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stagefoureddiediaz · 8 months ago

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7x05 promo meta

Thank you 911 for dropping those stills - its save you all from my terrible quality screen shots!

This was supposed to be a costume meta, and it is, but things rather got away from me so its got a bit of a mishmash of spec and the like in it! its probably incoherent but my brain is whirring!

Ok first things first - Firehouse!

Soooo whenever we've had firehouse scenes before between Buck and Eddie, the one not in uniform is the one receiving advice - Buck after he found out about Daniel, Eddie during the Black out etc. So I expect this scene to play to a similar theme.

The green jacket for Buck is an interesting one for me, green is all about growth - especially this shade of green. I think this scene will be the first time Buck and Eddie see one another in person - Buck perhaps re-apologising to Eddie, clearing the air, Eddie offering buck some advice (i don't know exactly what advice, but perhaps along the lines of not bottling things up and talking to him etc!).

The fact its a broadcloth jacket harks back to his shirt jacket from Eddies breakdown - that one was very red, so there's no direct connection to the meaning of that jacket from a colour theory perspective, but there is a wider theme connecting to the broadcloth - broadcloth is a fabric that was historically used for military uniforms (it still is) so the use of broadcloth has this element of going to war - unlike the red jacket that signalled danger and Buck going to 'war' to both get to Eddie and to then help him in the aftermath, this one is more likely to be a war related to Bucks 'bad behaviour' from the basketball game and I think and with the green of the jacket meaning growth, I expect this scene to show them on a more even footing - one where the one doesn't need to go to war for the other, because the 'war' is over, this is the aftermath now and Buck has grown (in the same way that Eddie was in green during and after his breakdown - he grew from that moment)

Date night - for Buck and Tommy

Firstly I want to mention the fact that Check theory is in overdrive for this scene - the check is literally everywhere - floor, tablecloths, walls, windows, the guy sat to the side of Tommy. Something is clearly going to happen that is going to lead to some sort of chaos. My money is on Check shirt guy suddenly becoming ill and interupting both dates (call back to Buck choking on bread would be chefs kiss imo as that was Bucks first proper date!!).

I originally thought his was the same shirt Buck wore when he was trying to donate sperm - however, turns out it isn't it isn't, this is a knit bowling shirt while the one from the sperm donation storyline was a knit polo (no buttons all the way down the front). I do think the remarkable similarity between the two shirts is relevant though. because Buck trying to donate sperm, was Buck trying to start a new life, but it was a false start when he was wearing the similar shirt (because the power was out at the clinic) and he is essentially doing the same thing here - he's on his first 'date with a dude' and is starting a new life as a bisexual man - only it seems he's probably going to try and hide it from Eddie - thus a false start in the same way his first attempt to donate sperm was. thing is, Buck was successful in making his donation in the end, so even if he has a couple of false start in this episode, he'll be successful in the end (see the end of this meta for the reason why!!)

Tommy is in brown (possibly a dark olive green, but it looks more brown to me at this moment in time!). Brown is of course one of Eddies staple colours, so we are continuing with the Tommy Being costumes as a version of Eddie!

But Brown is a colour of stability and strength - its solid ground. It's showing us that Tommy is completely comfortable in his sexuality (whatever denomination of queer he is as we don't know at this point!). Its also a colour of safety support and protection (its why many police and military uniforms around the world are brown - meant to invest a sense of protection - a reflection of what that job is supposed to be!). for me thats playing on the idea that Tommy is going to protect and support Buck on this date - Buck not wanting to come out to Eddie in that moment and Tommy supporting that and protecting Bucks right to chose when and how he gets to come out to the people in his life (and I adore him for that!) is my guess on why he's wearing brown here.

Eddie and Marisol's date night

(as an aside - Bucks face in the still below is hilarious!!)

I already mentioned the pink handbag in my 7x04 meta, but now we also have a pink skirt to add into the mix and its a ditsy print of two shades of pink, which not only further supports my pink and innocence theory about this season, but it also plays into how both Shannon and Ana were costumes as well - in lots of pink and in ditzy prints!!! Marisol (who doesn't even have a last name) is not long for the world of 911 - if it doesn't end in this episode, its gonna be over very very soon! She is going to essentially be an innocent bystander in whatever the hell is going to go down at this date night fun house we're about to see, whether her seemingly naive personality (well what little personality she seems to have!) plays into things as well, we'll have to wait and see!

The other aspect of this outfit that is making me laugh is the fact that the skirt is giving me 1980's/early 1990's teen vibes (not to out myself as old but trust me I had some just like this back then and I wouldn't be caught dead in it now as a grown woman!!) and the baby pink handbag looks like something an 8 year old would have to play dress up with - its all very childish and immature - naive one could say, and its suggesting to me that we're going to see some pretty childish behaviour from her at some point in this episode (we'll have to wait and see if I'm right!). The other aspect oof this childish style we're seeing on her plays into Eddies narrative of looking for magic and trying to recreate what he had with Shannon. Its for me one of the reasons why i think we have s2 Eddies hair back, especially this greased back version in this scene - its a nod to his s2 arc when he tried to recreate the magic with Shannon. Eddies journey is about learning that he cannot recapture or recreate that magic he had when he was young - that the love of youth - in all its innocence is not something that is sustainable or actually what he wants in the present. for me, him figuring this out is an important part of his wider un-repression arc and will allow him to move forward and learn that he needs to build a relationship on a stronger foundation that magic and innocence. That (ghost of a) second chance with Shannon ended up as a literal car crash (sorry to be blunt but it was a metaphor back then too!) so my feeling is that this is going to go the same way - and end in a figurative (at least) car crash.

As for the chain necklace! you can read my 6x15 metas for a fuller run down this one is the most comprehensive one (and theres some stuff lurking on other meta posts as well) but essentially every single one of Buck or Eddies girlfriends have worn a chain necklace (there is also a bracelet too, which I think Marisol wore in 7x01 but her scene was so blink and you'll miss it that I can't get a good still to be sure!) of this style - I never did get to writing the full meta on the chain necklaces I intended - the season 6 finale rather deflated my enthusiasm to do so, but I can talk about it here so, things worked out I guess!

Chains are a representation of incarceration, or of holding something back. they are a huge symbol of slavery and are used in derogatory terms when used to talk about relationships (the old ball and chain etc). This is why we see them on all the women connected to either Buck or Eddie, and never on any of the other female characters in the show - these women are essentially holding Buck and Eddie back, they are chains to be broken free of.

