tell him about it, but if you did, would he understand you?

“You don’t look well, actually”, he says and helps you stand. “You’ve probably already gotten sick. You should go lay down and rest.”

He helps you, slow and steady, to your suite. You lay down in bed and he tucks you in. 

“Should we ring for a steward?” he asks worriedly. “Ask for some tea and some medicine?”

“No, I’m fine”, you reassure him dimly. “I just need to be alone.”

“I’m worried about you. Something happened to you. I can help you.”

No, you can’t.

“Do you want to be left alone?” he asks. 

What if he gets killed?

“No, stay in here”, you wish. 

He nods. You hold his hand as you lay with your eyes closed, trying to think of what to do. He was clear; whatever you do, you’ll end up with Silas. The only thing you can choose—maybe—is to save the man holding your hand and whispering reassurance to you. The nicest you can do, in this situation, is to give in and beg Silas to leave him alone. You can’t be prideful and let him kill him. 

You find yourself outside cabin A-30 with your head spinning. You don’t want to do this, but what choice do you have? Your first is heavy when you lift it to knock, the sound of your knuckles hitting the polished wood seeming to echo throughout the entire ship. You can hear his footsteps on the other side and see him tower over you when he opens the door. His smirk sends a wave of nausea over you. 

“So, you came in the end”, he says cockily. “Good girl/boy.”

You lower your eyes to the floor. Silas steps aside and gestures for you to walk in. You do, on heavy, unresponsive legs. He closes the door behind you, locking it. You gulp. He lingers around you like a snake and you wait for him to put his fangs into your neck and shoot his venom into you. 

“You should rest”, Silas says softly and wraps his arms around you from behind, resting his chin on your shoulder. “Let’s go to sleep.”

He leads you to the bed and lays you down, lying down behind you. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t do anything that could scare you. You try to keep it in, but your body fails you. Sobs, quiet at first, leave your body. Tears run down your face. You hold your hand over your mouth, but Silas is close enough to hear you. He hugs you carefully and you can feel him rest his face into your shoulder. 

“There’s no need to worry”, he whispers. “You're back where you belong.”

It only makes you worry more.

“Your crying makes me so sad”, Silas whispers. “Everything will be okay, little thing. You're back now.”

You don't fall asleep that night, and you're sure Silas doesn't either. His grip on you remains tight and controlling, showing no sign of drowsiness.

The sun rises outside the porthole, and you're as wide awake as ever. Silas gets out of bed and starts to dress for the day. You remain in bed, feeling too empty to move. Your eyes fall onto the tattoos on his back and arms, wondering where he got them and what they represented. But something in you tells you that you don’t want to know.

“My darling”, Silas sighs and crouches down in front of the bed, caressing your face. “You don’t need to look so sad. You and me will have fun. We can do more than you ever could with that boy of yours could. My credit card never declines.”

“What are you talking about?” you ask, frowning. 

“Oh? You didn't know?” His cocky face is getting on your nerves. “My men did some digging into him, and it seems like he spent a fortune on this honeymoon of yours. Barely anything left in his bank account. Poor thing was really trying to impress you, but the illusion would be all gone once you came back home. I, on the other hand, have all the money in the world.”

“Your money’s dirty.”

“Money’s money. I could launder it, and it’d be clean, but you wouldn’t accept it anyway. Which is why you’ll never get money from me. You’ll get jewelry, food, clothes—anything you want—and all you need to do in return is submit yourself to me.”

You sigh and look away. 

“We don’t have to talk about this now”, Silas says and stands up. “But you will submit to me, I know you will. Get dressed now, my love, we’re going to eat breakfast.”

Food is the last thing you want right now. 

“I’m not hungry”, you say. 

“Do you want to stay in?” he asks. “I can go get you breakfast that you can eat later.”

You nod, whatever will make him leave you alone for a while. Silas gives you a comforting smile and pets your head before leaving the cabin. You take the time to cry, when you know that he can’t see you, planning to stop before he returns, but failing. 

“Crying when you think I won’t notice?” he asks and scoffs, just a little bit amused. “Do you think I wouldn’t notice?”

He sets down a tray on the table in the room and walks over to the bed, crouching down and wiping your tears. 

“You’re mine”, he says. “Crying about that boy won’t change that fact.”

You don’t answer.

“Will I have to stay in here the entire time?” you ask coldly.

“No”, he says. “Not all the time, but if you want to leave the cabin, you will be by my side. If I were you, I wouldn't try to run away from me or try to tell anyone, because the ship is filled with my men. You don’t know who they are, and they won’t bother you if you behave, but the second I tell them to keep an eye out for you, they will.”

You glare at him.

“But you wouldn’t do that, would you?” Silas asks. 

“And then what?” you counter. “When we're in Spain?”

“Oh, we're not staying there. I'm not allowed there. My second in command is waiting for us there and will take us back to America as soon as we arrive.”

Oh …

“I don’t want to go back. Not with you.”

“Well, life's not fair, little thing. You should eat now. I got you all the things you told me that you liked.”

He takes you to the table in the cabin and starts to feed you the bread, the coffee and fruit. You eat, just you comply, too tired to fight with him. Fighting with a wall would be easier. A wall wouldn't talk back. A wall wouldn't threaten you.

“See how much easier it is when you obey?” Silas says.

You give him a quick gaze. He traces your cheek with his fingers. 

“I look so much forward to having you all to myself”, he mumbled. 

His words send icy shivers down your back. 

You stay in the cabin the coming day. You wonder what your real husband is thinking of your disappearance. Sure that Silas has already done something to make him stay away … or worse.

“You're so down, baby”, Silas says. “How about we do something, hm? We have a whole ship to our amusement. There is a game room, a pool, a library, and a squash court. How about that? Why don't we play some squash?”

You nod, just to get out of the cabin. Maybe you can figure something out. Maybe you can hide.

“That's my boy/girl”, Silas says and takes your hand. “Let's go.”

Walking out with him, hand in hand, made you feel horrible. He looked so proud, so cocky. 

He took you down to the squash court. He picked up a racquet and bounced a few balls. 

“I hope you know the rules”, Silas said with a chuckle. “Or else I will win.”

A man came into the squash court. Silas gave the man a quick, stern look before glancing towards you, and then back at him. This is one of his men, you figure. 

“Give me a second, darling”, he says and takes the man aside. 

They turn their backs to you, whispering. You glance towards the door. As they mumble about something incoherent, you sneak towards the door, opening it silently and sneaking out. You run, but only get a few meters before a hand rips you back. 

“Where do you think you're going?” Silas hisses in your ear.

He slams a hand over your mouth to prevent you from making any sounds and almost you back to the squash court. 

“I apologize”, he mutters to his man. “Seems like my baby here can't behave.”

He holds your back firmly against his chest, hand resting securely over your mouth. “They'll learn soon enough, once they learn the consequences.”

You fight against him, but he doesn't budge.

“Stop fighting”, Silas hisses and turns to his man. “I'm sure it won't happen again, ill make sure it won't, but can you tell the others to keep an eye out for this disobedient little shit? If you ever see them wander around alone, you get me immediately. Leave us now, I need to lecture them.”

The man nods, bows slightly and leaves the squash court. Silas lets you go and you back away from him, but he's quick to corner you.

“You don't get it, do you?” he asks, and sounds a tad bit amused. “You can't escape me. And, come on, trying to do that on a ship? I really thought you were smarter than that. Where would you go? The only place you could flee would be to jump overboard. But you're stupid, not suicidal. And now, all my men keep an eye out. Just accept that your place is here, with me.”

“I want my fucking husband!” you scream. “You aren't my husband, you're a low life criminal!”

Silas’s eyes darken.

“Okay then”, he says, slowly. “If you want him so badly, go look for him. Go find him. If you do, I'll let you go with him. If not, you're mine.”

“Your men will take me back to you.”

“I'll tell them to leave you as long as you don't talk to anyone. Search everywhere. Go to the lower classes, for all I care.”

“What have you done to him?”

He smiles slightly, but it's not one out of genuine happiness, but of mockery. “Do you really want to know?”

You turn around and leave. He follows you. You barely have time to walk down the corridor before a man takes a hold of your arm. A different man from before.

“You're not supposed to walk around”, he says.

“It's okay”, Silas says a few steps behind you.

He wears his chin high, a smirk on his face and his hands in his front pockets. You rip your arm from the strange man's hold.

“My baby is using their brain”, Silas says and reaches the two of you. “We'll see where that gets them. Keep an eye so that they don't talk to anyone. We don't want to encourage talking to strangers, now do we, little thing?”

You glare at him.

“Go, then”, Silas says. “What are you waiting for?”

You don't like how he's changed. Just five minutes earlier he was set on making sure you wouldn't wander … and now he encourages it. Something has happened to your husband and you want to find him as quickly as possible.

You walk away, leaving Silas and his man in the corridor outside the squash court. You're not sure where to start. As soon as you get out of their sight, you stop and sink down alongside the wall. Needing to just catch your breath.

But you don't linger too long. Before you change your mind, you stand up and start to walk. You end up walking back and forth for hours, sure that every eye that lands on you is a member of Silas’s organization, someone being paid to make sure you obey.

You search every little corner on the ship, but your husband is nowhere to be seen. Your suite is empty, but there are signs of struggle. A glass lying on the floor, more than one person's shoe marks on the carpet. You walk over to his suitcase and take out one of his shirts. Crying as you hold it.

“Any luck?” you suddenly hear him say.

Your blurry eyes dart to the open door, seeing him lean against the frame with his arms crossed over his chest. He looks so nonchalant, so careless. How can he?

“There are words for people like you”, you sniffle with a voice draped in hate. “Did you know that?”

“What word?”

“Inhuman.”

Silas scoffs out a small smile. “If only you were as smart with thinking as you were with words, you’d have figured it out by now.”

“What?”

“You haven’t found him anywhere on the ship, and you’ve been looking for hours.”

He doesn’t have to remind you. Your aching feet is enough to make you feel your loss.

“What did you do to him?” you ask weakly.

“I have already told you, if you listened to me, you’d figured it out earlier. I said that there is only one way to escape me.”

Your eyes widen as you dart your eyes to the round porthole. 

“Atta girl/boy”, Silas says, voice smooth as honey as he walks over to you.

“Y-You … y-you …”

“Don’t look at me. I didn’t do it.”

“You ordered it.”

“Are we back to the ‘dirty money’ thing again? Does it matter if I gave the instructions or not? It happened, and even if I said I gave the instructions, you wouldn’t take it.”

You hang your head heavy in your hands, crying. Silas hugs you and you try to fight back, but he doesn’t let you go. He holds you tightly, his rough hands keeping you against his body. 

“Now that he’s gone, you have no other choice than to accept me whole heartedly”, he whispers in your ear. “You have no one else. Only me. Until the end of time, til death do us part.”

You sob in his hold, wanting nothing more than to escape. You manage to glance towards the porthole. 

Silas holds your hand in a tight, painful grip as you walk off the ship, surrounded by a few of his men. People on the dock cheer and welcome their loved ones, but you’re pulled right through the crowd. You can’t hear any of them, your own sorrow drowning out all sounds of happiness. Silas takes you over to a car. A black haired man leans against it, but stands straight when he sees Silas. His second in command. 

“Boss, there you are”, he says with a small smile. “Did you have a good voyage?”

Silas lifts your tightly intertwined hands with a smirk on his face. “What do you think?”

The second in command looks at you up and down and smirks. “Congratulations.”

“I wish we could stay here but if the cops get me I’ll be in trouble”, Silas says and pulls you close. “Let’s go to the yacht before we’re noticed.”

He helps you into the automobile and you’re off, on the way to the ship that will take you back to America. Tears run down your face silently. You shut them, trying to imagine yourself in another place, somewhere far away from Silas and his evil entourage. Somewhere where you had never crossed paths with him. Somewhere where things had turned out different. A bump in the road forces your eyes open again and you’re pulled back into the car that will take you straight to your own personalized hell, with a man who is ready to kill for you. You wish you had never allowed him to carry your groceries. 

[rafesangelita]

♡ first encounter with sheriff!rafe

warnings: implied age gap (a pretty big one pls scroll if it’s not your thing), arguing, slut shaming, descriptions of mild injuries, excessive use of force, tending to wounds, flirty banter, rafe defends you, very slight fluff, mild humor, kissing

a/n: read more fics with sheriff!rafe here <3

wc: 2.1k

rafe couldn’t wait to get home already. after a long day of bullshit patrolling and knocking out a stack of paperwork as high as his waist, all he could think about was cracking open a cold beer and searing a steak for dinner while he watched football highlights on his poor excuse of a tv. he lived a relatively quiet life. having been the head deputy of his department for the last decade, everyone in town knew who he was and vice versa.

the town was so small, there really wasn’t any room for crime to actually take place. the line never rang for anything else except a few noise complaints, petty theft, and drunken fights breaking out at the local bar. there was nothing profoundly exciting about his job, or life for that matter; until one fated night sheriff thornton was dragging you into the station. you were cussing at topper, calling him every name in the book as he basically threw you into a holding cell.

you yelped, glaring at topper from under your lashes. “fuck you! you have the dumbest haircut i’ve ever seen, asshole!” rafe lifted his head once he heard the commotion, his eyes finding you in an instant. topper snorted, leaning down so he was in your face. “yeah? well you’re the one in high heels and knee high socks with your tits hanging out, you’re the sluttiest thing i’ve seen since i first got my hands on a playboy magazine.” he scoffed, walking off before you could rebuttal.

rafe heard every single word that topper told you, his chest growing hot as he shook his head. although he didn’t know what you were arrested for, he didn’t think anyone, let alone topper, had the right to tell you any of those things. as soon as topper was out of sight, rafe watched the way you looked down at your lap, a small pout forming on your lips as you felt exposed. you wore a mini skirt and tube top thinking you’d be spending your night at a party, not in a fucking sheriff station.

your arms were scratched up from when topper had you pinned down in the rubble just outside of the abandoned house where jj maybank’s kegger took place. he had a knee pressing down into your back and you still manged to slip out from under him, his grip on your shirt finally giving him the opportunity to cuff your wrists. you scanned the room, everyone’s eyes practically glued to your nearly naked form. rafe included.

he watched you shudder, cursing under his breath once he realized he couldn’t stand to look at you for another second without doing something. “thornton.” rafe got up from his seat, motioning towards his office. “what is she in here for?” topper glanced over at you, a laugh falling from his lips. “resisting arrest, and assault to a police officer.” rafe’s eyebrows knitted in confusion as he gave topper a once over. “assault on an officer? you look fine to me.”

“oh, not me, ‘kelce is the one with the icepack on his cheek.” rafe looked past the sheriff in front of him, an amused smile gracing his lips once he saw kelce walk out of the back with a bag full of ice. “send her in here.” was all he said before taking a seat behind his desk. rafe gritted his teeth when he saw the way topper yanked you up like rag doll, the force making you trip over your feet. you pulled away from topper the second you got into rafe’s office, the man in front of you clenching his fists at his sides. “shut the door.”

you stood there until you heard the click of the lock, your cheeks heating once you saw rafe’s eyes raking down your figure. “what happened to your arms?” he walked over and closed the blinds before taking the master key from his belt loop. “ask sheriff thornton.” you scoffed. rafe grumbled something under his breath before he moved the chair out in the corner of the room for you to sit. “if i uncuff you are you going to slug me like poor kelce out there?”

the corner of rafe’s lips twitched when he heard your laugh, the sound making something stir in his chest. “if you don’t give me shit about my outfit, no.” rafe nodded, deciding you were pretty much harmless against him if you decided to act out again. “speaking of that..” rafe unlocked the cuffs, stepping away from you so he could grab the large leather jacket that hung on the back of his chair. “i’m gonna turn around so you could fix yourself up a little bit.”

you blinked, looking around even though you two were concealed from everyone’s view. pulling up the neck line of your top, you quickly fixed your skirt so the soft curves of your ass weren’t peeking out from under the hem anymore. “you done?” you hummed, accepting the comically large jacket he draped over your shoulders. “i’m gonna ask you a few questions, you alright with that?” you stayed silent, only nodding as he took out a notepad and pen.

“do you have any kind of identification on you? a state id, maybe a driver’s license?” rafe’s voice was rather calm, a stark contrast to the two idiots who yelled at you the whole ride over here. “i did, but i dropped my purse and they didn’t let me get it back. i think my best friend has it right now.” rafe scribbled down ‘dumb and dumber’ on his piece of paper, officially adding them to his shit list. “okay then, can i get your full name please?”

you obliged, taking off your heels and your socks in the process. rafe didn’t bat an eye when his gaze trailed down your bare legs. however, he froze once he heard your last name. there was only one person with that name, and him and that person go way, way back. “was your dad a football star in highschool?” you rolled your eyes at the reminder. “ugh, yes, that’s all he ever talks about.. his ‘golden days’” you stood up, crossing your arms over your chest as you inspected all the certificates and awards framed on the walls.