Then we have Eddie in his white shirt! There are a couple of reasons I am completely in love with this choice! firstly is the most obvious, it paints things very black and white for Eddie and Marisol - they are opposites! In this context, the wardrobe department are deliberately creating that opposition between them - and in combo with that pink bag and skirt - things aren't going to end well for them.

Black is a colour that sucks light and colour from things (yes there is the concept of the little black dress etc for dating but thats more about timeless elegance and Marisol is not wearing a black dress!) that absorbs everything around it - you can see in the picture below how the black of her top is absorbing the colour while Eddies white shirt is bouncing it around and glowing with the red - its especially obvious on her sleeve which is partially sheer and partially matt - the sheer parts are picking up the light, making the black non sheer parts still look black.

The other reasons I am living for the Eddie in a white shirt of it all is the fact that it really highlights that red lighting - this use of red - in this setting at that moment - when it doesn't appear to be anywhere else in the scene and certainly not around Buck and Tommy - can only mean danger and anger. Its telling us that Eddie is not happy - jealous definitely (that look is one of jealousy!) its also hinting at underlying anger though. My thoughts on this is that its playing into Eddie having to face up to his feelings for Buck - that he understands them, and perhaps feels like he missed his shot

The other reason I'm obsessed with the choice to put Eddie in a white shirt is this ⬇️⬇️⬇️⬇️⬇️

Because yes that is Eddie in white and Buck in dark blue, and yes that is the only other time we've seen Eddie in white in the entire show (excepting white shorts in fight club and even they fit the theme we're seeing here). Seeing them in the same colour ways here is very much giving Buck and Eddie divorce era 3.0 (fight club/lawsuit was 1.0 and the one above was 2.0) vibes.

Having dinner with Buck (or in the same space as Buck) and his current partner and the blue and white (and green that Tommy is wearing which matches the green that Taylor was wearing) is definitely a choice. This scene in season 5 was essentially a Buck and Eddie break up - 'move on Buck, I have' - we all know how that spiral ended - with Eddie digging in with his leaving the 118 and excluding himself from the firefam and Buck cheating on Taylor and asking her to move in with him.

thing is Eddie has form for doing dumb things when he feels under stress or pressure (asking Shannon to marry him again, fight club after her death and Buck suing the firehouse, leaving the 118 and not getting the help he needed until he had a major breakdown to name 3!)- so if we saw some kind of parallel to this scene - (this is especially in light of Eddie talking to Bobby about the job in this episode) where Eddie doubles down on a poor decision (don't know what but I'm currently speculating that its maybe asking Marisol to move in with him way way too soon - when he doesn't know her - hello episode title) in the same way Buck did with Taylor (because he is faced with the fact he could've had a chance with Buck after-all and is emotionally cheating on Marisol) and it plays into

I'm not saying we're going to be getting rid of Marisol in 7x05 (unfortunately) but I am saying the writing is on the wall for that relationship - there are too many costuming signs on both Eddie and Marisol for it not to be headed in the direction of ending. My guess from what I'm seeing with these costumes and that lighting, is that 'Ghost of a second chance' is when it will come to a head - it plays into the theming of Shannon redux and car crashes, learning from past mistakes before you repeat them.

And finally we're at Bucks loft!

Not saying this is at the end of the episode - I have zero idea where its going to land - every time I see a new still from it I'm more confused and decide its going to be at a different point of the episode!

Anyway, thats not important! Eddie is in his Buck 'date night' shirt - the one he wears when he has serious talks with Buck in the loft. thing that is different this time, is the fact he's in jeans rather than the green trousers he's worn on every other occasion. Something about that is making me feel like, while this scene is likely to be similar in that its going to be a serious talk, and I'm sure from the way it looks in the stills we're going to see Eddie reassuring Buck as we have in previous scenes, I think we might find this one is going to give us Buck and Eddie on a more even footing that we've seen before.

I'm fascinated that the Christopher watch is not visible in the above still, but it's very visible in the below one, and in the other stills we've got. We don't often see it hidden under eddies sleeves - we usually see it more like we can see it in the date night stills - visible with the shirt slightly tucked underneath. haven't figured out if its going to be significant or not yet - I need to see the scene!

We do have to talk about the looks they are giving each other here though - especially Buck!!! because I mean!!!! its kind of giving me don't keep things from me again vibes!!

I am very much loving that they put Buck in this jumper though! it is the one from the sperm donor storyline - when Buck tells Eddie, Hen and Chim he is 'responsible for creating new life.' I love this specific parallel because there is the play on the fact that Buck is now living a new life - that he's figured something out about himself - that he's creatinga new life forhimself - one where he is bisexual, and openly so (as we know he's going to tell people in this episode and hell he might be telling Eddie in this scene!). the other thing is that this light blue colour, throughout season 6 became a real representation of Buck journey of self discovery - all the way back to Lev at the happiness convention and his year of yes, right through to post Lightning strike Buck who was trying to wrestle with his death and his rebirth - the light blue here really ties all of this together beautifully

Right thats All at this point - I'm sure my brain will conjure up other things once i've hit post, but for right now - I'm off to bed!!

@theladyyavilee @mistmarauder @xxfiction-is-my-realityxx @bewilderedbuckley @spotsandsocks @bewitchedbewilderedbisexual@rogerzsteven @wanderingwomanwondering @oneawkwardcookie @leothil @copyninjabuckley @shammers86 @crazyfangirlallert @missmagooglie @katyobsesses @radiation-run @gayandbifiremenofmine @bi-moonlight @crazyaboutotps @princesschez75 @alliaskisthepossibilityoflove @sherlocking-out-loud @satashiiwrites @lover-of-mine @yramesoruniverse @extasiswings @favouritealias @pop-kam

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licensedproldier · 1 month ago

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highlights from the dropout anthony padilla/courtney miller interview! (aka things i liked or didnt know)

ally IMMEDIATELY kicking us off by introducing themselves as vic michaelis and dabbing so softly

ally ALSO IMMEDIATELY kicking us off by calmly answering the 'tell us about yourself' question with "ive been testing positive for covid for about 3 weeks now" "is that true?" "of COURSE NOT OH MY GOD??"

ally calls the covid vaccine the "Fauci-ouchie"

its been 1 minute into the video

VIC LYING ABOUT THEIR FAVORITE COLOR FOR NO REASON

its been TWO minutes into the video

ALLY HIJACKING HER ATTEMPT TO ASK AGAIN BY MOVING ONTO THE TRANSITION THEMSELF

ok we're locking in locking in

everyone needs to hear the ally wrongpile beardsley story at least once <3

vic was 100% in on sam's vision for dropout and ally COULD not have been more full of doubt.