“oh, man, me and him played together! i always thought he would go off to university or something, he was just amazing out on that field.” rafe marveled, his mind flooding with old memories of celebrating championships and chugging beers at a random ranch parties. “nope. he met my mommy, fell in love, and i was here in no time.” rafe hummed, inspecting you closely. “so how old are you, y/n?” you swallowed thickly, sparing him a glance. “old enough.”

“old enough to drink?” he shot back, making you groan. “if you’re going to charge me and call my dad then just do it, i don’t need the lecture.” you sat down again, this time wincing when your elbows hit the arm rest of the chair. rafe hated how much his partners roughed you up, he knew it wasn’t right. sighing through his nose, rafe pulled out his first aid kit before motioning you to come over. “take a seat right here.” he patted the empty spot on the hardwood of his desk, helping you climb up before sitting between your thighs.

despite the position being really compromising, you didn’t feel unsafe having him this close. “i’m not going to charge you, and i don’t want you to get in trouble with your old man, so i’m gonna propose a deal and whether you decide to take it or not, that’ll determine how this night ends.” he opened up an alcohol wipe before taking your arm and gliding the small towelette over your wounded skin. “i’m listening..” you trailed off, studying his facial features.

“you take a vow; right here, right now, that you’ll never leave the house again in this skirt and i’ll also drop the assault charge against my officer.” you laughed, taking your bottom lip between your teeth as you spread your thighs further apart. rafe’s jaw clenched, his resolve and restraint holding on by a thread. “how come? you don’t like it?” you feigned a sad expression, leaning back on your hands. rafe cursed when the material of your red, lacey thong peeked out, his eyes flickering up to meet your own.

“no, i like it a lot, actually,” he swallowed thickly, “which is exactly why it’s not a good idea to wear it.” your breath shuddered when you felt his hand softly skim your flesh. “okay, deal—” there was a knock at the door, both you and rafe pulling away from each other as if you two were doing something you weren’t supposed to, and in a way you guessed you were. you scrambled to the chair as rafe cleared his throat awkwardly. “yes?” he opened the door, in walking kelce as he threw daggers at you.

“i got the paperwork for this one to be processed. ‘let this be a learning experience that you can’t just punch cops in the face.” he threw down the hefty stack of papers, a smile playing on your lips as rafe grabbed your socks and heels from the floor. “well, you have to be quicker than that next time. i’m escorting her home.” kelce reeled back, his eyebrows pinched together in confusion. “what?!” rafe rose a hand before leading you out of the room by the small of your back.

“if you and thornton ever do so much as raise your voice or lay an ungentle hand on her again, you’ll both be suspended without pay. understood?” kelce narrowed his gaze, meeting your smug grin before giving rafe a curt nod. “yes, sir.” you winked at him before rafe walked you outside and opened the door to his cruiser. without a word, rafe turned on his radio and rolled the windows down before driving to the address you gave him.

so there you were, your feet in your new favorite sheriff’s lap, the wind blowing wildly through your hair as his favorite track blasted through the speakers. you felt something in you switch when you studied his side profile. sheriff cameron was all man. small waist, broad shoulders, deliciously huge biceps, he was it. instinctively, you rubbed your heel over his groin, his jaw clenching as he stopped you, wrapping a rough hand around your ankle.

“i have no ulterior motives with you. don’t feel inclined.” you smiled. of course he didn’t. just as you were going to keep up your ministrations, you saw your house coming up in the distance, your heart sinking at the sight. you didn’t want to go home yet. “well, this is you.” he sighed, rolling up just out front. rolling your eyes, you sat up straight, crossing your arms over your chest. “thank you.” rafe looked over at you, his eyes scanning over your form.

“you’re welcome.” god, the air was thick with tension. “so, uhm—” you cut him off, pressing a kiss to his lips before you could think, the coarse hair of his mustache tickling your nose. rafe was stunned, his grip tightening on the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white. you tasted like cherries that were picked in the summertime, a groan rumbling from his chest before he gave in, pulling you from the passenger seat and onto his lap.

laying your hands flat on his chest, you leaned back slightly, allowing him to plant his large palms in the curves of your hips. both of you jumped when the honk sounded, a laugh bursting from your throat when you saw his eyes grow wide. “you’re gonna get us in trouble!” he scolded, basically tossing you back in the seat next to him. you were full on giggling now, pointing a red painted fingernail at him. “look at your face!” you tossed your head back, the tips of his ears flustered with a deep shade of pink.

“your old man can wake up and come out here!” he whispered. “and do what? call the cops?” he stared at you for a moment, resisting the urge to break out into a smile. deciding you better head upstairs before your father gets up to check on the ruckus outside, you hooked your heels between your fingers, adjusting the huge jacket that currently swallowed your frame. “i wanna see you again.” you blurted out, the porch light flickering on. “i do too,” rafe agreed, “but i don’t know when i can—”

you waved him off, running up the porch stairs before your father could come outside. “i have your jacket, so it looks like we have to meet up again anyways!” rafe caught your drift, wasting no time in peeling off onto the dirt road, his heart pounding with adrenaline. what the hell just happened? an hour ago he was bored out of his mind, wanting nothing more than to get home, and now he couldn’t wait for it to be the next day so he could get you back in his car.

[shiftyfly]

[interview with fantasy author Sir Terry Pratchett]

O: You’re quite a writer. You’ve a gift for language, you’re a deft hand at plotting, and your books seem to have an enormous amount of attention to detail put into them. You’re so good you could write anything. Why write fantasy?

Pratchett: I had a decent lunch, and I’m feeling quite amiable. That’s why you’re still alive. I think you’d have to explain to me why you’ve asked that question.

O: It’s a rather ghettoized genre.

P: This is true. I cannot speak for the US, where I merely sort of sell okay. But in the UK I think every book— I think I’ve done twenty in the series— since the fourth book, every one has been one the top ten national bestsellers, either as hardcover or paperback, and quite often as both. Twelve or thirteen have been number one. I’ve done six juveniles, all of those have nevertheless crossed over to the adult bestseller list. On one occasion I had the adult best seller, the paperback best-seller in a different title, and a third book on the juvenile bestseller list. Now tell me again that this is a ghettoized genre.

O: It’s certainly regarded as less than serious fiction.

P: (Sighs) Without a shadow of a doubt, the first fiction ever recounted was fantasy. Guys sitting around the campfire— Was it you who wrote the review? I thought I recognized it— Guys sitting around the campfire telling each other stories about the gods who made lightning, and stuff like that. They did not tell one another literary stories. They did not complain about difficulties of male menopause while being a junior lecturer on some midwestern college campus. Fantasy is without a shadow of a doubt the ur-literature, the spring from which all other literature has flown. Up to a few hundred years ago no one would have disagreed with this, because most stories were, in some sense, fantasy. Back in the middle ages, people wouldn’t have thought twice about bringing in Death as a character who would have a role to play in the story. Echoes of this can be seen in Pilgrim’s Progress, for example, which hark back to a much earlier type of storytelling. The epic of Gilgamesh is one of the earliest works of literature, and by the standard we would apply now— a big muscular guys with swords and certain godlike connections— That’s fantasy. The national literature of Finland, the Kalevala. Beowulf in England. I cannot pronounce Bahaghvad-Gita but the Indian one, you know what I mean. The national literature, the one that underpins everything else, is by the standards that we apply now, a work of fantasy.

Now I don’t know what you’d consider the national literature of America, but if the words Moby Dick are inching their way towards this conversation, whatever else it was, it was also a work of fantasy. Fantasy is kind of a plasma in which other things can be carried. I don’t think this is a ghetto. This is, fantasy is, almost a sea in which other genres swim. Now it may be that there has developed in the last couple of hundred years a subset of fantasy which merely uses a different icongraphy, and that is, if you like, the serious literature, the Booker Prize contender. Fantasy can be serious literature. Fantasy has often been serious literature. You have to fairly dense to think that Gulliver’s Travels is only a story about a guy having a real fun time among big people and little people and horses and stuff like that. What the book was about was something else. Fantasy can carry quite a serious burden, and so can humor. So what you’re saying is, strip away the trolls and the dwarves and things and put everyone into modern dress, get them to agonize a bit, mention Virginia Woolf a few times, and there! Hey! I’ve got a serious novel. But you don’t actually have to do that.

(Pauses) That was a bloody good answer, though I say it myself.

my creative writing prof also HATES fantasy. as in if she asks for an example of symbolism in a book, and you give something from a fantasy novel, she’ll ask for an example from a “non-commercial book” instead.

I dunno man, people can have preferences, but the second you discount the artistic merit of sci fi and fantasy I stop taking your opinion seriously. and there’s such a big culture in Canada of only valuing literary fiction, to the point where one of our biggest authors, Margaret Atwood, refused for a while to classify her books as sci fi or fantasy. she said they were “speculative fiction”, which is entirely separate and very highbrow (sarcasm).

and I could go on about how Octavia Butler and Ursula Le Guin wrote books every bit as intellectual (and honestly, even more so) than their literary counterparts, but I am also an enjoyer of schlock!! I think there’s artistic merit in animorphs, and in isekais where a japanese schoolgirl reincarnates into a magical spider who has to level up like it’s a video game! it’s like with everything, you can’t draw a clean line that separates ‘art’ from ‘non-art’ or even ‘lesser art’, and pretending you can do so just makes you look ignorant and goofy. in my opinion.

[harrysfolklore]

speed of sound - ln4

summary: in the busy city of monaco, you and lando fell in love at the starlight bar. your story, mixed with fast cars and your favorite coldplay song, became as special as the city itself. as time went by, would your love last as long as the song that brought you together? word count: 5.8k

folkie radio: HELLO IM BACK WITH A LANDO STORY!! this one is heavily inspired by the black dog by taylor swift, so it's ANGSTY AS HELL (dare i say my angstiest fic ever???) anyway, grab the tissues and enjoy the ride

MASTERLIST | MY PATREON

Monaco, 2019

The Monaco nightlife is just kicking off as you weave through the crowded streets, dodging tourists and locals alike.

Max had practically begged you to come hang out during his week off, and who were you to say no to a free trip to the playground of the rich and famous? Plus, you missed your best friend a lot, and you were dying to finally catch up with him.

As you round the corner, the Starlight Bar comes into view. Max promised that it was one of the best bars in Monte Carlo, with the best music and drinks. Your eyes scan the crowd outside, searching for your best friend's familiar face.

Suddenly, you hear Max's voice cutting through the noise of the street. "YN! Over here!"

You spot him waving enthusiastically, his grin wide and infectious. As you make your way towards him, you can't help but mirror his excitement. It's been far too long since you've seen each other.

"Max!" you exclaim, throwing your arms around him in a tight hug.

Max pulls back, holding you at arm's length to look at you properly. "God, I've missed you," he says, his eyes twinkling with genuine happiness. "How was your trip? Are you ready for a proper Monaco night out?"

"I've missed you too, you goofball," you laugh, the sound light and carefree. "And yes, I'm more than ready. You promised me the best bar in Monte Carlo, remember?"

"Oh, trust me, you won't be disappointed. Come on, let me introduce you to everyone."

He leads you into the bar, his hand on the small of your back, guiding you through the crowd.

As you approach a table in the corner, you see a group of people gathered around it. You recognize a few faces from the paddock, but there are some new ones too.

"Everyone," Max announces, his voice carrying over the music, "this is YN, my best friend I've been telling you all about."

You wave, slightly overwhelmed by the sudden attention. Max starts pointing out faces, rattling off names of other drivers and team members. You try to keep up, smiling and nodding at each introduction.

"And this," Max says, gesturing towards a young man with bright eyes and an infectious grin, "is Lando Norris. He's just joined F1 this year."

Lando stands, extending his hand with a charming smile, "Nice to meet you, YN," he says, "Max has told us a lot about you."

"All good things, I hope?" you say, raising an eyebrow at him

"Oh, only the best," Lando's grin widens. "Though he failed to mention how beautiful you are."

You feel a blush creeping up your cheeks, and you glance at Max, who's watching the interaction with a raised eyebrow and a knowing smirk.

"Alright, alright," Max interrupts, though his tone is playful. "That's enough flirting with my best friend, Norris. YN, come sit down. What's your poison? First drink's on me."

As the night progresses, you find yourself increasingly drawn into conversation with Lando. He talks about his experiences as the brand new Formula 1 rookie, you tell him about your job and that rom com you watched last week. Talking to him feels extremely easy, like you were meant to bond together.

Suddenly, a familiar melody fills the air. Your eyes light up as you recognize the opening notes of "Speed of Sound" by Coldplay. The song has always been a favorite of yours, and you never expected it to be played at a bar in Monaco out of all places.

You glance around, expecting to see others reacting, but to your surprise, only Lando seems to share your excitement.

"You know this song?" you ask, unable to hide your grin.

Lando's face breaks into a wide smile. "Are you kidding? I love Coldplay. This is one of my favorites."

Without thinking twice about it, both of you starting singing to the lyrics. You're off-key and uncoordinated, but your voice is full of joy.

As you sing, you can't help but steal glances at him. He's beaming, eyes crinkled at the corners as he grins widely. There's something incredibly endearing about seeing this professional racing driver let loose and simply enjoy the moment.

The song finally comes to an end, and you both collapse back into your seats, breathless and grinning. The rest of the group erupts in laughter and applause.

"Well," Max says, raising an eyebrow and looking between you and Lando with a knowing smirk, "looks like you two have found your song."

Monaco, 2020

The Starlight Bar looks different tonight. Maybe it's the way the lights seem to shimmer a little brighter, or how your heart races with anticipation. You smooth down your dress, checking your reflection in the window one last time before stepping inside.

You're not here to meet Max tonight. No, this time you're waiting for Lando. The past few months have been full of late-night calls, inside jokes, and a growing anticipation that's led to this moment – your first official date.

You've replayed your conversations in your head countless times, analyzed every text, every laugh shared over the phone. But nothing could quite prepare you for the nerves you're feeling now.

The door opens, and there he is. Lando walks in, looking dashingly handsome in a blue button-down shirt that brings out his eyes. When he spots you, his face lights up with a smile that makes your heart skip a beat.

"Hey, you," Lando says softly, leaning in to kiss your cheek. His familiar scent envelops you, a mix of cologne and something uniquely him. "You look beautiful."

You feel a blush creeping up your neck, your skin tingling where his lips touched. "You clean up pretty well yourself, Norris," you manage to reply, proud of how steady your voice sounds despite the butterflies in your stomach.

As you settle into a cozy booth, your knees touching under the table, you feel a mix of nervousness and excitement. This is Lando, your friend, the guy who can make you laugh until your sides hurt. But it's also Lando, the man who's been occupying your thoughts more and more lately, the one whose smile makes your heart race.

The conversation flows easily, picking up right where you left off in your last call. Lando tells you about his recent race, his eyes shining with passion as he describes the thrill of the track. You share stories from your week, relishing in the way he listens intently, hanging on your every word.

He reaches across the table, intertwining his fingers with yours, and you feel a jolt of electricity at the contact.

"I'm really glad we're doing this," he says softly, his thumb tracing patterns on your hand. "I've been wanting to ask you out for ages."

You squeeze his hand, feeling a rush of affection. "Me too," you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. "I was starting to think you'd never make a move."

Lando grins sheepishly, a faint blush coloring his cheeks. "Well, I had to make sure I had the perfect wingman first." He nods towards the bar, and your heart skips a beat as you recognize the opening notes of "Speed of Sound" filling the air.

You can't help but throw your head back with a huge smile. "You remembered," you say softly, your eyes meeting his.

"Of course I did," Lando's grin widens, pride and affection in his eyes. "How could I forget our impromptu duet?"

As the familiar melody fills the air, you both start singing along, just like you did that first night. Your voices blend together, slightly off-key but full of happiness. People turn to look, some smiling at your enthusiasm, but you barely notice. In this moment, it feels like you and Lando are the only ones in the world.

As the song comes to an end, you find yourself breathless, not from the singing, but from the intensity of Lando's gaze. He's looking at you with such warmth and adoration that it makes you melt.

"You're a charmer, Lando Norris," you say, your voice soft and full of affection.

"Only for you, love," he replies, his thumb gently caressing your hand.

The air between you feels charged, filled with unspoken words and growing anticipation. You glance at his lips, then back to his eyes, seeing your own desire reflected there.

"Want to get out of here?" Lando asks, his voice low and slightly husky.

You nod, not trusting your voice. Lando quickly settles the bill, and then you're both heading for the exit, his hand warm and steady on the small of your back.

You've barely made it a few steps from the bar when Lando stops, turning to face you. His eyes search yours, asking a silent question. You answer by closing the distance between you.

The kiss is soft at first, a gentle press of lips that sends shivers down your spine. Then Lando's hand comes up to cup your cheek, and the kiss deepens. You melt into him, your arms wrapping around his neck as his other hand finds your waist, pulling you closer.

The world fades away as you lose yourself in the kiss. It's everything you've imagined and more – tender yet passionate, familiar yet thrilling. When you finally pull apart, you're both grinning like lovesick teenagers.

"Wow," Lando whispers, his forehead resting against yours.

"Yeah," you agree, unable to stop smiling. "Wow indeed."

As you stand there in the Monaco street, wrapped in each other's arms, with the neon sign of The Starlight Bar in the background, you can't help but feel that this is the start of something beautiful.

Monaco, 2021

Max Verstappen was turning 24 and that could only mean one thing. A celebration at The Starlight Bar was in order.

The place has been transformed for the occasion. Balloons in Red Bull's colors bob against the ceiling, and a large banner with "Happy Birthday Max!" hangs behind the DJ booth. The usual ambient lighting has been replaced with pulsing, colorful lights that give the place a more club-like atmosphere.

You're right in the middle of it all, your arms wrapped around Lando as you sway to the music. The past year has been full of love and excitement, and nights like these remind you how lucky you are.

You're both more than a little drunk, riding the high of good company and great drinks. The room spins slightly as you move, but Lando's arms around you keep you grounded. You've lost count of how many toasts you've made to Max, each one accompanied by a shot that burned pleasantly on the way down.

"You're so cute when you're drunk," you giggle, pressing a sloppy kiss to Lando's cheek. His skin is warm under your lips, and you resist the urge to pepper his entire face with kisses.

"Mhh, I love you," Lando whispers in your ear, his breath warm against your skin. The words still send a thrill through you, even after months of hearing them. They never fail to make your heart race and your stomach flutter.

Max appears suddenly, throwing his arms around both of you. "You two are disgustingly adorable. I'm starting to regret introducing you."

You stick your tongue out at him, feeling playful and uninhibited. "You love us, Verstappen. Admit it." The words come out more garbled than you intended, but you're too happy to care.

Suddenly, Lando's head snaps up, his eyes wide with an idea. "Babe! We need to hear our song!"

You know exactly what he means, and the thought fills you with giddy excitement. Without hesitation, you both stumble towards the DJ booth, Lando leading the way. You giggle as you watch him try to walk in a straight line.

"Excuse me," Lando says to the DJ, trying his best to sound serious despite his drunken state. He leans on the booth for support, flashing his most charming smile. "We need you to play 'Speed of Sound' by Coldplay. It's very important."

The DJ looks amused but obliges, probably used to strange requests from drunk partygoers. As the familiar notes start playing, you and Lando cheer, much to the confusion of everyone else in the bar.

"This is our song!" you announce to no one in particular, your voice carrying over the music. You grab Lando's hand, spinning him around in a clumsy twirl that nearly sends you both tumbling to the floor.

You sing at the top of your lungs, not caring how off-key you sound. The lyrics, so familiar now, flow easily even in your drunken state. Lando joins in, his voice blending with yours just like it did that first night two years ago.

As you sing, memories flash through your mind - that first meeting, your first date, countless happy moments spent in this very bar. Each one is tied to this song, to the man singing beside you. Your heart feels like it might burst with happiness.

Your friends watch from the sidelines, shaking their heads with fond exasperation. You see Carlos filming the whole thing on his phone, no doubt planning to use it as blackmail material later. But you don't care. In this moment, you and Lando are in your own world.

As the song ends, Lando pulls you in for a kiss that tastes of tequila and happiness. It's messy and uncoordinated, your noses bumping together as you both grin too much to kiss properly.

"I love you," Lando says again, his forehead resting against yours. "So much. You're the best thing that's ever happened to me."

Your heart swells at his words. Even in his drunken state, the sincerity in his eyes is unmistakable. "I love you too, Lando. More than I ever thought possible."

The night continues in a blur of laughter, dancing, and more drinks. You vaguely remember challenging Max to a dance-off, Lando cheering you on from the sidelines. At some point, someone suggests karaoke, and you find yourself on a makeshift stage with Lando, belting out an off-key rendition of "Don't Stop Believin'".

As the party winds down in the early hours of the morning, you find yourself curled up in a booth with Lando, pleasantly exhausted. Your head rests on his shoulder, his arm wrapped securely around you. The room is still spinning slightly, but you've never felt more content.

"Hey," Lando says softly, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. "Move in with me."

You lift your head to look at him, wondering if you've heard correctly. "What?"

Lando's eyes are bright, a mix of alcohol-induced courage and genuine emotion. "Move in with me," he repeats. "I want to wake up next to you every morning. I want to come home to you after races. I want… everything. With you."

Your heart races at his words. It's a big step, one you've thought about but haven't dared to bring up. "Are you sure?" you ask, searching his face. "This isn't just the tequila talking?"

"No, it's not the tequila," Lando laughs, shaking his head. "I've been thinking about it for a while. I just… I love you, YN. And I want to build a life with you."

Tears prick at your eyes, happy ones. "Yes," you say, your voice choked with emotion. "Yes, I'll move in with you."

Lando's face breaks into a wide grin, and he pulls you in for a kiss that's full of promise and future plans. As you melt into the kiss, you think about how far you've come since that first night at Starlight.

As you leave the bar, leaning on each other for support, "Speed of Sound" plays one last time. You and Lando share a smile, both thinking the same thing - this song, this bar, will always be a part of your story.

Monaco, 2022

The Starlight Bar has become your second home over the years. Tonight, you sit at your usual booth, Lando's arm draped comfortably around your shoulders. The familiarity of it all brings a smile to your face – the way the bartender knows your order by heart, the slight dip in the leather seat where you always sit, the faded marks on the table from countless nights of laughter and conversation.

The bar hasn't changed much since you first stepped foot in it three years ago, but your life certainly has. You've moved in with Lando, your belongings now intermingled with his in a cozy apartment overlooking the Mediterranean. Your relationship has deepened, growing stronger with each passing day.

You take a sip of your drink – a cocktail the bartender created just for you, named "YN's Starlight Special" – and lean into Lando's warmth. He's fresh off a podium finish, his second of the season, and there's still an aura of excitement around him. You couldn't be prouder.

"What are you thinking about?" Lando asks, pressing a kiss to your temple. His voice is soft, intimate, meant only for you despite the bustling bar around you.

"Just how much has changed since we first met here," you reply, tracing patterns on the back of his hand with your finger. "And how much has stayed the same."

Lando hums in agreement, his chest vibrating against your side. "Yeah, who would've thought that awkward kid who couldn't believe his luck singing Coldplay with a beautiful girl would end up here?"

You laugh, the sound mingling with the ambient noise of the bar. "You weren't awkward," you protest, then pause. "Well, maybe a little. But it was cute."

"I'm still cute," Lando pouts, his lower lip jutting out in an exaggerated manner that never fails to make you smile.

"The cutest," you agree, leaning in to kiss him. It's a soft, sweet kiss, full of familiarity and comfort. When you pull back, you can't help but marvel at how this feeling – the flutter in your stomach, the warmth in your chest – hasn't faded even after years together.

As if on cue, the opening notes of "Speed of Sound" start playing. You both laugh, the sound mingling with the familiar melody. It's become something of a tradition now – rarely does a night at Starlight go by without this song playing at least once.

"Do you think we'll ever get tired of this song?" you ask, looking up at him.

"It's our song, baby," he kisses your temple softly, "The one we'll dance at our wedding."

Your heart races, sensing the weight of his words. "Lando," you breathe, pulling back to look into his eyes. "What are you saying?"

"I'm saying… I want to marry the fuck out of you," he says with a smile, "Not right now, not tomorrow, but someday. I want that to be our next step. If… if that's what you want too."

Tears prick at your eyes, happy ones. This isn't a proposal, not yet, but it's a promise. A glimpse of the future you both want. "Yes," you whisper, your voice choked with emotion. "Yes, that's what I want too. Someday."

Lando's face breaks into a wide grin, and he pulls you in for a kiss. You melt into it, the final notes of "Speed of Sound" fade away, but the melody continues to play in your heart.

Little did you know, the harmony of your relationship was about to turn sour.

Monaco, 2023

The tension in your shared apartment is palpable, thick enough to cut with a knife. You stand in the living room, arms crossed defensively over your chest, watching as Lando paces back and forth. The past few weeks have been a struggle, filled with arguments and cold silences. Tonight feels like it could be a breaking point, and the thought terrifies you.

Your eyes drift around the room, taking in the life you've built together. Photos from happy times line the walls - you and Lando at various races, on vacations, with friends. But right now, those memories feel distant, overshadowed by the growing rift between you.

"The guys are heading to Starlight," you say, your voice tight with barely contained emotion. You're desperate to break this cycle, to find a way back to the couple you used to be. "We should go. It might do us good to get out."

Lando stops pacing, running a hand through his hair in frustration. The gesture, once endearing, now just serves as a reminder of the tension between you. "I don't feel like it, YN," he says, his tone clipped. "You go if you want."

The dismissal stings, cutting deeper than you want to admit. "Lando, come on," you plead, taking a step towards him. "We barely spend any time together anymore. This could be good for us."

You reach out to touch his arm, but he flinches away, and the small rejection feels like a knife to your heart. Lando's eyes, once so full of love when they looked at you, now seem distant and cold.

"What would be good for us is some space," Lando snaps, his words sharp enough to make you step back. "Just… go. Have fun with your friends."

You flinch at his tone, hurt and anger bubbling up inside you. "Fine," you say coldly, grabbing your jacket from the back of a chair. "I'll go. Enjoy your 'space'."

As you storm out, slamming the door behind you, you fight back tears. The walk to Starlight is a blur, your mind racing with thoughts of where things went wrong. When did the love of your life become a stranger? When did your home start feeling like a battleground?

The bar, once a place of joy and fond memories, now feels hollow as you step inside. The familiar sights and sounds that used to bring comfort now just serve as painful reminders of happier times. Your friends greet you enthusiastically, their faces lighting up when they see you, but their smiles fade when they notice Lando's absence.

"Everything okay?" Max asks, concern evident in his voice. He knows you well enough to see through any facade you might try to put up.

You force a smile, but it feels fake even to you. "Yeah, Lando wasn't feeling well. He stayed home." The lie tastes bitter on your tongue, but you can't bring yourself to admit the truth.

That your relationship is falling apart and you don't know how to fix it.

As the night progresses, you try to lose yourself in conversation and drinks. Your friends do their best to keep your spirits up, sharing funny stories and making sure your glass is never empty. But your phone burns a hole in your pocket, silent and accusing. No messages, no calls.

Then it happens. One of your friends, oblivious to the situation, posts a story on Instagram. Your heart drops as you see it – Lando, out at another club, surrounded by people you don't recognize.

You stare at the screen, unable to look away. Lando is smiling, his arm around a girl you've never seen before. He looks happy, carefree. Everything he hasn't been with you lately.

As if to twist the knife further, "Speed of Sound" starts playing over the bar's speakers. The opening notes of the song wash over you, and suddenly you're transported to Lando. The two of you, singing along at the top of your lungs, not caring who heard. The song that once symbolized your love now feels like a cruel joke.

You excuse yourself, rushing to the bathroom where you can break down in private. The world blurs as tears stream down your face. You lean against the cool tile wall, trying to catch your breath.

How did you get here? The happy memories of singing this song with Lando feel like they belong to someone else now.

You stay in the bathroom for what feels like hours, trying to piece yourself back together. When you finally emerge, makeup hastily fixed, you find your friends looking at you with sympathy. They know. Of course they know.

"Want us to kick his ass?" Max offers, only half-joking. He pulls you into a hug.

You shake your head, forcing a weak smile. "No. I just… I need to go home."

Your friends exchange worried glances, but they don't try to stop you. They know you well enough to recognize when you need space.

The walk home is long and lonely. Each step feels heavier than the last, the weight of your broken relationship pressing down on you. By the time you reach your apartment building, you're exhausted, emotionally and physically.

The apartment is dark and quiet. Lando's shoes are missing from their usual spot. He's still out, probably at that club. You sink onto the couch, the silence of the apartment pressing in on you from all sides.

As you sit there in the darkness, you realize that this might be the beginning of the end.

And across the city, Lando dances on.

They don't play "Speed of Sound" at the club he’s at, but he doesn't even notice.

Monaco, 2024.

The apartment that once felt like a warm, loving home now stands cold and empty. Boxes are scattered across the floor, each one a painful reminder of the life you and Lando built together - and are now dismantling.

The breakup wasn't sudden or dramatic. It was a slow, agonizing process of trying to salvage what you both once had. Countless tearful conversations, promises to do better, even a desperate attempt at couples therapy. But in the end, you both had to face the harsh reality: the love that once burned so bright had faded to embers, and no amount of effort could rekindle it.

The day Lando moves out is etched into your memory. You watch as he carefully wraps the framed photo of your first podium celebration together, his hands trembling slightly. You both agreed he should keep it - a bittersweet memento of happier times.

"What about the Starck lamp?" you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

Lando looks up, his eyes meeting yours for a brief moment before darting away. "You keep it," he says softly. "It was always more your style anyway."

You nod, swallowing the lump in your throat. The process of dividing your shared possessions feels like cutting your heart into pieces. The art pieces you bought together on your trip to Italy - you get the abstract painting, he takes the landscape. The set of Le Creuset pots you received as a housewarming gift - split down the middle, just like your relationship.

But there's one thing you never settle - the Starlight Bar. Neither of you can bring yourselves to claim it, to deny the other person access to a place filled with so many memories. So it hangs there, an unspoken agreement to share this last piece of your history.

As Lando carries the last box out, he pauses at the door. For a moment, you think he might say something - maybe even change his mind. But he just gives you a sad smile and walks out, closing the door behind him with a soft click that echoes in the now-empty apartment.

You collapse onto the floor, surrounded by the remnants of your shared life, and let the tears flow freely.

Monaco, 2024.

It's Saturday night, and the silence in your apartment is deafening. A few months ago, this would have been unthinkable. Saturdays in Monaco were your special time with Lando away from busy schedules and race weekends.

You glance at the clock: 9:37 PM. By now, you'd usually be curled up on the couch, Lando's arm around you as you debated what movie to watch. Or maybe you'd be in the kitchen, playfully bickering over what to make for late night dinner, the air filled with laughter and the aroma of cooking food. On particularly good nights, you might have already been in bed, tangled in the sheets, breathless and giddy with love.

But tonight, you're alone. The TV remains dark, the kitchen untouched. The bed, when you look at it, seems vast and empty, a cruel reminder of what you've lost.

You try to distract yourself. You pick up a book, but the words blur together, meaningless. You open Netflix, but every show seems to remind you of something you watched with Lando. Even scrolling through social media backfires when you see mutual friends posting about their weekend plans.

As the loneliness grows, you find yourself reaching for your phone. Your thumb hovers over your contacts, muscle memory almost making you call Lando before you remember you can't do that anymore.

Instead, almost unconsciously, you open the location sharing app. You've kept Lando's location, unable to bring yourself to delete it. It's a digital string to him, one last connection you can't bear to delete.

You tell yourself you shouldn't look. That it's unhealthy, that it will only bring you pain. But the need to know, to have some idea of what he's doing without you, overrides your better judgment.

With a deep breath, you tap his name. The map loads, and your heart stops as you see the familiar location pin.

The Starlight Bar.

Your mind races, coming up vivid images that feel like daggers to your heart. Lando, sitting in your booth, his arm draped casually around another girl. Is she pretty? Funnier than you? Does she make him laugh the way you used to?

You imagine them ordering drinks, maybe even your special cocktail. The thought of Lando introducing it to her - "You've got to try this, it's amazing" - makes you feel physically ill. It was your drink, your little inside joke with the bartender. Now it's just another piece of yourself you've lost.

As you curl up on the couch, clutching a pillow to your chest, the worst scenarios play out in your head. What if they're dancing? What if, in a cruel twist of fate, "Speed of Sound" starts playing?

The idea of Lando sharing your song with someone else sends a fresh wave of pain through you. You can almost see it - Lando's eyes lighting up as the familiar melody fills the air, turning to this new girl with a grin. "This is a great song," he might say, conveniently forgetting or deliberately omitting its significance. Would he sing along? Would he pull her close, swaying to the rhythm that once belonged to you and him alone?

Or worse - what if he's already told her about the song's importance? What if he's trying to recreate your memories with someone new, effectively erasing you from the narrative? The thought makes you gasp, a sharp pain in your chest as if your heart is literally breaking all over again.

Through your tears, you dial Max's number, desperate for some comfort. When he answers, your voice cracks as you speak.

"He's at Starlight," you simply say.

Max doesn't need to ask who 'he' is. There's a pause, then, "Want me to come over?"

Max has been your rock these past few months, always there with a shoulder to cry on or a distraction when you needed it most. He was there to pick up the pieces when Lando told you he was leaving, and he had been there the other times your heart broke over him.

He’s the best friend you could ever ask for.

"No, I… I just needed to tell someone. God, why do I even care? It's been months."

You can almost hear Max's sympathetic smile through the phone. "Because you love him," he says gently. "It's okay to still hurt."

"I hope it's shitty at that stupid bar," you spit out, anger taking over you, "I hope he's miserable and he hates every second of it."

As soon as the words leave your mouth, you feel childish. But Max doesn't judge. "I'm sure it is. Nothing's the same without you there."

"I just... I can't stop thinking about him there. With someone else. In our place."

"I know, YN. It's not fair," Max says softly. "But you can't torture yourself like this. Have you thought about maybe... I don't know, turning off his location? Or deleting the app?"

The suggestion makes your stomach churn. "I can't," you whisper, your voice cracking. "It's stupid, I know, but it's like... it's the last connection I have to him. If I delete it, it's really over."