all of them saying a contemplative 'ooooo' when asked if they miss sketches and then a beat afterwards vic immediately bursting out with 'sketch is dead i hate sketch. anyway-"

IFY MOO DENG MENTION

ify talking about how close and interconnected the cast is and was off screen since way back

"noo c'mon c'mon those are those pale clammy little hands i love so much 🥺" "theyre DRY AS A BONE"

vic's "I just dont ever think that anyone is thinking about me. like i am thinking about myself 100% more than anyone else is thinking about me"

vic thought it was crazy when they got asked to host VIP because she felt too new for it despite having a lot of experience

ally thinks its funny to make each other do the thing theyre known for but also they agree brennan is just that analytical about every topic and birds are not special KHADGKASJDF

vic and ify enthusiastically agreeing with the above LMAO

vic plays a character of herself while ify performs very close to his actual self

'is the broke comedian bit real' all of them immediately exaggeratedly laughing and looking away and going NOOO WE'RE FINEEE WE'RE FINEEE

ally's analogy of watering a plant that has been dead for a long time and how they might be doing good but the water has a lot of past cracks to fill in which i dont know enough about plants to tell if this is an accurate analogy but its an effective one

money-wise, the tide has turned for the better for them in the last few years 🥺

dropout did profit-share last year! vic cried 🥺

ify "i was there when youtube was created by a couple of guys" GOOGLE HOW OLD IS YOUTUBE. ONLY 19??????

ally needing clarification on if he was actually THERE when it was created or not

ify talking about how more people in the industry are recognizing him FROM dropout things

THE EDITORS ACTUALLY USING THE CLIP OF ALLY'S DAB AS A TRANSITION

vic "10 years ago if you told me i could actually make money from doing improv and my reaction was anything other than 'holy shit thats incredible' i would like murder myself. i would throw myself into a trash can"

immediate no's on "do you feel like you have to share your personal lives on camera" because they just like oversharing

"oh you grew up mormon too?" "no but i just LOVE 💞🥰 the mormons"

"studio CE shoutout. dont shout them out actually. well, you can if you want to."

some great takes on parasocial relationships

ify thinks his audience are the kinky poly folks. can we get a shout from the kinky poly folks!

ify pointing right at the camera and saying "IF you are at a sex party and i introduce myself as IFY do NOT give me your fake stage name. you are saying my REAL GOVERNMENT name here"

ally bringing up chappell roan in the parasocial relationships discussion yoooo

ify doing a voice imitation of his uncle suggesting he do jokes for a relative's graduation KHAGKAJKAKJDFSD

the horror on all their faces when courtney says they're lucky that fans dont ask them to do something funny in public when they meet them

grilled cheese scale: ify's are solid. ally is a good cook but they're allergic to bread, vic inconclusive

vic loves the joke of being called vehicular and would change their government name to it even LMAO

izzy roland shoutout!!!!!

ify's sex dungeon would also be where he paints warhammer minis.

"what is your favorite thing that he did" "...anthony?" "yeah" "th. this? this channel? this right here?"

SZA talked about ify on VIP in a variety article???

SZA INTENTIONALLY DRESSED UP LIKE IFY WAS ON VIP?????

this is like the first time i saw mxmtoon commented on zac's instagram except magnified by a hundred

"Grimes if you're watching this, slide into the DMs"

ally fanning themselves going "thats actually too hot i simply need to go" hearing that lana del rey graduated studying philosophy with an emphasis in metaphysics

everyone at this table ships ally beardsley and lana del rey

nice to know ify and em are still together!

"do you consider yourself an angel of death? i consider myself an angel of death for network television" vic talking about how theyve been on SO many second-to-last episodes of shows that were canceled 😭

Super fun and insightful!!!! we dont get to see these three vibe together much on screen 🥺 video under cut!

youtube

#dropout #dropout.tv #dropout tv #ify nwadiwe #vic michaelis #ally beardsley #anthony padilla #interview hightlights time again!!!#these guys are so fun they were having so much fun #Youtube

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bitterkarella · 3 months ago

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Midnight Pals: Dogs

Hildur Knutsdottir: submitted for the approval of the midnight society, i call this the tale of the night guest Knutsdottir: its about a woman who gets a full night's sleep so you would think she would be well rested (she's not) Knutsdottir: it's almost like something is possessing her while she sleeps (something is)

Knutsdottir: this possession Knutsdottir: you might think it's the yule lads (it's not the yule lads) Knutsdottir: or maybe grylla (its not grylla) Knutsdottir: perhaps its the hidden people (its not the hidden people)

Knutsdottir: now this woman also has a dead sister Knutsdottir: so you would think maybe the ghost of her dead sister is possessing her King: Poe: Lovecraft: Koontz: Barker: King: um King: was there supposed to be a parenthetical there Knutsdottir: not saying

Knutsdottir: now of course when this woman has weird sleep problems, you would of course take advantage of our socialized medical system to see a doctor (she does this) Knutsdottir: but even socialized medicine is not free from the scourge of sexism (there's a lot of it) Angela Carter: yes yes this scans

Knutsdottir: anyway that's the Icelandic socialized medicine system for you Dan Simmons: why do you have to bring politics into this? Simmons: i just want a nice apolitical scary story Knutsdottir: ok i'll fast forward to the cat murders Lovecraft: WHAT

Knutsdottir: yeah someone's been killing cats (it's her) which you wouldn't expect (she loves cats) Lovecraft: i can't listen to this! Lovecraft: i can tolerate rac- Barker: we know howard you say that everytime Lovecraft: it's my catch phrase! Barker: no it's not!

Knutsdottir: every night she walks across the city (to the harbor) Knutsdottir: now you think she might be visiting Bæjarins Beztu Pylsur (but she's not) Cynthia Pelayo: aw that hot dog ain't no good! King: what? hot dog? Knutsdottir: you're entitled to your opinion (it's actually the best in the city)

Pelayo: what dya even put on a hot dog over there? King: why are we talking about hot dogs? Knutsdottir: með öllu Pelayo: pfft! með öllu indeed! Pelayo: ya don't even know what you're getting!

Pelayo: i tell you, you want a hot dog, you get it CHICAGO STYLE Pelayo: mustard, chopped onion, pickle spears, sport peppers Pelayo: YEAH! CHICAGO STRONG, BABY!!! Pelayo: GO BEARS OR MAYBE WHITE SOX!!!