There's a pause on the other end of the line. "YN," Max says gently, "it is over. I'm sorry, but holding onto this isn't healthy. It's keeping you from moving forward."

His words hit you like a punch to the gut. You know he's right, but hearing it out loud makes it real in a way you're not prepared for. Tears start flowing freely down your cheeks.

How does one let go of Lando Norris?

Across town, at the Starlight Bar, Lando sits in what used to be your favorite booth. The leather seat feels familiar under him, but everything else feels wrong. He's there a girl he met a month ago. She's pretty and kind, with a bubbly laugh that turns heads. But as Lando looks at her, he can't help but see the ghost of you in every corner of the bar.

The bartender recognizes Lando, giving him a knowing look. Lando orders his usual drink, pointedly avoiding your special cocktail. He can't bring himself to share that with anyone else.

The DJ, also noticing him, puts on "Speed of Sound." The familiar opening notes fill the air, and Lando immediately perks up, muscle memory kicking in as he scans the room. For a split second, he expects to see you, to hear your voice joining in with the chorus.

But you're not there.

His date looks at him quizzically, not understanding the significance of the song or Lando's reaction. "Do you like this song?" she asks, trying to make conversation.

Lando forces a smile. "Yeah, it's… it's a good one."

As the song fades out, Lando feels a piece of himself fading with it. He realizes, with a pang of regret, that he might have lost more than just a relationship. He's lost a part of himself, a part that only existed when he was with you.

The night drags on, each moment in the bar a bittersweet reminder of the life he used to have. And across town, you cry yourself to sleep, both of you haunted by the echoes of a love that once seemed unbreakable.

In the end, the Starlight Bar stands as a silent witness to your shared history - a place where memories linger like ghosts, where a simple song can bridge the gap between past and present, and where two hearts, though separated, still beat in time to the speed of sound.

[cosmosluckycharms]

Show☆Time

this night has opened my eyes

After a while of you sobbing quietly on the floor of your room, you finally got up and locked in.

First off, you changed out of your performer costume into a more casual outfit.

Your performer costume was soaked from the water, so you hung it up to dry and clean later.

You needed a plan

so you started a plan.

You had lots of ideas planned out. All of which were very elaborate.

Different ways to get them all together to make amends, different ways for them to talk, plans to make everyone apologize and get together to become a troop.

You get out your comically large whiteboard and regular-sized markers and start planning on what to do.

You spend a couple of hours finding ideas, only for you to keep running into problems.

You didn't know what to do.

You were stuck.

You decided to just walk to the park to tell Tsukasa you would have to quit, it was nearby anyway.

Walking out of the manor wasn't hard, they wouldn't notice you walking out. They were away at whatever rich people jobs they had.

You never saw them at night, and you never understood why.

As you made your way to the theme park, you tried to make yourself as small as possible to not get seen by anyone bad.

You tried to calm your nerves by thinking of memories to keep your mind off the whole situation.

You think about how one time when you were younger, around 10 years old, while getting up to get water you saw Nightwing in costume in the kitchen.

You saw as he froze like he was shocked to see you walk in.

You smiled at him and waved, you were half asleep and assumed he was a hallucination.

He waved and smiled back to you and you just walked back to your room.

For a while, you assumed that either Nightwing was coming into the manor to steal something, or he was just visiting.

Either that or you were dreaming.

You assumed you were dreaming.

You smiled at the memory. Nightwing has been one of your favorite vigilantes since you were younger.

You liked how his smile seemed to light up the room.

You liked how his smile reminded you of your older brother, Dick's smile.

You wanted to smile like Nightwing and Dick.

You were close to the park when you saw a red hood on a rooftop.

You saw him watching you, somewhat menacingly.

You get scared for a moment, You've heard stories about the crime lord and the people he's killed.

Sure, they were bad people and you had never done anything bad, but you could never be too sure!

You smiled and waved to him, which caught him slightly by surprise. Usually, people didn't smile and wave at someone they were scared of.

You walked a little faster, you needed to hurry before it was too late at night.

The park closes at 9, and it was now 8:26 pm.

You didn't notice how Red Hood kept watching you.

You didn't notice how he started coming towards you.

As soon as he got within 7 feet behind you, you could sense him.

You spun around dramatically to look at him.

You waved to him, again. "Hii!" You said excitedly, hoping this interaction will take your mind off everything. You realized you did not sound as excited as you usually did, probably from the sadness you felt.

"You look happy," He said walking towards you.

He didn't know why he felt the need to talk to you. He had never even had a conversation with you.

"Not really." You looked down at your feet, slightly sad.

You see him sitting down on a bench nearby and patting the seat next to him.

"Well, what's up?" He asks as you sit down next to him.

"What do you mean?" you asked, your leg shaking from nervousness.

Were you in trouble? Had you done something wrong? Why was he stopping you? Didnt he have people to fight?

"I mean, you look upset," He said, pointing out the obvious.

You started explaining everything to him.

About how you started a group and how it fell apart.

"I don't know what to do. I was just on my way to tell my friend I was gonna quit. It's no use to keep trying." You said while having your head in your hands and trying not to cry.

Jason didn't understand.

You usually weren't like this.

You usually wouldn't quit.

You were the type of person to keep going no matter what.

He's seen you fall down and get up likr it was nothing!

He leaned up against the railing of the bench. "Well, why would you quit?"

"What do you mean?" You asked as you lifted your head from your hands.

"I mean, why quit when you're almost there? All you have to do is go to the park, find them, and tell them to keep going. encourage them like you encouraged others." You watched as he stretched a little.

You thought about it for a minute.

"Plus, wouldn't you want to keep going for your grandfather? he would want you to keep going, right?"

He was right.

You had to keep going.

You had to go ahead and convince Tsukasa to apologize to Nene and Rui.

You had to convince them all to stay together.

You got up from the bench.

"Thank you for everything, Mr. Red Hood!" you waved bye to him and started running towards the theme park.

You checked the time on your phone.

8:47 PM

If you ran fast enough, you could probably make it in time to find Tsukasa and make him apologize!

So you ran.

You ran and ran like there was no tomorrow.

When you finally got to the park, you stopped for a second to try and find Tsukasa.

You find him packing his stuff up on the stage, and he has also already taken off his performer costume.

You grabbed him by the shoulders and practically yelled to him "TSUKASA- WENEEDTOGETTHEGROUPBACKTOGETETHERANDANDAND-!" You talked too fast. You made no sense. You were scared and nervous.

"Y-Y/N! Slow down! I can't understand you!" Tsukasa said, his head feeling like it was spinning.

You took a deep breath and started yelling again, this time you accidentally shook him violently. "WE NEED THE GROUP BACK TOGETHER! We need to create smiles! Us breaking up was a dumb idea!" Your eyes were slightly teary, you were passionate about this.

It took a couple of minutes of you convincing Tsukasa (and apologizing for shaking him and leaving him dizzy) before you guys went to look for Nene and Rui.

When you guys finally found them, the park was about to close for the night. You guys had to hurry.

Nene and Tsukasa apologized to each other, Nene for ruining the show and Tsukasa for yelling at her.

Rui was holding a slight grudge, which makes sense, but you were sad about it.

It took all 3 of you to convince him to come back to the stage and forgive Tsukasa, and it worked!

You all got kicked out of the park for the day because technically you guys were trespassing, so you 3 parted ways and went home.

While walking home, you started thinking about your day.

You liked thinking about it, it made you feel like you were living through it again.

You realized you had never told Mr.Red Hood about your grandpa.

How did he know about that?

oh god rhis was so short sorry

PLEASE why do i keep accidentally neglecting emu reader hi guys

also jasons prolly ooc sorru

taglist:@shirp-collector-of-fixations @maybeethan69 @iluvcatzz @tacendxx @ninihrtss @tsxukikami @d3sperate-enuf @staarflowerr @chaoticmoontimetravel @crazycaoticsimp @sugarrush-blush @kaitense1 @ryuushou

[just1cefor4ll]

Thanos/Choi Su-bong x fem!reader warning. reader has an ed, swearing, not proof read, mentions of a toxic music industry

A/n. if anything here triggers you and it isnt listed in the warnings, dm me and ill add it in. I do NOT by any means encourage this type of “life style” and if you’re struggling with this, please try and seek out help— you’re not alone!!

You never thought love would be this exhausting. When you met Choi Su-bong—better known as Thanos—it was effortless. The kind of connection that didn’t need explaining. You were just a woman who had a shitty day at work and he was just a guy with a passion for music, and you just so happened to be in the right place at the right time.

That night in Hongdae, after his set, you locked eyes across the bar. You knew who he was, but you didn’t treat him like everyone else did.

“You rap?” you asked, casually swirling your drink.

“I try,” he smirked, leaning against the counter.

You scoffed. “I saw your set. You don’t just try.”

And that was it. That was how it started. Late-night walks through Seoul, deep conversations about music and life, stolen moments in the quiet corners of the city. Love was simple back then.

And for a while, life was good.

The first time the paparazzi caught you together, you didn’t think much of it. His fame had just sky rocketed but maybe people would talk for a bit and they’d move on, right?

You were wrong

Within hours, your face was everywhere. "Who is she?" "She’s not even pretty." "She’s just using him for clout." "She’s ruining his career."

At first, you laughed it off. It was just noise. Strangers behind screens didn’t know you— didn’t know him. But the more you saw it, the harder it became to ignore. They picked apart your looks, your past, your worth. The more you scrolled, the more those words burrowed under your skin.

Still, you smiled through it. You told him it didn’t bother you.

And he believed you.

It started small. Skipping meals here and there, telling yourself you’d eat later. You weren’t even trying to lose weight at first—you just didn’t feel like eating. But then the guilt crept in. Every bite felt heavy, every meal like a reminder that you weren’t enough. You started purging before you even realized it had become a habit. The first time, it was an accident—you ate too much too fast and felt sick, so you ran to the bathroom. But after that, it became… easy. A solution. Eat what you want, then get rid of it. No guilt, no weight gain. A perfect balance.

And no one noticed.

Not even him.

He was always busy—touring, recording, filming. When he came home exhausted, you curled up next to him, pressing your body close so he wouldn’t notice how much smaller you’d gotten. If he asked if you’d eaten, you’d lie. “Yeah, I grabbed something earlier.” If he asked why you were so tired, you’d blame work.

You convinced yourself it wasn’t a problem. You weren’t like those girls in the hospital beds, hooked up to IVs. You could stop whenever you wanted.

But you didn’t stop.

And eventually, he started noticing.

“You’ve been getting sick a lot,” he said one night, brushing your hair back as you sat curled up on the couch. “Are you okay?”

You forced a smile. “It’s just stress.”

“You’re barely eating.”

“I eat.” A lie. A reflex.

He sighed, rubbing his temples. “Is this because of the shit people say online?” “No,” you said too quickly. Yes. Maybe. I don’t know. “I don’t care what they think, you know that, right?” He pulled you into his arms, his warmth wrapping around you like a shield. “None of that matters.”

You wanted to believe him. You really did.

You didn’t remember passing out. It was the next day and Su-bong had left earlier that morning for a meet and greet which you decided to sit out, not feeling like facing his fans at the moment. One second you were going to the bathroom and the next you were hunched over the toilet, spilling your guts out before everything went black.

When you woke up, you were in a hospital bed. The beeping of machines filled the silence, the sterile smell burning your nose. Your throat felt raw, your body weak.

And then you saw him. Sitting in the chair beside you, elbows on his knees, face buried in his hands.

He looked up when he realized you were awake, and you’d never seen that expression on him before—this mixture of fear, anger, heartbreak.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” His voice was hoarse, like he’d been yelling or crying. Or both.

You wanted to speak, to tell him you were fine, but nothing came out.

“I—” he ran a hand through his hair, exhaling shakily. “I didn’t see it. I should have seen it.” His jaw clenched. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Tears burned your eyes. Because you wouldn’t have understood. Because I didn’t want to be your problem. Because I thought I had it under control.

But the truth was, you didn’t know why. And now, it didn’t matter.

Because it was already too late.

Waking up in that hospital bed was one thing. Facing what came next was another.

The first few days were a blur—doctors coming in and out, voices you barely registered, Su-bong staying by your side through all of it. He didn't leave. Not once. Not when they hooked you up to IVs, not when you were too weak to lift your head, not even when you refused to look at him out of shame.

But silence never lasted long with him.

"You scared the shit out of me," he admitted one night, his voice quiet but raw. He was sitting in the chair beside you, fingers laced together as he stared at the floor. "I thought I was gonna lose you."

You swallowed, throat still sore. "I'm sorry." "Don't—" He shook his head, running a hand down his face. "Don't apologize. Just.. tell me what I can do. Tell me how to help."

You didn't know how to answer that.

But help came anyway.

Recovery wasn’t linear. Some days, you convinced yourself you were getting better. You ate the meals they gave you, nodded along when the doctors talked about therapy, let Su-bong hold your hand and tell you things would be okay.

Other days were harder.

Some mornings, you stared at the tray of food in front of you, stomach twisting with guilt before you even took a bite. Some nights, the voices in your head whispered that you didn’t deserve to get better. That you weren’t sick enough. That this was still your control to take back.

But every time you struggled, he was there.

He held you when you broke down. He sat with you through therapy sessions, even when it hurt to talk about things. He learned. Read books. Asked questions. Stopped saying things like “just eat” and started saying “I’m here” instead.

And slowly—painfully—you started to believe him.

But the world outside didn't make it easy.

You weren’t on social media anymore, but you didn’t have to be to know what people were saying. The news was everywhere.

"Thanos’ girlfriend hospitalized for an eating disorder."

"Scandal or sympathy grab?"

"Fans blame toxic industry for shocking health crisis."

Some people supported you. Others weren’t so kind.

And when Su-bong sat down for his first interview since everything happened, it was only a matter of time before someone brought you up.

"So," the interviewer started, her smile more fake then the diamond ring she had on, "there’s been a lot of talk about your personal life lately."

Su-bong tensed. He knew where this was going.

The interviewer continued, undeterred. "Some fans think your relationship has been a distraction for your career. There’s been speculation that—"

"What the fuck is wrong with you?"

The entire room went silent.

The interviewer blinked, clearly caught off guard. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me." His voice was sharp, his hands clenched into fists on the table. "You think this is some gossip headline? Some scandal to dissect? I almost lost her because of people like you. Because of people who picked her apart, made her feel like she wasn’t enough. And now, instead of talking about the real issue, you wanna turn this into some bullshit narrative about my career?"

The interviewer fumbled for a response, but he wasn’t done.

"I don’t give a fuck about the music industry if it means losing her. You get that?" His jaw tightened. "She is not a distraction. She is my life."

The interview ended early. The clip went viral within hours.

You saw the video later, sitting on the couch at home, wrapped in one of his hoodies. You expected to feel guilty. Maybe even embarrassed. But instead, for the first time in a long time, you felt safe.

He sat down next to you, watching carefully. “You okay?” You nodded, resting your head on his shoulder. “Thank you.” “For what?” “For fighting for me.” He exhaled, pressing a kiss to your temple. "I’ll always fight for you."

Healing wasn’t a straight path. Some days were good. Others weren’t. But you weren’t alone anymore.

And that was enough to keep going.

© just1cefor4all— I don’t consent to my writing being reposted to other platforms or fed into AI. Translating it is also strictly prohibited. 🚫

[bleuberries-and-video-games]

I can tell you this first hand, even the people who are fighting, they're doing it running ragged. Double that for anyone who's like a marginalized identity targeted explicitly by him, I know trans people who are burning the candle at both ends, myself included, to create support groups, networks of aid, any kind of shit just to keep going and to maintain any sort of equilibrium and even make ends meet. I'm very fortunate to have the job I have, I don't know if I will have it forever, as my job does kind of require or rely upon Federal and local government grants and the state of Missouri is not exactly a very kind place right now to trans people.

Not only that, but also like, I would like to explain to anyone from outside of the United States what the United States is like, because I don't think any of you understand what it's like. I think you see New York and la and maybe Austin Texas and maybe Portland oregon, or God forbid any one of the places where there's like a Disney theme park that some of y'all go to, but like those are really big economically beautiful and thriving places. That means they look picturesque, that means they look like America is fine and thriving, but I can assure you that is not the case for a number of different groups and people and places. Hell even in those places I've listed, there are issues you can see on a day-to-day basis that you wouldn't normally see just touring.

The vast majority of the United States, for the vast part of its history, has been some kind of police state with some kind of hyper regulatory body enforcing some kind of morally tied laws. From cross-dressing laws, to race mixing laws, to laws disparaging and maintaining women's oppression, to the very fact that if you didn't own land for a large part of this country's history, you didn't have any sort of power. At all. This means that you are beholden to a capitalistic class that has grown more and more powerful as time has gone on. America is not a shining City on hill and has never been a shining City on a hill, it has always been this place that has been propped up by capitalism, and always had a bunch of people that are sitting in the periphery and which makes the majority of the capital but doesn't see a dime of it. If you think that this is suddenly abnormal, that we went from voting for Obama to voting for the orange dweeb, you're a fucking idiot. You're not paying attention. You're so wrapped up in economic and social nationalism for your countries, thinking about how much better your Society is in contrast and trying desperately to figure out what went wrong™ in America that you forget fascism starts when you start drawing heavy borders and when you start thinking about us versus them. Everyone in the entire world is beholden and capable of doing fascism. I mean it fucking started in Europe for God's sake, Europe is not this enlightened Center of cultural good, for a long time it was very regressive and stifling, and it is only a recent part of History in which that has not been the case. And didn't even more recent history, you have benefited off of economic booms and trade Partnerships that have basically dissolved orders that once caused decades-long escalating conflicts that almost entirely destroyed the world. This is not an accident, this happens because of the economic powers that be, this is because of capitalism, and this is specifically because we have still not addressed the issues that plague the world.

We are trying our very best to do what we can to fight what we can and protect what we can. But when the majority of the country has been getting increasingly economically disparate, when police get more funding than schools, when the military is all over the world working with allies and toppling Nations or propping up proxy states, when all of our money goes to defense contractors or contracted Federal businesses run or cut to Pieces by private Equity firms, there's not a whole lot many people can do, and the more marginalized you are, the more Afflicted and affected by different issues in the world you are, the harder it is for you to do something. And yet I know some people who do stuff, who do fight, who fucking have to walk with a cane or crutches, who struggle to breathe or struggle to go anywhere, who don't have cars, and they still manage to go to meetings, work with organizations, and they're trying, they're God damn trying.

You see the problem is for the last 40 fucking years, the media apparatus that the United States runs, CNN and fox news, have accelerated the concept of propaganda in America from something that is a lot more decentralized and region specific, into this National Force that basically tells the world what America thinks. The issue is? Neither CNN nor Fox news, nor HLN, the Oprah Winfrey channel, cbs, abc, nbc, or Comedy Central really represent the American people and their opinions. A number of these nationally syndicated television shows and news programs have to water down a lot of perspectives, and they often dehumanize, Rob The Voice of, or just genuinely ignore very necessary issues. This is also because of the fairness doctrine, a standard that guaranteed the news would be a certain way, was abolished around the time that CNN and Fox News started taking off.

So not only were you getting watered down, oftentimes nationalized opinions, there was no alternative perspectives and there was no way to tell who thought what and why. And so pretty much the entire world and anyone who watches CNN and Fox News has just assumed that's what Americans think, when in reality we are very much skeptical and very much frustrated with what either program says, and by extension a lot of other media companies. We have watched and tried very actively to stop the monopolization of our media, but we are pretty much helpless to stop it because there's not a lot of avenues we can take especially the worse and worse things get.

You have to stop thinking of America in terms of the prosperity that is projected on television and by a bunch of places for touristic means, you have to start thinking about it in terms of the places that you don't see, you have to start thinking about it as a sort of oligarchic dictatorship that has traded hands over and over again for the last several decades to financially benefit a bunch of dick heads at the top of the hierarchy. Those same Financial dick heads go and explore the world, prop up and collaborate with different financially powerful individuals, and maintain the conflicts and oppression that run the world. Ever since the fall of the Berlin wall, and even since before that point, America has had pretty much free reign with little opposition to do a bunch of bullshit like that.

All the while a lot of it citizens suffer, a lot of them are compulsory forced to serve in the military in order to get the bare minimum amount of college, medical care, and so on, which creates a massive benefit to the military industrial complex, and by extension ships are troops all over the world to help our allies supposedly defend themselves, when in actuality all it's doing is just legitimizing and continuing the cycle of financial destruction.

What I'm trying to say is you have to stop thinking of America in terms of what you see in the media and start looking at America in terms of what you hear from people around here, and more importantly you have to talk to people who are not kissing the ass of government or posting rampant conspiracism. You have to talk to regular citizens and actually get a gauge on what it's like living in both middle and wider range America. I would love for California and New York to be the emblematic representation of america, I would love for the media and ideas you see and engage with to be true, but it's not and it can't be.

America has never been this prosperous giant, it has been a testing ground for the extent of which capitalism can be abusive and get away with it. It is always been that way. You can ask however it got to this point, and I will point to the Civil War and say it was always this way.

It was always about maintaining indentured servitude, always about maintaining disparity and destruction and oppression, and basically from the beginning America has constantly been founded by and sustained by consistent and perfect PR spins. Liberty and justice for all? Or for a bunch of guys who own land? Yes you can change it, but you don't change it by simple votes. All of the Amendments that have giving us rights and changes that have made the country supposedly better have been paid for in blood, and almost all of them have been subverted by a bunch of movements antithetical to their existence simply because a group of people didn't like being told what to do. We are trying our very goddamn best. Please know that the media lies to you, please know that our government lies to you, please know that everything you hear about us is likely some kind of fabrication meant to maintain some kind of facade to get you to believe bullshit. To make you think that we're complaining with this. To make you think that we wanted this. We didn't. Those of us who did? I guarantee you are in the minority. I know they are in the minority.

For those outside of America going "why don't you fight back" or "don't you guys know what's going on?" let me explain something to you.

We know.

There is nothing a lot of us can do right now.

We are either minorities surrounded by Trump supporters or struggling to make ends meet or (most likely) both.

These first few days are designed to exhaust us. It's the same tactic he used during his first administration. Overwhelm the media and the masses so that the more sinister things he does gets swept under the rug.

And honestly, a lot of us are checked out because we spent the last four years warning people about a second term because our lives were on the line and those we thought cared about us proved they didn't.

And now we're just trying to find some sort of semblance of happiness in this joyless world we're now living in. We fight when we can, we bring attention to what we can, but a lot of us are just fucking exhausted.

So please, cut us some slack. We've been fighting for the last eight years, we still have to fight for the next four.

Right now, survival is the only rebellion we have.

[sageivy11]

cornered dogs

Ghoap/street kitty hybrid!fem!reader

introduction: hello! ok i lied i have no idea when the smut is happening because i can’t figure out how to integrate it into the story yet so this might just become a slow burn if i decide to continue it. also i have no idea how to write scottish accents please spare me!! part 2 to this

contains/warnings: 4.4k words, brief description of a dog attack, reader is drugged, morally gray ghoap, mention of wounds, slightest of angst and mildest of comforts(ghost is a little mean), kinda unreliable narrator reader, r is forced into a bath but it’s for her own good, r is nicknamed ‘Kitty’ since they don’t know her name, 18+, no smut.

reader description: reader is an adult woman. no mention of race or size. her hair is briefly mentioned as ‘messy’ and fur ‘matted’. no mention of hair color or length. she also has scars. able bodied and doesn’t talk, but she will eventually.

It’s misty and wet when the boys (only Soap, Ghost never went to bed) wake in the morning. Furniture is strewn across porches, newspaper soggy on driveways, windshield wipers are propped up in piles of snow atop the car. The storm last night was not even near the calmest. It seemed to have a goal to ruin everyone’s day.

Ghost and Soap have their separate thoughts of worry about you. Soap, when he saw the harsh wind out the bathroom window when he was brushing his teeth. Ghost, when he stepped out of his apartment building for his morning jog and saw the mess the storm had left. It rains and snows frequently where they live, you should be fine, they try to reason with themselves.

And you were doing fine. You’d found sheets of metal in the trash to place over your temporary home for protection from the rain. Which was a few old cardboard boxes smushed together with ripped blankets and tattered rags. You had a full belly for the first time in months the night before, so you’d be okay without food for a bit.

But it’s not like you had someone telling you the weather, and you were underprepared. The wind is so harsh it causes the metal sheets to entirely crush your little home. You just narrowly throw yourself out when it comes crashing down, your knees scraping against the pavement.

You’re heartbroken. Devastated, as you stare at everything you once had been destroyed. But you can’t even feel it, can you? Not when the frost is biting at your nose, warning you of the need for shelter immediately.

You stand from the gravelly road on shaky legs, hugging your arms tight to your chest. The black hoodie is your thickest layer, and you put it on top while hoping it’d absorb some of the rain. Hail is beating at your face as you start to wander, looking for anything you might be able to use for shelter.

Boxes, piles of garbage, trash bags, anything. You come across a dumpster and you think you could slip in the gap between it and the concrete wall. You’ll still be cold, but it’ll protect you from the wind and rain. It fucking stinks. Hopefully you’ll be able to stand the smell.

You proceed, crouching to shift some trash bags stacked against the wall to hopefully slip between. The sound of a low rumble, different from the thunder, makes you stand once more. You turn, and your heart turns cold at the sight you’re met with.

There’s a snarling dog in front of you, hackles raised and legs bent low to the ground as it takes slow steps toward you. Saliva drips from its mouth and mixes with the rain and oil on the street.

The footsteps of the mutt mix with the tip taps of the rain, but your screams don’t.

Your escape is not swift nor scarless. It’s messy, but even after being attacked, you understand the animal. When cornered, everyone is an enemy. You think yourself more alike a pathetic dog than whatever part of you is hybrid.

There’s a nasty chunk taken out of your upper arm, but it’s not too deep. You’ll live.

This whole situation has left you unbelievably startled. You’re soaking wet and shaking, but not from the cold. Your tears are warm against the skin of your cheeks. You can feel scrapes and smears of warm blood on various spots of your body, but you can’t see any injuries other than the bite on your bicep you were currently pressing on with your opposite hand.

Your teeth dig into the split on your lower lip, nose bridge scrunched up from the pain. You’re tired. So tired. Now that the life-saving adrenaline has worn off, and you’re cold, alone, and wet, you only think of one place to go. The only familiar place you have left, really.

It’s a struggle up the stairs of the fire escape with how severely your legs are shaking. You’re worried it’s too late to be wandering so close to people. The storm had started around three in the morning, and after losing your home, searching for a new one, and being attacked, you’d now guess it was around five.

The men in the apartment woke up early, you knew that. But you couldn’t think too hard right now, not when you were so scared.

Your hands shake and slip on the slick surface of the window ledge. On the fourth try, you finally pry it open. You climb inside as quietly as possible, closing it behind you and sinking straight to the floor.

You leave smears of bloody fingertips on the edges of the window and drywall. Your back is against the wall, head slumped on your knees where you hug them to your chest. You wish your mind allowed you to sleep.

It’s only maybe an hour later when you see a light turn on in the other room. But you don’t- can’t fucking move. You’re paralyzed. Even as footsteps approach, even as the kitchen light turns on.

One of the men, the one you hadn’t had encounters with yet, sleepily steps into the kitchen. He’s tanner than the other one, shorter too. He’s got a funky, overgrown hairstyle. Maybe a mohawk in desperate need of a haircut?

He reminds you of the sun. If it were a rowdy, messy guy who had a guilty pleasure in reality TV.

He makes it to the cabinets, the coffee machine, and the fridge before he notices you. Or, the fingerprints. There’s a mug currently being filled by an automatic machine by the time he catches red on his window. His feet stutter to a stop, a frown starting as his lips before his eyes lower to you.

His expression softens, eyebrows raising in surprise at the sight of you. Bloody, clutching your injured bicep, shaking, and soaking wet. Your eyes are wet and surrounded by puffy, pink skin. Your hair clings to your face, the way your clothes do with your body.

“Hi there, sweet thing.” he coos, stepping a few feet away to pull his coffee out of the beeping machine. “Looks like someone’s had a rough night, huh?” He places the mug on the counter before he slowly sinks to sit against the cabinet across from you.

You stare. He’s got weird hair and an even weirder accent. He’s weird. It takes so much energy to even blink, you can’t believe you’re still conscious. You’re terrified, your heart pounding in your chest and ears, but all you can do is stare.

He slowly nods, “Yeah, figured. You must be cold. Mind if I grab ya a blanket? ‘ah can turn the heat up, too.”

All he gets is a blink in response. He stands, slow and measured even as his knees click. “Sit tight,” he urges. You don’t move. He walks out of your sight for a few moments, coming back with a blue wool blanket.

He approaches until he’s a few feet away, spreading out the blanket like wings and tossing it over you as best he can with the distance. It lands on your knees, not nearly high enough for your liking. Your icy fingers twitch. You slowly grip the end of the fabric to pull up to your collarbones.

His lips twitch into a frown at the sight. He wants to swaddle you, surround you in soft blankets and shiny things like a crow would with its mate. Wants to run you a warm bath, and give you another meal. Hot, this time.

But he can be patient. He doesn’t want to scare you off.

“Do ye want somethin’ to eat? Are you here because you’re hungry?” he asks, crouching to sit on the floor against the opposite counter once more. He sighs as he gets nothing in response besides a twitch of your eyebrow and the movement of your throat swallowing.

“Maybe I could get ya something for that arm? If y’let me see, I can help.” he tries to assure you the best he can, but he doesn’t exactly want to be attacked for trying to help. This is his first interaction with you, and it’s already not going great. He gives you a sad smile, and you notice a muscle twitch near his forehead. The crinkle in his skin leads to a star-shaped scar on his temple. You wonder where it’s from.

Soap’s head turns as he hears a clinking noise from the apartment hallway before the door opens. It’s the man you’ve seen before, dressed in joggers and a dark black hoodie, which you think might’ve been grey before it got soaked from the rain.

He locks the door behind him, slips off his shoes, and steps further into the home. He doesn’t notice you immediately either, but much quicker than Soap did. His steps slow once he reaches the kitchen counter, eyes flickering over Soap on the floor, to the bloody window, to you.

His eyes scan you, flicking up to the fingerprints on the window, and the bloody hand clutching your upper arm. Your wet skin and clothes. The way you tremble, the blanket Soap must’ve placed over you.

Soap stands to join him where he’s staring at you. “I found her like this when I came out for coffee this morning. She hasnae moved or talked.” Soap informs, giving you a concerned glance before refocusing on the other man.

All you do is observe as they talk about you. It feels like the cold has settled into your bones at this point, and you have a permanent brain freeze. You haven’t moved in so long, that you think you might actually turn into a statue if you don’t die from infection.

It’s quiet for a moment.

“She can’t stay like tha’. Gonna get hypothermia if she stays wet for any longer.” He digs into the pocket of his hoodie to drop his keys in some weird, wicker woven bowl before he starts towards you. You stiffen, fingers turning into fists against the blankets.

“Woah, woah, what’re ye doin’?” Soap quickly steps up with him, a hand on his arm and expression concerned.

Ghost’s face is blank as Soap stops him, but you notice a twitch on his lip. “I’m going to help her. What, you think she’s got fleas or somethin’?”

Soap scoffs, “How? ‘Cause she’s just gonna let ya touch her? She’s never even let any o’ us willingly see her, much less talk or touch.”

Ghost gives him a long look you can’t decipher, and huffs before he shrugs his hand off his arm and walks up to you. “What d’you think she came ‘ere for? She wants help and that’s wha’ she’s gonna get.”

He reaches down to grab you by your uninjured bicep and elbow, pulling you up to stand. He’s not the most gentle, but he’s not too rough. You stumble, legs shaky and stiff. You feel like rigor mortis is already settling into your muscles, even if you’re still alive.

“Simon,” Soap hisses, and you learn one of the men’s names. You try to step back toward the window, feet fumbling, but Simon nabs you back with a hand on your nape.

He doesn’t respond to Soap, one hand on your shoulder and another on the back of your neck as he guides you to walk in front of him.

The steps are forced and heavy like you’re some newborn calf who was learning how to walk. He guides you to the bathroom where he opens the door and walks you inside. You think your brain might’ve turned offline briefly, and came back on once you realized you were in danger (you aren’t). You don’t know what’s going on, and don’t remember how exactly you got here. What are you missing?

“You’ll be alright, love. We’ll take good care of you.” Soap tries to soothe, keeping up with the hulking man holding you. You glance at him, expression a little pinched. You’re still by the door and can see the living room through the hallway. You could still run. You’re faster than they are. Why are you trying to leave, again?

“Over ‘ere, Kitty.” the man you now know as Simon, says. He leans over the tub to start the faucet. Your eyes flick back to him but you barely blink. He sighs heavily and stands back to his full height. He takes a step and you take two backward, but he just grabs you by the arm and yanks you towards the bath.

His hand goes to the back of your neck again, forcibly shifting your gaze to look up at him. “Did ya freeze up there in tha’ little head of yours, too?” he huffs, lightly flicking your forehead with his free hand. You scrunch your nose, trying to pull away from him.

“No. You need a bath. You’re filthy and freezing.” he grumbled, pulling you to stand at the edge of the tub.

“Do y’need me to undress you?” he asks, keeping his face level with yours. You don’t know what’s wrong with you. Why you aren’t running when they are practically in your face and telling you they’re going to strip your clothes off.

“Si, fuckin’ ease up a bit, alright? She’s clearly startled. Let’s leave her to get undressed.” Soap butts in, stepping further into the bathroom and crossing his arms across his chest.

“Is tha’ what you want? Do y’need me to leave? I’ll leave if I know you’re going to get in.”

You sniffle, the only noise you’d made during this entire time. Your lower lip wobbles. You refuse to make eye contact. The blood on your arm has mostly dried at this point but your hand is still clutching it. Your other hand is fisting the blanket around your shoulders, feet like stone on the ground. If they both left, you think you probably would’ve looked for the nearest window so you don’t have a response to that.