Knutsdottir: no no see a hot dog should have remolaði sauce (and apple ketchup) Pelayo: wtf! the only sauce that goes on a dog is mustard Knutsdottir: WHAT?! like the infidel bill Clinton?! (he ordered with only mustard during his 2004 visit) Knutsdottir: NEVER!!! Knutsdottir: it's með öllu!!! always með öllu!!!

Lovecraft: now i prefer my sausages providence style Barker: no you don't Barker: that's not even a thing Lovecraft: no it is! its when you put a Vienna sausage on a slice of white bread Barker: howard, we all know you don't eat ethnic food

Pelayo: who's ready for mouth watering hot dogs?? Lovecraft: ah sausages! Pelayo: Hebrew national hot dogs! Lovecraft: Lovecraft: [sweats]

#midnight pals #the midnight society #stephen king #midnight society #clive barker #edgar allan poe #dean koontz #hp lovecraft #cynthia pelayo #hildur knutsdottir #dan simmons #angela carter

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formulaforza · 1 year ago

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—the seasons of love

or: the enemies to lovers situationship fic charles leclerc x female reader summ. the beauty of winter, the second time. minors dni. nsfw warning under the cut. 7.7k part one part two part three part four part five

18+ because: hate sex, rough sex, spanking, hand job, biting, choking, orgasm denial (m to f), unprotected sex, brat taming, name calling (slut), oral (m receiving), angst, angst, more angst.

Arthur turns the corner into the kitchen, swinging around the wide, arched door frame. You’re stood at the island, the chilly edge of the granite countertops pressed against the exposed line of skin between your shorts and your top. A plate of toast sits on the heavy ceramic plate in front of you, and you make a shaky-handed attempt at spreading mashed avocado over the dry, cool bread. Charles clears his throat a few feet away, pulling his coffee mug off the machine shelf. It’s not even steaming.

“Ciao Arturo,” you speak. Even your voice sounds sweaty. “Dimenticare la testa?” Forget your head?

Arthur’s eyes dart between the two of you. Charles, you, and then back again. Charles is lucky, his back is turned to the whole thing. You’re the one who has to deal with his questioning glances. He stirs sugar into his cold coffee, and the spoon clinks against the sides of the mug painfully loud.

Arthur smiles. “Occhiali da sole,” sunglasses, he says, reaching for the plastic frames on the counter, pointing them between you and charles. “sto interrompendo qualcosa?” Am I interrupting something?

You glance at Charles, still stirring his cream and sugar, and you realize he won’t be turning around, not while his brother is in the room, not while he’s still got a bulge in his shorts. You almost laugh. “Nope. I’m making breakfast, he’s being a bitch.”

“Ah, so, the usual?” Arthur jokes and you nod, try to stifle a laugh so you don’t get an earful later. You fail, and Charles is flipping both of you off over his shoulder. You raise your brows knowingly towards Arthur—See? What did I tell you? “Ok, well. I’ll see you guys out there?”

“Yup,” you nod. “Probably in like an hour-ish? For me, at least.”

You watch, butter knife in hand, as Arthur trudges out of the house, the shuffling of his nylon snow pants and the thud of his heavy boots across the floor. He slams the door shut behind him, a quirk of the old house—the refusal of the heavy door to latch shut unless you threaten to pull your shoulder out of its socket when you close it. You’d spent half your childhood trying to shut it properly.

“A bitch?” Charles is teasing as soon as his brother is gone, abandoning the coffee he won’t be drinking and slotting comfortably behind you. He pokes your sides, has you curling in giggles as he continues through his own laughter, “I’m a bitch?”

“You are!” You laugh out, escaping his grip and pointing the avocado covered butter knife at him. “I’ll cut you.”

“Sure you will, baby,” he smiles, and then he kisses you because you’re alone and he can. There’s been lots of kissing just because you’re alone—just because you can—as of late. Since that one date you’d agreed to a few weeks ago, and all the subsequent basically-almost-half-dates-half-hookups you’d experienced since. Officially, though, there has been no second date. Unofficially, you’re dreading knowing he’s going to ask any time now.

It’s not that you don’t want to date him, you’re just not sure you want to be dating him. It’s the difference between what you’re doing now, or having fun and being happy and keeping it all to yourself, or making it into something, turning up to joint-family parties in the same car with an overpriced bottle of wine and listening to your grandma talk about your kids having his hair. It’s belonging to yourself or belonging to him, and you just aren’t sure you’re ready to belong to anyone.

He’s ready, you know. You know, because he all but wrote it down for you in Vegas. Your agreeing to go out on a single date was the consolation prize, the taunting, the holding what might be over his head like a carrot on a string.

“We have to be more careful,” you say, wiping the last of the green fruit onto the practically stale toast. It’s been twenty minutes, at least, since you’d put it in the toaster. “Arthur’s silly, but he isn't a fucking idiot. None of them are.”

“Eh,” he shrugs. “I’m not worried.”

“Well, I am.”

“Why?” He laughs. The two of you are on such different wavelengths right now it isn’t even funny. “I mean, would it really be that bad if they found out we were seeing each other?”

You bite down hard on your toast, you have to because it’s so stale. “It would, actually,” you say around the dry bread. Crumbs fall to the counter below you. You sweep them off with your palm onto the floor, and then under the edge of the counter with your sock-covered foot.

“Oh, come on,” he says, all nonchalant. He takes a sip of his cold coffee and winces, cradles it in his hands like it’s going to provide him any warmth. You don’t laugh, don’t even want to. “They’re going to find out eventually.”

“Says who?”

“We aren’t going to keep it a secret forever.”

You nod. Slow and intentional. “Keep what a secret?”

“Us.” You hate the casualty of it, of the label, of the grouping you two together. You hate that he can just say it like that, let it fall from his lips like it’s nothing.

“There isn’t an us.” You choke on it—us—like it’s a swallowing sword. It’s not that you’re… opposed to the idea of us, so much as this is the last way you wanted to start referring to the two of you as a unit.

“I mean,” he dumps the coffee into the sink. “We’ve been fucking for a year, dating for a few weeks.” The coffee gurgles in the drain, echoes through the kitchen. He flips the sink faucet on. “I think there’s an us to be talked about.”

“We aren’t dating, Charles,” you’re quick to correct, because, well—you aren’t dating. “We’re seeing each other,” you take another bite. It’s not good, beyond just the toast, you think maybe the avocado was a day from being perfectly ripe. “It’s different.”

He fills the mug to the top with water and dumps it again. “Okay.”

“I’m serious,” you insist, but your inflection betrays you.

“Okay.” He repeats the action, drops a dollop of dish soap into the bottom of the mug and swirls it around so fast the water spins out over the edge of the mug. Fill it, dump it, swirl a sponge around angrily, fill it again.

“Dating is like, dating is like a label.” Dump it again. “We don’t have a label. We’re free to see other people if we wanted to.” You drop the toast onto the plate, three notes taken from it, each progressively worse.

“Okay.” Fill it, dump it—until the water isn’t soapy anymore. He leaves the mug face down on the dish strainer, carefully, without making a sound. It’s impressive, his silent, brooding, angry act. You know he’s full of it, that he wants to scream at you so bad. It annoys you, almost—that he won’t shout.

“Is that all you’re going to say to me?” You say, because you don’t like the implications of him refusing to yell at you. That’s like. It’s almost. You can’t even face it.

“What is it that you would like for me to say?” He spits, slams the faucet off. You almost flinch. Almost. “That I don’t want to see anyone else? That I think you’re full of shit and feel the same way I do!?”

He’s never—he’s never yelled at you before, not really. Sure, he raised his voice in Vegas, he did. But he’s never yelled at you. Your dynamic has always been sharp, yes, but it was never loud. It’s always been grounded in the smart-ass comments, in the quick wit, the silence of arrogance and annoyance and frustration. It’s never been loud. It throws you off balance, completely off kilter. You don’t know why you wished for it, why you were annoyed with his previous refusal. You—you don’t like it. Not at all.

You can’t think straight, much less speak straight. “I don’t know, like… I don’t know.”

“Like, like, like,” he mocks you. His words are like venom. He’s such a fucking child. “Like, what!?”

“Jesus fucking Christ!?” You yell right back, aren’t even hurt by the mocking so much as annoyed it’s the best he could come up with. He’s better—smarter—than playground insults. You expect more from him at this point. “Are you fucking seven years old!?”

“Maybe!” He slams his hand on the edge of the counter. You hope it hurts as bad as it sounds like it does. “Maybe I fucking am!” You scowl. This is an ugly look on him. You don’t know what you ever fucking saw.

“Fuck you!”

“No, fuck you!” He wags a finger at you, he actually fucking does it, points a finger at you like he’s scolding you.

You smack his stupid fucking finger out of the air and when you do, he grabs your arm, pulls you crashing into him, into his lips. He kisses you, and you kiss him back, but there’s nothing romantic about any of it. No, no. This might be the angriest you’ve ever seen him, all teeth clacking, tongues fighting, hands groping.

It’s reminiscent, almost. Of the time that really wasn’t all that long ago, even if it feels like half a lifetime. To the time where his only goal was to shut you the fuck up, when the only reason he fucked you was because he thought someone needed to put you in your place.

He’s not taking his time with you. Not today, not this time. No, he’s pulling your shorts down fast, grabbing at your bare ass and pulling you flush against him.

Your hands bury themselves in his hair, pulling the short locks, pulling his mouth to yours. Everything is so greedy and selfish and a fight—a fight to win the unwinnable game.

He’s crude with it, crass almost—the way his fingers move against your cunt. Quick, hard, mean. You hate yourself for how wet you are, how easy you make it for him to slide in a finger, and then another, to fuck into you with a burning curl.

When you settle into it, just as your breath picks up and your hips start to move against his hands with some semblance of rhythm, he’s pulling his hand away with a guttural fuck, moving back to your ass, giving it a hard smack.

Two can play at that game, you think, hand diving into his shorts. You take his cock and stroke him, impatiently thumbing pre-cum over his head and fucking him with your hand. He’s hard before you have to do any work, had spent the morning half-way there already.

He bites on your bottom lip so hard you think it might bleed. “I fucking hate you,” he says into your neck, biting the skin there, too.

“Good,” you say, lips curling into a naughty smirk. “I like it like that.”

He’s rough when he moves you around, almost shoves you, turns you and bends you over the countertop. It’s cold, even through your shirt, it’s cold. You push the plate away, the half eaten toast relegated to the other end of the kitchen island.

There’s no teasing, no warning. Just him, fucking right into you, leaving you grabbing at the smooth granite for any sort of stability, to brace for all of him. You can feel the fabric of his shorts; he’s got them pulled down just enough to have his cock out, and it reminds you of the fucking sauna this summer.

In the same way you were given no warning, you’re given no time to adjust. He’s already fucking into you with hard, measured thrusts that slam you against the edge of the counter. You think he might fucking break you, split you right down the middle. It hurts so good.

He’s quiet, lets the sounds of your skin smacking against him do all the fucking talking, tell the story the both of you already know. You can’t find the words. You’re just there, against the cool granite, full. Full. So fucking full.

It’s unlike him to be so quiet, but, you don’t mind it. You don’t think you can hear another sentence out of his mouth without wanting to walk clear off a cliff.

Gibberish moans are forced from your lips before you can even process them. “Fuck—fuck you,” you manage to sputter out, and then he’s reaching around to cover your mouth with a flat palm, leaning over you and whispering in your ear all husky.

“Shut the fuck up, or I stop,” he says, and you nod. You nod, but his hand holds steady, moves slowly down around your throat, applies just enough pressure around your neck to make everything that little bit hazier. You choke on your words, bite back moans until you taste copper.

When he’s had his fill, he’s turning you back around to lick into your mouth and hoisting you up onto the counter, taking you like that instead. Harder, harder. Impossibly fucking harder. You’re scratching lines over his back, dragging your nails over his skin and whining against his shoulder. When you toss your head back in a last-ditch effort to keep yourself quiet, he laughs—and then you’re looking at him.

The eye contact goes on for what feels like a decade, him fucking into you with reckless abandon while maintaining a steady, furious glare. He pushes his forehead against yours, lips just out of reach, ghosting over yours with every thrust of his thick cock.

You open your mouth to moan, feel the threat of your orgasm in your core, in the way he perfectly fucks you.

“Fuck you,” he breathes into your mouth, and the anticipation of the kiss that never comes burns. He breaks his glare, can’t look at you any longer, can’t kiss you, either. His eyes fall to your body, to the space where he disappears into you. He’s captivated by it, watches with a hard stare as he fucks you senseless.