“Alright,” he huffs, straightening next to you. He grabs your cold hands, pressing them to his shoulders and shaping them into a grip. The blanket falls and you shiver. “I’m going to undress you. You can squeeze if I touch somethin’ you don’t like, or I hurt ya. Understand? Squeeze if you understand me.”

Your gaze flicks up to him momentarily, but you can’t read anything behind his eyes. Your fingers flex to the best of your ability, and you think you’re squeezing, but your hand is too numb for you to be sure.

The blood on your hands transfers to the black fabric of his hoodie, but doesn’t show.

“Good,” he nods, kicking the blanket out of the way from where it gathered at your feet. His fingers slip under the hem of your layers, bringing your- his, ripped hoodie above your head, as well as your thinner layers, gaze only briefly wandering over your body. He seems to focus more on the scars than your chest.

He only shifts your grip briefly to let the articles of clothing fall to the floor before putting them back. He continues with your shirt, pants, and undergarments until you’re bare. Your eyes have fixed themselves on a wet patch on his shoulders, afraid that if you move he might go further than you’d like.

“In the bath now,” he confirms, and Soap reenters the conversation to help when Simon gestures for it. They move you like a doll. Simon moves your grip to the side of the tub, Soap moving one leg at a time into the bath. He guides you to sit, and you shiver violently at the temperature change.

Your teeth start clattering. Or maybe they had always been. Your hands hug your arms, crossed across your chest to give you some kind of modesty. It’s not much.

“Johnny. The door.”

Johnny, you learn, stands from his crouched position to close the bathroom door. Something he’d forgotten to in his rush to help. There’s something wet dripping down your face, and it takes you a moment to differentiate whether it’s tears or water dripping from your hair. You think it’s both.

You can vaguely hear some sort of conversation, but your mind seems to blur it out. When Johnny reenters your sight, he’s only in his boxers. You’d probably be taken aback by the amount of skin discoloration- scars, that were on his body if you didn’t have more important things to focus on. Like why he’s nearly naked and getting into the bath with you.

Whatever train of thought you had started conjuring immediately splutters to a stop. He steps into the bath behind you, and you cringe slightly at the thought of your previous wet clothes sticking to your skin.

One of your hands grips the side of the tub, looking to prepare for an easy escape. Johnny’s arm comes around you to grab your wrist and slip it from the edge, gathering both of them to press against your diaphragm in one of his larger ones.

You start to squirm, feet slipping against the tub in your search for momentum as he pulls you back against him. “Easy, lovely. You’re alright.” he coaxes into your ear, wrapping his free forearm around your collarbones and holding you in a loose chokehold as he leans against the back of the tub and takes you with him.

You don’t necessarily fight it, but by the way, your fingers curl into your palms and your breath hitches and stutters, you know they know you’re uncomfortable. Your throat chokes around a whimper as Simon steps around the tub back into your sight.

“Shhhh,” Johnny hushes, settling his chin in the crook of your shoulder. Simon had abandoned his hoodie, now in a black, athletic, tight-fitting shirt. The long sleeves were pushed up to his biceps, a wet clicking noise drawing your attention to his hands.

He was rubbing a plain bar of soap between his palms, slicking his hands before his attention turned towards you. He sets the bar on the side of the tub, reaching for your left foot first. He lifts it out of the water and holds it steady as his hands rub the filth off of you.

You’re already warming up by the time he finishes one leg and starts on the other, only wincing every once in a while when he brushes a scrape. The problem is, you think the cold was numbing your pain. Your temperature is rising and with it your pain.

Your bicep burns now, and tingles in some weird way. The only time you’re adjusted is for Simon to have a better angle to wash you. Johnny keeps you still, mumbling sweet things to you every once in a while. You think you’ve blocked him out at this point.

You’d winced and squirmed a little when he rinsed your wound with water. You didn’t have much of a choice. Your shoulders relax slightly as he finishes and steps away. He hasn’t touched your hair, tail, or ears yet, which only made you worried more for what’s to come. After a moment he returns with a black plastic bottle you can’t catch a good enough look to read.

You watch, wary as he uncaps the lid and holds your upper with his free hand. His hand tilts, spilling the clear liquid over your wound where it bubbles and turns white. You scream, throwing your head back and feeling Johnny flinch as your skull knocks against his chin.

“Fuckin’- easy, easy. We’re not trying to hurt you, calm down.” Johnny tries to soothe you while your squirming increases tenfold.

Johnny never releases you, only tightens his grip and throws a hairy, muscled leg over your hips when your kicking becomes a problem. You squeeze your eyes shut, fresh tears slipping down your newly clean cheeks as your lips part on a sob. It stings, it fucking stings. Why did they do that? What’s wrong with them?

You think you get lost in the white, tight pressure of your eyelids for a moment because when you come back, there’s white gauze and bandages wrapped around your upper arm. You’ve stopped moving. Your lips are parted to let out panicked pants and the whites of your eyes feel irritated.

“Kitty,” Simon speaks so suddenly that your eyes flick up to meet his. A few strands of hair fall in front of your face and you flinch when he smoothes them back. “Relax. We’re not tryin’ to hurt you. You need to cooperate. You hear me? Don’t bite.”

He uses a rough thumb to wipe the tears from your cheeks before he uses that same hand to pry your jaw open, watching as your eyelashes flutter rapidly. He holds your mouth open and uses his free hand to drip a few drops of water into your mouth from a glass cup you have no idea where or when he got.

You stiffen, confused, watery eyes locked on his. He then puts the cup on the bathroom counter and places two small pills on your tongue. You have ample time to bite him. You don’t, reason unknown to you.

He then closes your mouth and watches you closely as he tells you, “Swallow.” You do and can see the way he stares to see if your throat bobs. “Open,” he urges, and this time you do it on your own. When he finds nothing, he praises you with a quiet “good girl.”

“Pain meds. They’ll help ya feel better,” he adds before you even think to ask. You think your brain has been put on a backtrack or something since you stepped into their house. Maybe it was the cold, maybe it was the pain. But now all you can think about is how they could help you every day. Maybe not. They’re too overbearing. Right.

Simon leans over to reach for a bottle labeled ‘shampoo’, but stops when Johnny speaks up. “Si, maybe let’s leave that for another day. Today has already been a lot.” He pauses, and stares, which he seems to do a lot. He grunts in response, leaning over to unplug the tub.

‘Another day’ completely goes over your head.

Your hair is.. well, it’s a mess. You’ve tried to keep it somewhat short so it doesn’t have so much upkeep, but it’s not like there’s a free barber at every corner. the matted fur on your tail and ears you… don’t even want to talk about it.

“I’m gonna let go now, alright?” Johnny says next to your ear, tone soft enough it doesn’t make you jump this time. You nod hesitantly, the first type of communication you’ve ever given to them. He slowly releases you and Simon reaches his hands out for you to grab. You do, slowly, letting him help you stand and step out of the tub.

Johnny lugs himself out of the tub, grabs a towel, and excuses himself from the room. Simon wraps you up in a fluffy, gray towel, rubbing and patting at your face and shoulders until you’re mostly dry. And you kind of just.. stand there. Johnny comes back a few moments later, clothed and dry now, holding a few articles of clothing in his hands.

“Got some clothes for ya,”

Your gaze turns towards him, and you shiver and cross your arms across your breasts once Simon lets the towel drop. He holds a few things up to your body to see what fits best. He dresses you in boxers, one layers of pants, a short-sleeved shirt, a long-sleeved shirt, and a long-sleeved shirt.

You almost wish they had something warmer. Or a raincoat, maybe? But beggars can’t be choosers, can they? At least the socks they tug onto your feet are warm and fuzzy.

You let them move you around like a puppet on strings. One man slipping your arms into the sleeves, one man pulling boxers up your hips. Once they finish, Simon heads over to your clothes.

You watch as Simon picks them from the floor, Johnny adjusting your new outfit to fit you more comfortably, and shoves them right in the bathroom trash.

Johnny watches the way your expression drops as you look at him and shoots Simon a look. “Sorry, lovely. These clothes are yours now.” He tries to placate, his eyes soft as he looks at you. You frown.

“Right,” Simon grunts, “Hoodie got all ripped up. The rest are beyond saving. You’ll wear this now.”

Johnny places a hand on your shoulder, guiding you out to the connected living room and kitchen. You’re disappointed, but you don’t think you can be mad when they’ve done all this for you. You have nothing from before. Maybe that’s okay.

“Ye ready to leave?” he asks, riffling through a cabinet in the kitchen. It takes a moment before you nod. “Think the storm is dying down. You can stay until it’s over, f’you want.”

You shake your head, subtly, instinctively, stepping towards the window. “That’s alrigh’, won’t make ya.” he smiles, showing you his palms up before he takes a step back.

They don’t say anything. They seem to go back to whatever they were doing before you. Soap grabs his cold coffee off the counter and pops it in the microwave, a few beeps sounding out as it turns on. Simon has carried his hoodie back out from the bathroom and placed it on the coat rack by the door.

It almost seems too natural. Practiced.

Your feet feel cold and heavy when you take another step towards the window. You swear they were warm just a moment ago.

While you blink away some blurriness from your vision, you’re hyper-aware of the excess saliva gathering in your mouth. Fuck, please don’t throw up, you urge.

When your gaze refocuses on the window, the rain looks like a watercolor painting. The muscles behind your eyes ache. Your foot is taking another step before you permit it.

Your newly socked feet cause you to slip slightly, one hand snapping out and you just barely have enough time to grip the cedge of the kitchen counter. Your head pounds.

“Och, easy, Kitty.” Johnny gentles, coming up behind you and placing his now cold hands on your shoulders. You don’t know when you got so hot. Feverish.

“Let’s go sit ya down with Simon, yeah?” he asks, but it’s not really a question as he already starts to guide you towards the couch where Simon is sat. You don’t remember seeing him walk that way.

Johnny sits you on the couch next to him, who lifts an arm to coax your head into his lap. He pets his hand over your head, his fingertips feeling the heat of your skin as he brushes against your cheeks.

He pushes your hair back from your face and you let your eyes fall shut solely because of the intense nausea taking over you. Your lips part to let out slow, harsh breaths.

“I don’t feel so good,” you moan, voice slurring, fingers curling into a fist against the fabric of Simon’s pants. The room feels like it’s spinning.

“I know, love.”

notes: sorry for the abrupt ending! also i don’t mind tagging people so go ahead and ask if u want!

tag: @pagesfalling

[cxosmicxo]

valentines !!

♡ : i. midoriya, k. bakugo, s. todoroki, e. kirishima, d. kaminari, h. sero

☆ : gn!reader, slight fem!reader mention in one of denki's, established relationship, one mention of vomit, very small vocabulary omg, not edited so if you see a typo ignore it

✄ : sorry this is so late!! i hate being busy and i’ve been really busy recently💔 but there will be a new smau coming out later this week also😜😜

- in which the mha boys ask you to be their valentine !

i. midoriya

asks you like the first week of january😭

very responsible!

but hes actually so nervous to ask you even tho you guys are dating ??

almost vomits bc he’s so nervous

was gonna do it in front of your friends but he was too nervous so he did it in private

it was after school and the sun is starting to set so it’s that mix of pink and orange

he texts you telling you to meet him at the pond you guys hangout at

you’re sitting there for maybe a minute, waiting for him

and he comes up behind you with a little “boo!” bc he’s silly😝

you turn around and he’s holding flowers and there’s a little bit of snow on the petals

when he opens his mouth to talk he gets nervous and shuts up and his face is turning bright red

LMAO he turns around, takes a deep breath and turns back around with an anxious smile

“i know it’s early but… will you be my valentine?”

he shuts his eyes like he thinks you’re gonna say no loll

his heart is beating out of his chest when you don’t respond but you’re just awing at him bc he’s so cute💔💔💔

i don’t think i used awing right

he opens his eyes and he’s like “please don’t say no bc i already made a reservation”

you giggle at him and then you hug and say yes of courseeeee

and then you live happily ever after and he gives you flowers, chocolate, stuffed animal, smth you’ve been wanting for a while, and takes you out to dinner and you spend the rest of the weekend together😜

k. bakugo

wasn’t gonna ask you bc he assumed obviously you’re his valentine you’re dating🙄

until he heard your friends talking abt how their boyfriends asked

now he has to one up all of them

does it in private bc “they don’t need to be in our business” but it’s bc no one else needs to see him showing emotion besides you

actually really nervous like izuku it’s giving him a headache

begrudgingly asks his mom what to get you and how to ask you

he just shows up to your dorm and when you open the door he just barges in, shutting the door

you just stare at him confused and he huffs and rolls his eyes

“be my valentine… or whatever”

he’s basically whispering it

but if you ask him to repeat it he’ll walk away😭

you ask him where your flowers/presents are and he’s like “you gotta wait for that, greedy”

but he takes you out to dinner bc he’s had that booked since december/january but you’ll never know that🤫

he gets you flowers and candy and all that cheesy shit but he gets you smth sentimental like omg you loser😩😩😩

very sentimental and probably gave you pictures from when you first met, first started dating, and now

so cute i love him

s. todoroki

also wasn’t gonna ask you but natsuo said he HAS TO

and mina was borderline harassing him abt it lmao

honestly pretty lost and scrolls on tiktok for hourssss looking for gift ideas

he asks you around the first week of february

nothing dramatic he just asked you on a study date at your fav cafe and he brings flowers and asks you as soon as he sees you

he feels like he should be nervous but really isn’t

nonchalant dreadhead shoto

pauses before he asks bc he gets a little nervous but he knows you’ll say yes

omg if you say no as a joke he jaw drops slightly it’s so funny

but on valentine’s day he def takes you to this nice ass restaurant and you guys take cute pictures and everyone’s jealous

when you guys get back to the dorms he gives you your gift and i think he made you a boo basket bc he saw so many videos abt it

has like candy and stuff, probably a jellycat, and the essentials idk you get the point

super cuteness and you spend the rest of the night together and probably go out again the next day😜

e. kirishima

very excited he loves valentine’s day

he just loves loving you!!!

just like izuku he asks you like right after christmas

you guys probably started dating bc he asked you to be his valentine and then you lived happily ever after😝

omg yes wait

it’s the day after christmas and you guys are hanging out with your friends in the commons and he perks up randomly saying he forgot to give you a present and sprints to his dorm

most of you guys are looking at him weird but denki, mina, and sero are looking suspicious

he comes back, out of breath, and he places a medium to large sized box on the coffee table and sits back down next to you

you side eye him with suspicious and take the top off of the box

the box unfolds and there’s flowers and chocolate placed in the middle of a poster that says “all i want for christmas is you… will you be my valentine?” in what looks like mina’s handwriting😭

you gasp and pull him in a tight hug, nodding with a little “of course, you loser” and a giggle

his hands shoot up in victory yelling, “SHE SAID YES!!!” as if he just proposed to you LMAO

everyone (except bakugo bc he left when kirishima left bc he knew the present) cheered loudly and it was so silly😜

valentine’s day rolls around and you’re greeted with him holding flowers in front of your door as so as you open it

“for you m’lady, happy valentine’s day”

after school you guys go eat ofc and go to the park, acting like fools but eventually you guys go back to the dorms and he gives you your presents

he also made a boo basket and has cute sentimental stuff like a handwritten note, a photo album of you guys, and other simple basic stuff

you guys had a romcom marathon and spent the rest of the weekend together with your “extended valentine’s day”

d. kaminari

i’m torn between if he’d lwk forget and ask you the day before or if he’s had this prepared since november😭

def asks you in public and does smth extravagant

like outside your dorm with a boombox

okay so it’s february 1st and you’re finishing up getting ready for school and you’re just abt to head down to the commons

you grab your bag and you hear again by fetty wap blasting on a speaker and it’s coming closer to your room LMAO

so, confused ofc, you step out of your room and see denki holding a poster that clearly wasn’t made by him bc it’s legible, sero holding a boombox, and kirshima holding a bouquet of flowers

can you tell i think im the funniest person ever

most of your class is behind him, cheering him on bc power couple ofc

as he approaches your dorm, sero turns down the music and denki holds the poster in one hand and flowers in the other

his dramatic ass gets down on one knee

“good morning, my beautiful goddess, will-“

“did mina make that poster”

“shut up, will you make me the happiest man alive and be my valentine?”

you laugh and say yes ofc and he jumps up, drops the poster and flowers, and picks you up and spins you around while everyone cheers and takes pictures

very dramatic ofc

on valentine’s day he comes to your door in the morning and gives you flowers and chocolate that he makes you carry it around all day so these mfs know you have a valentine

after school he gives you your presents and he also does a basket thing and it’s very similar to kirishimas but def adds some pictures of himself for you to appreciate lmao

even tho he did a dramatic thing asking you out he’s pretty chill on valentine’s day and just wants you to feel your best and feel loved and appreciated

take insta pics of courseeee and everyone’s jealous and he takes your pictures and he highly trained btw

just like kirishima with the “extended valentine’s day” it’s valentine’s day until you go back to school

you’re attacked by the hip all weekend, everything is a two person job

even if you have to go to the bathroom he’ll stand by the sink

if you kick him out he’ll be curled up against the door while he waits and falls when you open the door

very cutesy very sweet makes sure he’s the best and last bf you have😜😜

h. sero

asks you in a timely manner

very responsible

could do smth extravagant and public or personal and private depending on what you want

probably makes mina ask you abt it so she can tell him

bc of that i won’t specifically describe how he asks so use your imagination to how your perfect valentines proposal would be

classic man, probably brings flowers but if you don’t like flowers or are allergic he’ll bring an alternative like stuffed/dried/lego flowers or wtv

if you want smth public and dramatic he’ll probably yell at you from down the school hallway, run up to you with a poster and loudly ask😭

if you want smth more private and personal he’ll probably ask in the same place he asked you out and have a little cute and meaningful speech

he’s pretty good with words if he wants to and makes you tear up a little bit tbh

use your imagination to fulfill the rest of your dreams <33

similar to kirishima mainly

if you prefer a fancy dinner he’ll book one but if you just wanna get food or stay in the dorms it’s wtv makes you happy bc you being happy makes him happy🤩

but on valentine’s day i’m thinking he gives you smth in the morning like a cute matching bracelet and gives you the rest of your gifts after your date

he follows you around all day and has no shame bc why wouldn’t he

like i said earlier it depends what you want like if you go to a restaurant to eat or just grab some food or stay in the dorms

but after you eat you guys watch cheesy romcoms in his dorm and he gives you your presents

also does a basket and gives you the basic things like everyone else but he does hand write a letter makes a cute thing with pictures from when you first started dating to now

he’s very sentimental tell me he’s not🙄

omg yes he gives you a collage board to hang up on your wall and it’s full of pictures of you guys and tons of memories

he does not play abt valentines LMAO

follows you around all weekend also but he does that anyways

[raccoonrobyn-imagines]

With the advent of the invention of the time machine, cloning technology had come along decades beforehand. And when those two combined? It only took about 0.2 seconds after the invention became common knowledge that the first incident of someone using a time travelling clone to kill someone who would either become important or had important children.