You could see his denial of your orgasm coming before you started fucking, so when your leg starts to shake and your cunt clenches around him so nicely, you’re unsurprised by his, “don’t you fucking dare.”

The problem for him is, he forgets that you’re just as pissed, that you don’t give a fuck what he says. No, you know that he’s all fucking talk, could never actually bite what he barks, not with you. He’s all talk, and he’s just as close as you are. Nothing short of your families walking through the door right now would get him to stop railing against you.

So, you come around him, feel a special kind of satisfaction at the way his face contorts, at his canding, “God,” and the way he comes tumbling after you with a groan and a fuck.

(four hours later)

“Qu'est-ce qui a rampé dans son cul et est mort?” What the hell crawled up his ass and died? Lorenzo asks in the ski lodge. Both of your families are eating lunch at one of the restaurants on the mountain, and Charles, in his ever ending broodiness, opted to sit at the farthest possible end of the table from you and his brothers. Mostly, from you. He sits silently in a conversation with your father and brother-in-law, ever the entertainer.

“Il est dans une de ses humeurs,” he’s in one of his moods, you reply. “J'ai râlé toute la matinée à la maison,” bitched all morning back at the house.

“Ouais,” yeah, Arthur adds. “Quand je suis retourné chercher mes lunettes, il ne s'est même pas retourné pour me parler,” when I came back for my sunglasses he wouldn’t even turn to talk to me.

“Je parie que sa copine lui manque,” I bet he misses his girl, Lorenzo settles, rocks back on the legs of his chair. A pang of green runs through you, gross and envious.

“Sa copine?” His girl? You ask.

“Ouais. Chaque fois que je l'appelle, il me dit "j'ai quelqu'un chez moi" ou "je suis chez un ami,” Yeah, everytime I call him he’s talking about “I’ve got someone over,” or “I’m at a friend’s house,”” Lorenzo reasons. Your jealousy is replaced with mortification as you realize Charles not only has a girl, but that the girl is you.

“Someone should call her,” you say. “Get him laid so he isn’t so fucking annoying.” Lorenzo laughs and Arthur offers up a half-hearted smile, pulling his phone out of his pocket. Your phone rings on the tabletop. “Arthur!” You scowl. “Gross! I can't stand Charles.”

“Je dis juste que pour deux personnes qui prétendent se détester, vous passez beaucoup de temps ensemble,” I’m just saying, Arthur defends, for two people who claim to hate each other, you two spend a lot of time together.

We don’t—you want to tell him—we don’t spend a lot of time together, but then you think of all the times they don’t know about, all the nights and all the hours and all the days. “Cela aurait effectivement beaucoup de sens,” It would actually make a lot of sense, Lorenzo laughs. “He likes pulling pigtails.”

“I know you love me boys, but I wouldn’t touch your brother with a ten foot pole,” you insist, and it sounds convincing—at least in your own head. Only time will tell, you suppose, if you managed to convince them of the lie.

You enter the family room seven and a half minutes before Charles does. Where he is for those seven and a half minutes, you don’t care, as long as it’s not anywhere near you. Your families have always done this a couple days after the New Year, your own little joint Christmas celebration. Over the years, you’ve found it to be varying levels of both endearing and infuriating.

“It’s hot in here,” you say, plopping yourself down onto the sofa, fanning yourself with a magazine from your mother’s coffee table.

“Really?” Your sister peruses, eyes unmoving from her phone screen. “I was about to put on a sweater.”

“Yeah,” you continue, abandoning the magazine and instead opting to gather your hair into a messy, half-twisted knot off the nape of your neck. “I’m on fire.” You secure it with the thin black band from around your wrist, look to your sister as you pull loose pieces out to frame your face. “What’s the damage?”

She assesses the situation, pulls a few more hairs out of the knot and twirls one around her finger. “Has your hair always been so shit as holding a curl?” She asks. You nod, tucking all of the loose strands behind your ears in a swift movement.

Charles is here now, lingering in the archway between the family room and the kitchen, his hand leaving indistinguishable fingerprints on the trim above his head while he nurses a beer, nurses a conversation with your brother-in-law. His hair is a fucking mess and you’re going to kill him, something you become so, so certain of when you notice the buttons on his shirt are mis-aligned, that just above his waistband, a single piece of plastic is missing, loose threads left in the wake of the long lost button.

As if second nature, your fingers trail over your own, down the linen shirt that clings to your figure. A missing button. He has a missing fucking button. Your eyes don’t stop at the torn threads; all the way down to his sneakers, all the way back up to his messy hair.

He brings the glass beer bottle to his lips gently, parting them ever so slightly to allow the smooth brew to cool his throat. When he pulls it back, his lips are damp with condensation and ale, tongue swiping the pink skin clean.

“I need a drink,” you announce, standing from your seat and moving to the kitchen. He doesn’t move out of your way when you approach the doorway, has this stupid, satisfied smirk on his face as he takes another swig of beer. It’s the look he only gets after he has you.

“You broke a fucking button,” you mutter as you squeeze through, finger grazing the loose fabric strands that hand above his waistband. He stiffens at your contact and now you’re the one with the rotten, pleased smile.

“Leave a gap,” he says, looks past you and into the family room. You haven’t wanted to punch him this bad in at least a week, maybe two. You longed for the days when it was all you worried about: finding the next opportunity to hit him. Things were so much simpler then, so black and white. Now it’s wild colors and they’re all bleeding into each other to create a particularly shit-toned shade of brown.

Given the opportunity, you’d go back. Back to the Ski Lodge and Vegas and the sauna. Back to Monaco and the yacht and that one chilly winter night. All the way back to last year, to the club, to right before the club. You’d stop yourself if you could. But you can’t, can you? No, the best you can go back is ten minutes.

(Ten minutes earlier)

“Fuck you,” he groans, hushed and gravely, rutting up into you.

The closet is hot and humid with the air that pours in through the attic entrance. Dark, too: smells like fabric softener and lemon furniture polish–not that you’re smelling any of it now. No, right now all you can smell is him, raspberry and incense and a summer hike through a forest.

All you can feel is him, the stretch of his dick as it fucks deep into you. You moan against his hand, the calloused palm muffling your whimpers, cheek flush against the drywall. “Show up with your fucking ass out,” he says, hand forcing the hem of your skirt up higher, higher than your hips, slipping under the fabric of your shirt to cup your breast.

He’s fucking up your hair. You’d spent half the morning curling it and here he is, running his rough fingers through the hairsprayed strands like he owns them, like he has any right to knot them into a messy ponytail. You swat his hand away from your hair, and it snakes around your neck. “Don’t be a fucking brat,” he goads, the heavy weight of his fingers leaving you white and fuzzy with pleasure.

You shake your head, free your mouth from his palm and pant, “Fuck you,” you spit. “Fuck–ah,” he ruts up into you with all the force he can muster, pulling you off the wall, bringing your back flush against his chest. “–fuck you.”

He laughs, buries it in the skin of your shoulder, biting a purple bruise into the space there. “Bab–God, so fucking tight.” Your back arches against him, body moving, craving, begging to feel more of him, all of him. Every last inch.

You can feel him in every nerve ending and it still isn’t enough. You know he can give you more, that he can leave you sweaty and sleepy and monolingual if he really wants to. You know, because he had you sprawled out on his bed last weekend, dried tears crusting on the corner of your eyes, muscles weak and chest heaving against his sheets.

Tears prickle your eyes when his grip on your throat tightens, when he pushes to see how far you’d let him go. You move a hand to wipe them before they fall. You still have to face the family after this, can’t walk out there with black streaks running down your cheeks. The tangled hair is more than enough to get them asking questions.

His hand moves up your jaw, locking into your hair again and turning your head to face him. Look at me, he says, pulling you into a hard kiss. His long, measured thrusts fuck you open. His dick makes you drunk; floaty and dizzy and off balance and so, so fucking needy. You’re close, he states, knows your subtle breathing changes well enough that it doesn’t even have to be a question anymore. You nod against his lips, lick into his mouth, across the scrape of his sharp teeth. “I’m gonna. I’m coming,” you choke, breathing shallow and rapid.

“No,” he whispers, hard and gravelly into your ear, biting on the lobe. A hand moves between your legs, dips into your slick and sends a jolt through your entire body. You don’t even know which hand he moved, can’t feel anything but his two fingers circling your clit, his dick fucking into you. “Not yet.”

His instructions are thinly veiled, but you’ll follow them anyway. Your body writhes against his hand, hips fighting your mind, moving in any rhythm that might make you finish harder, faster, even a second sooner.

Your leg shakes under you, muscles weak and strung out. “Give it to me, Charles,” you beg. You know he’ll let you come as soon as he does. “Want you–fuck–want it so bad.”

“Ouais? Putain, such a slut for me.”

You nod eagerly, try to shake away the thoughts of release with it. He makes it so fucking hard. “I am, I am,” you insist. You are, you are. For him, every fucking time.

You know he’s close the same way he knows, the micro-changes in his movements, his breathing, his words. You know he’s fucking close when he loses his rhythm, tries to bury himself impossibly deep inside you, to actually rip you fucking open.

“Where?” He asks, offers you the option only because you aren’t in the privacy of an apartment. As of late, he’d been having his way with you, getting you messy and marked with him. Clean up is significantly harder in a fucking linen closet. My mouth, you mumble. Let me taste you.

He nods, picks up the steady pace of his fingers. You first, he instructs. “I want you to come for me, baby.” The pet name, always the pet name. Even when you’re this pissed at each other, it’s the only word your brain holds onto when you come around him, clench tight and quiver on his dick, muffling your own cries with your hand.

He pulls out of you with a whine and a mumbled fuck, a hand on your shoulder, turning you, pushing you down to your knees swiftly. There’s nothing careful about the way he fucks into your mouth, bruises the back of your throat as you muffle your gags around him. “Your fucking mouth,” he groans. “Makes me fucking crazy.” Your eyes meet his and you roll them, hollow your cheeks and swirl your tongue and watch, like it’s the greatest thing you’ve ever seen–watch his face contort when he comes undone, thick stripes of him painting the back of your throat.

You swallow. Clean, no mess, wipe the spit with the back of your hand and flatten your hair, twist what’s left of the curls into some semblance of what they were before he pulled you into the closet by your wrist.

You hurriedly re-button your shirt and flatten your skirt over your thighs. You’ve been gone too long, both of you have. Your families are going to catch on if you keep it up like this, all horny rendezvous in humid closests because he can’t keep his hands to himself.

His hair is pointing in every which direction, and when he runs his hands through it he misses a chunk. You reach to fix it and he swats your hand away.

You scoff. “Stay here, leave a gap,” you tell him and he rolls his eyes. You’re the brat, though, right? You turn the doorknob slowly, peek your head out into the empty hallway. He laughs behind you, what the fuck are you doing? “I’m going to the bathroom,” you quip.

He reaches over your head, wraps his fingers around the edge of the door and pulls it all the way open, moving forward until he’s flush against your back. “No UTI’s on your watch,” he mumbles.

You elbow his chest. “I said to wait here.”

“Fuck that,” he says, squeezes out behind you and the door. His feet are heavy on the hallway floor as he dips into the kitchen. You scurry in the other direction towards the bathroom.

It’s your parents anniversary party where it all comes to a messy boiling point. Thirty years of love, twenty-something years of parentage, and still. Still, you surprise them when you knock on the apartment door with a boy on your arm. A boy who, you assume to the surprise of Arthur and Lorenzo, is not their brother. The person perhaps most surprised by your bold decision making, however, is Charles. He’s glaring holes into you all night.

You try to take it as a compliment. You look good tonight, took careful consideration of your hair and makeup and clothes—your best black cocktail dress, all silk and long sleeves and exposed back, and your highest nude heels. You look good, and you like to think he notices, even if you’re nearly certain he’s watching your date more than you.

Your date, Jean, the friend of a friend and a blind date two weeks ago, hovers behind you like a lost puppy in his crisp white shirt and freshly pressed black slacks. He’s French, as french as they come—spends his evenings smoking cigarettes on the balcony and drinking wine with a careful pallet, distinguishing between the sweetness and the high notes and the low notes and all the wine terms you don’t understand. He’s a bit hushed and likes to make fun of your pronunciation and loves, loves, loves sex.

You don’t know how you get separated from him, where he disappears off to, You don’t know what compels you to follow the sightline of the stare that burns into you, to follow Charles out onto your parent’s balcony, but you do. You do, and the air is chilly and you shudder, skin prickled with goosebumps. You can hear the music playing through the glass door. If it wasn’t so terribly cliche, you’d swear la vie en rose is filling the air.

“Hey,” you nod, and he acknowledges you with nothing more than the raise of his brows. He leans against the balustrade, the cold metal of the railing clinking against his rings. You stare into the bottom of your wine glass, swirl the liquor round and round.