After that happened? It resulted in a type of mass hysteria and terror that resulted in some rules that people made that would be taught in preschool.

Rule number one was the most important.

It said that everyone would make a single password that they would never tell anyone, under any circumstances, so if a future self came to see you (highly regulated by the government, though some insane people could manage it through the black market or other illegal means) the future self would have to whisper your own password before you could talk to them in private.

The first meeting would always be in public, and if any sort of "you" showed up secretly (without the proper guards or police, which would give you an assurance that its truly you, and even then, it would only be the most important people in the world that could have that happen, and you know for a fact that you would never be important enough to have that happen), you would have the knowledge that you might be able to kill them, and stop them from killing you.

These rules rang through your head as you looked at who seems to be... you, but older, wearier, and hidden within your apartment.

Instinct demands you ask for your password, and you ask in a trembling voice, "What is our password?"

The older you replies in a desperate voice, "we always told people we made one, but we never did. We always thought that we'd get to it later, even when our parents and teachers asked, we lied. That is our password. That we never made one in the first place."

Silence fills your apartment, and you nod slightly, knowing that it was true.

Your older self goes on after that. "I have to tell you something. Someone is coming. Someone is going to try and kill us tonight. They never gave any warning except to myself and our fiance. Our lives are about to get far more complicated tomorrow. You can't die tonight. You have to go and hide and stay safe. I can't be here anymore, but take this to heart."

They take a deep breath in for a moment, before smiling at you.

"You're far more important than you think. That's why I'm here, in our shitty apartment with rats and cockroaches. You have to survive until dawn breaks, and then you'll finally be important. You are the most important person right now, and you need to survive. Good luck."

"If you're me from the future, what's the password?" "We never made a password, we just told everyone we made one."

[kanmom51]

Happy birthday Hobi

And hello hello Jikook!!!

Full clip. Notice how there are some things that aren't translated. Could be because of how fast they were talking and how hard it is to spontaneously translate a 3 person conversation. Could be because there were things they preferred to mull over before translating. I guess we'll know when the full translation comes out in a few days.

So, first we have JM.

Yes, I guess things never change.

And then...

Oopsy JM and JK.

Thank you for letting us know and making it clear that:

You spend your evenings together.

You shower together.

You have heart to hearts talking about you futures ("what kind of lives we will live moving forward") .

Oh, and thank you from the bottom of my heart for letting everyone know what was bloody obvious to us Jikookers.

YOU SHARE A DORM.

And another source:

I'm usually not like that.

But let me enjoy this moment. Just a little bit!!!

Mic drop motherfuckers!!!

JM tells us he has put on weight - bulk, muscle (and yet he won't let us see him like that).

But what about JK, you might ask...

Really JM?

Tell us you are having the time of your life without telling us you are having the time of your life!!

And we have stories.

So many stories...

If anyone thinks Jikook were annoying before with their inside jokes and games, know now that post military they are going to be absolutely insufferable.

In the very best way possible.

🤣🤣

And I'm here - with y'all - to enjoy every second of it!!!

Quite a surprise they organized for us today.

Thank you once again, Hobi, for being president of our Jikook fan club, and HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO OUR SUNSHINE.

[rafesbuzzcutseason]

chasing city lights

chapter 15 - welcome cara

synopsis: you move to new york to start fresh, hoping to find comfort in the city’s atmosphere. that’s when you meet sarah cameron, where she takes you to a concert and you catch sight of the lead band member, rafe cameron. it only takes a moment for you to realize you’re captivated by him. as sarah helps you navigate your new life in the city, you start to get pulled deeper into rafe's world—the music, the fame, the chaos. the more you get to know him, the more you realise that rafe is not just the rock star he seems to be. he’s wrestling with his own demons, and the last thing he needs is someone like you getting close.

masterlist

cw: alcohol, language

✧˖ °. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁‧₊˚ ☾. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁˖°✧

after you had picked up cara from the airport, it had been nothing but non stop talking trying to catch up on everything. she was desperate to meet your friends, but more importantly, your boyfriend who you hadn't stopped talking about.

"so when am i going to get to meet the famous rafe?" cara asked you with raised eyebrows.

"well actually," you started, "we're all going out tonight so you'll get to meet everyone!"

"my first night out in new york" she giggled, "better make it a good one."

after many outfit changes and singing along to your pre's playlist it was time to go. you ordered an uber and texted the girls you were on your way.

a short drive later, and you pulled up at the bar where the boys were already waiting.

"hi baby." rafe came up to you and gave you a quick kiss.

"rafe cameron its an honour to meet you." cara said, pulling him into an unwanted hug.

jj coughed beside you, and cara's attention turned to him, "i'm jj." he said, offering his hand.

"i know." she replied confidently, as topper and rafe gave each other a look.

you laughed nervously, taking rafe’s hand as you led the group inside. "alright, let's get drinks before cara here starts plotting my demise," you joked, hoping to lighten the mood.

the rest of the girls eventually arrived, and you felt a wash of relief washing over you, unsure why.

"y/n!!" sarah screamed, pulling you into a massive hug. "and you must be cara. it's so nice to finally meet you."

"and you! y/n talks about you guys all the time." she said, turning to the rest of the girls.

you all head inside, rafe's hand never leaving your waist, more protective than usual. you all headed towards the bar to take some shots, vowing to a good night.

as the night went on however, you couldn't shake the feeling that cara's presence was more than just about catching up. every time rafe said something she would laugh or casually touch his arm, only leading him to hold a stronger grip on you. you felt a tiny prickle of unease. you brushed it off as paranoia, after all, it was just your best friend being friendly. right?

the drinks were flowing, and everyone was dancing and having a good time, but you couldn’t help but notice how cara kept inching closer to rafe and stand next to him when there was plenty of space, and every time you glanced their way, her hand would rest casually on his shoulder or his arm, lingering for just a moment too long.

you tried to shake it off, but the pit in your stomach kept growing. rafe hadn’t seemed to notice, he was too busy looking at you.

you excused yourself for a bathroom break, needing to clear your head, sarah and kie following after you.

"are you ok y/n? you seem off." kie asked you.

"yeah yeah i'm fine just needed a break." you muttered.

"you're lying." sarah responded.

"no i'm not." you said defensively.

"well you're not leaving this bathroom until you tell us the truth." she replied.

"i think i'm over reacting." you started, "but i know how obsessed cara is with city lights and i just have this weird feeling."

"jealously" lie smirked.

sarah gave her a light smack, "shut up kie. not helping" she said seriously.

"it's probably fine." you carried on, "but she's just acting different. i've known her almost my whole life and she's hardly paying attention to me and all on rafe."

"ok well she might just be fangirling a little, y'know? i wouldn't take it as anything to worry about." sarah squeezed your hand.

"you're right, as always." you said.

"let's get back out there okay? we've got you." kie smiled as you made your way out.

as you walked back into the main room, your eyes caught cara and rafe in deep conversation.

"are you sure she knows how lucky she is to have you?" cara's voice asked, dripping with something you couldn’t quite put your finger on.

rafe chuckled, clearly not picking up on the tension. "she does, yeah. i love her. she's the one for me."

you stopped in your tracks, heart racing.

cara’s laugh echoed in your ears, "i bet she is."

shaking your head, you took a deep breath, you couldn’t let the insecurities take hold. not tonight, not when you were supposed to be having fun.

you turned the corner, walking right up to them, plastering on a smile. "hey, what are you two plotting over here?"

both of them froze for a moment, cara's expression shifting briefly, "just talking about how great rafe is. he really knows how to treat a girl, doesn’t he?"

rafe looked between the two of you, a confused frown crossing his face, but he shrugged. "yeah, i guess i do." he smiled at you, his arm instinctively pulling you close.

you tried to ignore the knot in your stomach as you followed rafe back into the crowd, but as the night wore on, it became harder to deny what you were feeling. cara wasn’t just here to meet your friends and have fun. she was here to make her move.

✧˖ °. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁‧₊˚ ☾. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁˖°✧

a/n: you guys were right of course... we hate cara and you are all clever for having a bad gut feeling hehhe

taglist: @hoefordrewstarkey @marleymarleymarleymarley @bee-43 @cherryhoneybabe @skye-44 @drewrry @drewrry  @yesterdaysproblemm @pogueprincesa @dylsdaily @rafeysworldim19 @valyrianflower @kaiparkerwifes@judesgfirl@4urvalidation @chillgal135 @drewstarkeyslover @yesshewrites1 @amterasuu@babykhloutofthisworld@blushmimi  @moonywhisp3rs @rafeysworldim19 @marleymarleymarleymarley @sabrina-carpenter-stan-account@vcnillafairy@bambii1i @sammyrenae68 @kittenjujusblog @bambii1i @thesunflowersociety @slvthrsmimi

[bradleysass]

St. Mungo's - @into-the-jeggyverse - wc: 696 - CW: James has schizophrenia

James wakes up to the sharp scent of antiseptic and the muffled sounds of the psych ward at St. Mungo’s. The walls are white, too white, and the light above him hums just a little too loudly, like it's trying to whisper secrets only he can hear. He shifts against the stiff sheets of his bed, gaze unfocused as he scans the room.

And there he is.

Regulus.

James swallows, blinking hard, willing the image away. He’s not real. He never is. But the boy doesn’t disappear, only steps closer with that same careful expression, his hands tucked into the pockets of his robe like he’s trying not to startle a wild animal.

“Morning,” Regulus says, voice low, careful, as though he already knows the battle James is fighting in his own head.

James exhales sharply. “Not real.”

A flicker of something crosses Regulus’ face, but he doesn’t argue. He never does—not in the way James expects. Instead, he drags the visitor’s chair beside the bed and settles in, too steady, too sure, even as his hands tremble slightly when he rests them in his lap.

James turns his head toward the window, but the outside world is distorted, like he’s seeing it through a warped lens. He taps his fingers against his wrist. Four taps. A pause. Four taps. A pause. The rhythm keeps him grounded. He counts the taps, the pause, the taps again.

“You do that when you’re overwhelmed,” Regulus notes, like he’s making a casual observation rather than dissecting James' existence. “You’re trying to remind yourself what’s real.”

James’ jaw clenches. “That’s ironic, considering you aren’t.”

Regulus exhales, a quiet, measured thing. “I’m real, James.”

James laughs, but it sounds hollow even to him. “That’s what all the voices say.”

Across the room, Barty lets out a dramatic groan. “Can you two stop your tragic romance for five minutes? Some of us are trying to enjoy our psychotic break in peace.” He’s lounging on his own bed, flipping through a battered book with pages torn out, his fingers twitching like he’s considering setting it on fire just to watch the flames. Evan, seated cross-legged on the floor beside him, nudges Barty’s foot with his own.

“Leave them alone,” Evan murmurs, not looking up from where he’s absentmindedly tracing invisible patterns on the tile. “Not everyone is content in their madness like you.”

Barty grins, wolfish. “Madness is only a problem if you let it be.”

James tears his gaze away from them, forcing himself to look at Regulus again. The boy hasn’t moved, still watching him with the same patient intensity that makes James feel like he’s being dissected. But not in the way Healers do, with their prodding questions and potions that make his head feel stuffed with cotton. No, Regulus watches him like James is something important, something worth understanding.

James’ throat tightens. He doesn’t know how to handle that.

“If you’re real,” he rasps, “prove it.”

Regulus leans forward, slow and deliberate. “What would it take for you to believe me?”

James hesitates. There’s no right answer, no proof he could ever trust. The delusions are always so convincing. But still—

“Tell me something I don’t know,” he challenges. “Something the voices couldn’t make up.”

Regulus’ lips twitch, something like amusement, something like sadness. “Your first memory of me isn’t the first time we met.”

James stiffens. “What?”

“You think it was fifth year, in the Quidditch stands after a match. But we met before that.” Regulus tilts his head slightly. “When you were eight, you got lost in Diagon Alley. You were crying behind Flourish and Blotts, and I found you. You wouldn’t stop talking about how your mum was going to kill you for wandering off.”

James’ stomach twists. He—he doesn’t remember that. And yet—

A flicker of something. A shadow of a memory buried deep in the recesses of his mind. A small boy with grey eyes, quiet and serious, offering him a Chocolate Frog while they waited for someone to find him.

His breath catches. “How—”

“I’m real, James,” Regulus says again, softer this time. “You just have to let yourself believe it.”

[neuronary]

#The Chase is them chasing him all over the Earth Kingdom#Azula meanwhile keeps getting thoughts about being the best and Earth Rumbles. only one of these is abnormal.#I'm sure that'll be fine#atla#avatar the last airbender#platonic brain polycule let's goooo#Zuko#Sokka#Aang#the gaang

I haven't touched a:tla in years but if there's one thing MuffinLance can do it's inspire me.

---

Azula keeps dreaming that she is blind.

It's strange, not least because when she dreams it it does not seem strange in the slightest, but it has alerted her to a weakness, and she cannot abide weaknesses.

The servants never question her (they are too afraid of her, which is meant to feel good but mostly feels twisty in the very depths of her stomach like if she thinks of Mai and Ty Lee for too long) so she is almost always left to her own devices. She knows they watch her, think her strange, as she wanders the palace halls, a blindfold over her face, tracing the walls until she has mapped every corner.

She'll know it better than the face in the mirror when she's finished. Better than her hands, which are her father's, and her hair, which is her mother's. This will be her's.

---

"Okay, what the fuck," Toph says, upon sitting up.

"Language," The Boulder says tiredly. "C'mon, I told you guys to watch it around her."

"Are you, alright, Bandit?" Headhunter asks. "This is the third time this week."

"I'm fine," Toph grumbles, because she is fine, she just keeps randomly falling asleep when she usually stays up way later and it's annoying more than anything.

"Maybe you should--" the Gecko begins. He is cut off by Toph hurling rocks at him.

---

It's good. Mai and Ty Lee are with her again and it's good. They're hers and she's finally got them back and that's good.

Azula ignores the little voice in her head that thinks that's sort of fucked up. That is decidedly not hers and therefore none of her concern.

---

Toph is pretty sure you can't own people. Or at least, if you do, it's very bad. That's not how having friends works. Except she finally has friends, for the first time in her whole life, and she's not totally sure it counts.

There's something... off. It's like she's always standing on the outside of their little circle. Like there's always something they're not telling her. Like the feeling of someone else shifting the earth beneath her feet before she wrenches it back from them.

She doesn't like it.

Maybe they're not her friends, because they're clearly not hers.

She throws more rocks at the Avatar and doesn't think about it.

---

When Azula dreams of her brother's faceless voice, it is not unusual; she doesn't know what he looks like anymore, although she can guess. When she dreams of him laughing, easily, surrounded by friends, it is unusual.

Mai and Ty Lee are there when she sleeps, sometimes uncontrollably. They both seem to understand that the world has changed for her, with the shifting of the ground and the sounds of the air singing far more than the visual cues she used to rely upon.

She can't trust anyone, she knows that. But if she could, she would trust them. Them, and the little voice in the back of her head that is definitely not hers.

---

Toph cannot see when she is awake and she cannot see when she dreams. That is what it means to be blind.

"What troubles you, young earthbender?" Uncle asks. Everyone just calls him 'Uncle' even though he's only Zuko's and nobody bothered telling her his name. Well. She's not going to ask.

Toph cannot see when she dreams her own dreams but sometimes. Sometimes she dreams of calligraphy brushes and play scrolls and classrooms and somehow she recognises them.

(Sometimes, she dreams of a long platform and two figures and flames and sometimes she is frozen and sometimes she screams and screams until everything is blue.) (She shouldn't even know what blue is.)

"Nothing," Toph says, flicking her foot and sending a rock the size of Uncle's stomach flying.

"What the hell, Toph?" the others all demand in perfect unison.

"Nothing," she repeats, soundless underneath their shared laughter.

Uncle's heartbeat thumps worried.

Toph ignores him.

---

"You can go home," Azula says after waking, feeling sick at herself and shaky. She cannot abide weakness. "You can go home, if you want. I'm not keeping you here."

"Why would I want to do that?" Mai drawls, picking underneath her nails with one of her knives.

Ty Lee smiles sympathetically. "Are you having nightmares?" The 'again' is silent.

"No," Azula lies, because one truth is one too many and she cannot abide weakness.

"We're not going home," Ty Lee agrees after a moment. "Where would be the fun in that?"

Azula should simply nod, accepting their loyalty, act as though it was a test. She feels sand in her throat at the thought. "Good," she says, half her voice, half another.

"Go back to sleep, you two," Mai grumbles, "or do you want to take my watch?"

When Azula dreams, she dreams of their days at the Royal Academy, before things were complicated and the worst part of her life was her mother's complaints. She dreams of Mai and Ty Lee and a girl in green who smiles as wide as Ty Lee and laughs twice as loud.

---

These people are nothing to you, it occurs to Toph as Aang shouts at her, like it's her fault they all left her to guard everything, like they didn't all leave her outside the library just like they leave her on the outside of everything else. Her hands are almost shaking with the rage that builds up in her, half hers, half another's, but all there, tight in her chest.

"How could you abandon him?" Aang cries.

The snap is more mental than audible.

"How could I do anything else?" Toph screams back. "How am I supposed to know what to do when none of you tell me anything?! Would you rather I let all of the rest of you get buried in that stupid library? Would that have just been a convenient way to get rid of me? Don't think I can't tell that you all hide things from me! What, is it some kind of signal the stupid little blind girl can't see? Well, this little blind girl saved all of your lives, so maybe you should be a little grateful! Maybe I shouldn't even bother with any of you!"

She hates them, all of them, with their stupid inside jokes, and their stupid expectations, and their stupid secret language she can't see.

They're all idiots, clearly. They hang around with Zuzu.

They apologise, after a while, because she's right, and they promise they didn't mean to exclude her.

"It's just that we've all got this spooky spirit psychic link," Sokka explains, a few days later. "We can kind of hear each others' thoughts and see each others' dreams. It's weird."

They can see each others' dreams. Huh.

"Huh," Toph says.

---

Azula dreams of the Fire Lord condemning her failure. She dreams of flames. She dreams of watching Zuko burn and being Zuko burning and of screaming. It's a familiar scene, up until it isn't.

Suddenly, as she dreams of being Zuko, burning because she failed, she dreams instead of the earth bursting forth to crush the Fire Lord. She dreams of him vanishing down, deep underground. She dreams of walls of earth and mud and stone rising between them, of flames bouncing helplessly off rocks.

She dreams of great beasts that make the earth rumble and feel more like home than the palace ever did.

When she wakes up, Mai and Ty Lee are watching her with a frown.

No matter how strange her dreams become, Azula knows reality. She has no choice.

"We're going to get into Ba Sing Se," she says, "and we're going to kill the Avatar."

---

Ba Sing Se is awful, just like Toph thought it would be. Everybody is still keeping things from her, and it hurts regardless of whether or not they mean it.

She's been having nightmares, too. Or, rather, the girl whos dreams she's seeing is having nightmares, and Toph can't seem to help all that much. She wishes she could do more, could save the girl's brother, but the fear paralyses her almost as badly as it paralyses her dreammate. It's all she can do to protect this girl, this firebender who is deathly afraid of the Fire Lord.

"Toph?" says Sokka. "We're going out to put up the Appa posters. Don't forget to bring a snack."

Toph grabs at the fruit bowl and comes away with an orange. She scowls and shoves it in her pocket; she's never been able to peel oranges properly. It's still in her pocket when she is captured.

---

They won't bother to rescue me, comes the thought, bitter and resigned and very much not her's.

They'll take too long to even notice that I'm gone.

Azula pauses her planning. It's taken some time to understand, but she's fairly certain that the voice in her head, the girl in green from her dreams, and the earthbender guarding her nightmares are one and the same. This is just the last piece of the puzzle.

"Mai," she says quietly, considering. "Ty Lee. Would you leave me for a moment? I need to meditate."

They share a look, concerned, that makes her fond in a way she wouldn't have been before this, but they leave.

---

These people are nothing, the other girl in Toph's head reassures her through her panic. What people say is impossible is nothing for people like us.

She breathes. In, and out, like the badgermoles taught her (like her father taught her).

Toph stands up and feels for the earth, for the parts of it that remain, no matter what is done to it.

Toph breathes, and stands up, and bends metal.

Anything is possible.

---

Azula watches the earthbender listen to the Avatar's sky bison leave, the beating of its limbs through the air above them roaring like a great flame.

Uncle Iroh twists to look at her, already trapped by the Dai Li. "Toph," he says, warningly, and the tone reminds Azula of every time he scolded her for retaliating against Zuko, every time he sided with her mother, every time he told her that's not a lady's way. In any case, the earthbender ignores him and turns to trudge towards them, shoving a hand into her pocket as she goes.

When she stops in front of Azula, she's holding out an orange.

"I think this is for you," the earthbender says.

You're mine, she thinks. You're mine to protect, like I'm yours, aren't I?

Azula takes the orange. "Yes," she says. "Yes, I think you're right."

Some spirit manages to get the gaang and zuko a link that connects their minds. They can share thoughts and their past with each other.

Tweaking this to “and they share dreams” because that’s how I started writing it.

---

“Okay,” Sokka says, wrapping his sleeping bag around himself, and grabbing a comfort Momo, too. “Who’s dream was that?”

No one ‘fesses up. But it was kind of a rude question, and also a little rhetorical, anyway.

They all have nightmares with fire.

Having the Fire Lord himself looming over them, while they were on their knees? Not exactly a stretch.

---

“Okay,” Sokka says, “how does Prince Jerkface keep finding us?”

---

“Okay,” Sokka says, “how did he know that seal jerky seasoned just right with honey—not too much, just enough to add a sparkle of sweetness to the depths of savoriness, a perfect balance for the distinguished tongue to relish—was the perfect bait for his Sokka and Sokka-affliated-parties trap?”

“Maybe if you stop dreaming about it, Sokka,” Katara snaps.

...And they all stop.

---

“I’m going to think really really hard about being friends,” Aang says.

“I’m going to think really really hard about that time my boomerang hit him,” says Sokka.

---

Snatching the boomerang out of midair? Impressive.

Ignoring the Avatar to go hit Sokka with it? Repeatedly? Uncalled for.

---

“Sokka. The city is under attack. Right now.”

“Okay,” Sokka says. “But this is a strategic nap, Katara. We need to know what evil things our Evil Other is up to.”

It’s not like the evil fleet part was a surprise, at least. They’ve been dreaming of it for weeks.

---

“Okay,” Sokka says, looking down. “So the ship-blowing-up-thing. Not a nightmare?”

“No,” says Zuko, glaring up with his glare-face all glare-ful but his thoughts mostly full of bruises so deep they’re making Sokka’s ribs ache, and also his legs are going numb.

“Going to get out of the turtle-seal tunnel now?” Sokka asks, still standing over the opening. With his boomerang.

“...No,” the Prince of the Fire Nation says, as he clings onto the edge of the hole, his legs still very much in freezing water.

---

“Okay,” Sokka says, when they have a Fire Prince all tied up in Blankets of Imprisonment. “So. What actually was your plan here? Do not,” he interrupts, before the teenage-shaped bloodhound-leech can do more than open his mouth, “say ‘capture the Avatar.’”

The prince closes his mouth. Glares. And kind of fuzzes at the edges, in the way all of them do when they’re about to fall asleep.

BOOMERANG, Sokka thinks, and Prince Largely Ineffective As An Enemy jerks back upright. His Momo hat chitters a complaint.

“Since we both know your answer is ‘I had no plan, Sokka, ‘plan’ starts with ‘p’ and there’s no ‘p’ in ‘Avatar’’, we’re going to play a game instead. It’s called ‘sleepy prince free association interrogation time.’”

“...What?”

“Battle plans,” Sokka says. “Attack. Fire Navy fleet. Ship numbers.”

Alas, “Fire Nation intelligence” is not something with which the prince’s brain is overly burdened.

“...Are you insulting me?”

“Are you proving my point?”

Elsewhere, Yue laughs in all their heads. Zuko flinches. The prince has a very marked reaction to the laughter of princesses.

---

“Okay,” says Sokka. “So that just happened.”

Commander Mutton Chops is groaning. Kind of flopping. Much like the bag he tried to fireball. Yue picks it up, and gently wrangles a fish back into water. Sokka is still not clear on what the fish-napping was about.

“It’s the Moon,” Aang says. “Or maybe the Ocean?”

Aang’s thoughts are full of a FACE STEALING EVIL CENTIPEDE MONSTER THAT IS JUST ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THE THIN VEIL OF REALITY and that is NOT helping Sokka think.

“Okay,” he says again. “So. At least we can all agree on one thing.”

This is a very diplomatic way of saying they all wanted to dropkick Zhao. But some of them wanted to do it more than others.

The prince of the Fire Nation is even paler than normal, and staring across the clearing at his uncle.

“I can explain,” the prince says, while he’s thinking, oh shit treason oh crap uncle wouldn’t hurt me thought that about father too

Sokka wordlessly plucks Momo from the edge of the pond, where he’s been swiping at the spirit-fish, and drops him on the prince’s head.

Everyone needs a comfort Momo, now and again.

---

“A raft, Zuko?” Sokka says. Outloud. Because it makes things louder when you say it and think it. “A raft?”

Aang is bouncing on his toes. “We should go get him.”

The Avatar is grinning. And thinking, really hard and deliberately, as behind them the Water Tribe ship finishes packing, We should capture the Fire Prince,

“Okay,” Sokka says, with a grin.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

One thing that sticks out to me that not alotta people mention is that Ramshackle wasn't the dorm's original name? Like, I recall in the light novel that Grim complains about the disrepair of the dorm, specifically calling it "Ramshackle", which the 3 ghosts then jokingly say "Hey! That's we can call it! Ramshackle Dorm!" It's interesting

I think people tend to not mention it because they genuinely overlook that detail (I'm included in that group www). The naming of our place of residence actually occurs in the game's prologue as well, but it's VERY easy to miss because of how it is presented. We first arrive at the dilapidated dorm building in part 5 of the prologue:

The problem here is that, as you can tell from the screenshots above, the location placards the game presents us with already names this location as "Ramshackle Dorm" (even though Crowley does not refer to it by any name prior to this). This would lead many players to assume the building has always been called Ramshackle.

In part 8 of the prologue, Grim complains that the dorm is "ramshackle"--which, as you should note, is not capitalized. The adjective ramshackle means "(especially of a house or vehicle) in a state of severe disrepair"--an apt description of the place. However, because it is not capitalized here, Grim isn't yet naming the building Ramshackle, and we quickly move onto an entirely new topic of discussion after this comment.

It is not until part 20 (the final part of the prologue) that Grim officially names the building "Ramshackle". His wording implies that he and Yuu agreed to calling their dorm "Ramshackle" when this conversation really did not happen earlier. There was never a formal scene dedicated to Grim and Yuu chatting about what they should call their new home.

This is expanded on in the first volume of the light novel, but it is also easily missed because while most Twst fans do play the game, not many have the attention span or the interest to read the novelization. There are many things added or changed in the light novels that are missed because of this.

The expanded conversation occurs on page 112 in the English light novel:

You'll notice that in the light novel, the adjective "ramshackle" is capitalized to "Ramshackle", which denotes a proper noun/refers to a particular place. This is followed up by the ghosts commenting that they love the name Ramshackle for their historical home. It's much more obvious in this version of the Twst main story that "Ramshackle" is a name Grim came up with and not a name that the dorm always had.

I guess I always felt that "Ramshackle" was an official name for the dorm and not one we came up with because of the ease with which everyone in the cast adopts the term??? Like no one ever questions what it refers to, even the students we've never met before or even Crowley, who reasonably should know that building's original name. Everyone else just kind of accepts that's what it is called now, even though we technically are only ever shown telling Ace and Deuce on-screen what we've dubbed the old dorm. I think we're supposed to suspend our disbelief for this detail or are expected to assume that the name spread around the student body through the rumor mill (cuz surely everyone would be gossiping about the strange new magicless student from another world) 💦

[slavicdolls4mangione]

troubled lu healing through meeting you hc:

a/n: i’d like to preface that this is purely fiction because none of us know how lu’s relationship with his parents is, i’m sure he loves his family and that they love him just as much. that being said i hope you guys enjoy, especially the lovely anon who made the request <3

- when lu first meets you, he introduces himself as “mark," an identity he’s crafted to protect himself in a way

- lu is desperate to be someone who’s not tied to the suffocating expectations of his family

- "mark" is the man he wishes he could be: calm, “normal”, free of the burden of his past; he’s a little rough around the edges, secretive, and distant, but there’s still kindness in his eyes that he tries to suppress

- it’s hard for him to trust anyone, especially with the guilt of what he’s left behind by running away

- over time, as you show him warmth and understanding, he starts to feel something he hasn’t in years: hope

- there’s a tenderness in your care, a kindness that doesn’t feel transactional like his family’s love did

- your laughter is a comfort to him, a sound he didn’t realize he had longed to hear, you made him feel like maybe, just maybe, he could have a normal life outside of his family’s demands

- and slowly, lu begins to falter, "mark" begins to slip and luigi emerges slowly, quietly

- at first, it’s just little things—his smile softens, his voice becomes less guarded

- one night, after a difficult day when the weight of his past feels heavy on his shoulders, he confesses to you

- it happens almost unintentionally as you’re lying together in silence, his head laying on your chest, arms wrapped tightly around your waist, his breath shaky as he whispers, “i’m not... mark” his voice cracking with emotion he hasn’t let himself feel in months

- he would see your eyes widen, but there’s no judgment in them, only confusion and concern

- that’s when he tells you about his family, about the pressure to live up to impossible standards, to become the perfect “heir” to his grandfathers legacy

- his past was a life of suffocating rules that crushed every bit of freedom he could have had as a child; he feels like he betrayed everyone by running away, but at the same time he can’t bear to go back

- there’s a lot of guilt tied to his escape, he never wanted to abandon his responsibilities, he was raised to be the heir after all, the one to take over the family’s empire, to be perfect

- he was always told he could never fail, but the more he stayed, the more his soul withered, and he realized that living in that suffocating cage would mean losing who he really is

- lu would tell you he can’t help but feel selfish for running, and sometimes you would catch him waking up in the middle of the night, cold sweat dripping down his face, his heart pounding from the nightmares of what he left behind

- you can tell he’s terrified that he’s abandoned a life most people would kill for, and yet... you both know he can’t go back to it

- when he has emotional breakdowns, you’re always there to hold him, to remind him that he’s safe, even when he doesn’t believe it himself

- one of the most heartbreaking moments happens at the beginning of your budding relationship when you, unaware of the depth of luigi’s trauma, casually share a carefree memory from your childhood, such a simple and happy memory, but for lu, it’s like a slap in the face

- he can’t even look at you as you talk about your childhood, because in contrast, his own was filled with expectations; his parents didn’t care for him the way they should have

- they didn’t let him be a child, instead of playful summers, he remembers long and boring hours at his family’s estate, being forced to study, to work

- and he starts to feel this overwhelming sense of grief and rage, as if something fundamental was stolen from him

- lu would take a deep breath and tell you : “i remember... i remember being a kid, and one day my father caught me playing... he said it was a waste of time and scolded me for it”

- you would listen to him sharing stories from his childhood with tears in your eyes, but you refused to let yourself cry because you wanted to be strong for lu, didn’t want him to feel like you were pitying him, that’s the last thing he needed

- since that day, you’ve understood that his wounds ran deep and vowed to help him heal his inner child

- you became his safe haven, the one place where he could finally be himself without fear of judgment

- you listened without pushing, comforted him without trying to fix him all while staying firm in reminding him that he deserves happiness, that he’s not broken beyond repair, and that he’s allowed to let go of the past

- you encouraged him to find his own path, to rediscover joy and slowly with your help, lui began to let go of the weight of his guilt

- he knew that, although it would be a long journey, you’d be by his side every step of the way, loving him unconditionally for who he truly is

- through your guys’ relationship, luigi learned that it’s okay to be vulnerable, and that love can be a source of strength, not just something he has to hide from

<3