“Are you trying to make me jealous?” He asks, and you look up to him. He’s not looking back, smirking down at the ground at nothing in particular.

You roll your eyes, swallow down on the pit knotting in your stomach. “Oh, please,” you scoff, halfhearted and lackluster. “Like that would ever work on you,” you reply.

He chuckles, cranes his neck to look at you. “Maybe not,” he says, “but your games are always so fun.” His voice is low, unplayful. Horridly serious, despite the laugh.

“I don’t play games,” you replied, step closer to him, to the edge of the balcony. You lean against the railing, gather your hair and pull it over one shoulder. Everything is so weird now.

He quirks a brow, lets a genuine laugh slip and looks at you again. “What’s Jean, then?”

Your cheeks burn red but you refuse to let him get the upper hand. “Why do you care? It’s none of your business,” you shoot back, all spite and venom and irritation. You knew he’d be here and yet, still. Still, you hoped it wouldn’t be like this.

It was naive. Moronic, even. You should have known better.

He leans in closer, your faces no more than inches away. “Oh, but, it is my business when you’re trying to make me jealous,” he says, voice hushed, almost disappearing into the sound of the street below you.

Your eyes drift away from him, back into the apartment, into the dynamics of your families, into the way Jean hides in a corner nursing a drink. He’s so nervous, needs constant babysitting. You turn back to Charles, to his pink cotton shirt, top two buttons undone. It’s begging to be ironed. “And what if I am?” you challenge, and your voice threatens to betray you, to expose the vulnerability you try so hard to conceal.

A flicker of something, something you’re too scared to properly identify, flashes across his face. “Then you’re wasting your time,” he replied, voice tinged with the same something his expression is.

Your frustration bubbles. He makes you mad in a young way, in a fiery sixteen year old girl way. Pissed at the drop of a pin over nothing in particular. “You think you know me so well?” You ask, and he smiles down onto the street. It makes you angrier. “Well guess what? You don’t.”

There’s an air of arrogance about him. He drips with it. “I know more than you think,” he says, dips his head in the direction of the party, or your date. “And he is not your type.”

You couldn’t hold back your retort if you wanted to. “Oh? Tell me then, Charles, what is my type?”

“That guy is a bitch,” he says, stupid, satisfied smirk on his face, digging dimples into his cheek because he thinks that he’s so, so funny. “So, for starters, your type is someone with the confidence to make you come.”

Your cheeks flush with embarrassment, with anger. His words cut through you like a hot blade, the lack of decency, of basic respect. He gives more to a stranger than he does you, at this moment. You’d come to expect a lot of things from him over the years, but never, never, was blatant disrespect one of those things. He’s been raised better, you knew he had been, that Pascale would be red with fury if she heard him speak to anyone—much less you—like that. “Go to Hell, Charles,” you say, quiet, steady, without a single crack of betrayal, and then you’re turning to head back inside.

The sliding door is cracked, and you almost literally run into your date, standing just out of view from your previous spot on the balcony. You’re even more embarrassed at his eavesdropping, but it’s not like you can blame him, not with the show you and Charles always manage to put on.

Jean is visibly uncomfortable, all flushed cheeks and red ears. “Est-ce que ça va?” Are you okay? He asks, and the concern in his voice is evident, even through the embarrassment.

You force a smile, hope he hasn’t heard most of the conversation with Charles and attempt not to burden him with the emotional complexities that come with your past, with your present. “Je vais bien,” I’m fine, you reply, downplay the whole event. “C'est juste un truc de famille,” It’s just a family thing.

Jean nods, and it’s so uncertain you know he heard what you hoped he didn’t. “Je l'ai écouté,” I heard him, he admits, and your stomach churns. “J'espère ne pas avoir aggravé les choses,” I hope I didn’t make things worse.

You wonder how that would be possible—how things could get any worse than they already are.

“Ce n'est pas de ta faute,” It’s not your fault, you say, half-apologetic, half-hushed. “Charles et moi avons une histoire compliquée. C'est juste... difficile à expliquer,” Charles and I have a complicated history. It’s just… difficult to explain.

It’s not that difficult to explain. You and he hooked up a year ago. Since then, you’ve hooked up a lot. The feelings have been felt, the emotions turned, the hearts dropped. But you’re past it all now. You’re past it, both of you. It’s history now. It’s history. It’s history.

Jean gives you a half-hearted smile, and you know then that it’s as good as done between the two of you. He clears his throat, looks past you onto the balcony, onto where you assume Charles is still preparing more salt for your wounds. “Je devrais rentrer chez moi,” I should go home, he says, “Réunion anticipée demain,” Early meeting tomorrow. You know it’s a lie because you know he doesn’t work on Sundays, but you’re not in the place to call his bluff, not when you’ve got a full hand behind your back.

You offer to walk him out to his car, but he turns you down. You don’t give him the option to avoid your company on the walk to the elevator. It’s silent, the sound of your feet on the floor, the elevator moving up through the shaft, the dinging of the doors.

He steps inside, presses the ground level button and when the doors close between you two, you know it’s the last time you’ll see him intentionally. You wait five minutes before you’re pushing the elevator button, too, stepping in and heading down to the floor level. You need air. You desperately need air, and the balcony of the apartment is no longer a safe place for you.

You cut into an alleyway between your parents’ building and the neighboring one, lean against the chilly brick wall and close your eyes.

Breathe in, breathe out. It was never supposed to turn into this. The whole fucking point was that you didn’t want it turning into this, all messy and boundariless and bleeding over into the rest of your family’s dynamics. That was the whole point, it was. Your whole reasoning in Vegas, on the trail, after his best win. The whole point was to keep the damage minimal.

In. Out. You don’t know what the point of it all is, anymore. Why you’re still playing this game when it’s clear the rules are so long broken they can’t be remembered. You need to just. You need to just let it be. Let it be what it’s supposed to be.

In. Out. You know that it would work with Charles, you know it like you know your own hand. You know it would be good, and you used to be able to rationalize why the tiny little chance you were wrong outweighed any potential. You can’t rationalize it anymore, you can’t. You want to, because it’s easier to keep on, keeping on. But you can’t. It just doesn’t make sense anymore, not even to you.

Breath in, breathe out—until you hear his feet scuffing on the sidewalk.

They’re hurried, and you figure they’re making their way to you. You listen to them walk past the alleyway three times before you open your eyes. He’s pacing, typing away rapidly at his phone screen, brows furrowed, hard lines running through his face. He’s typing and pacing and muttering about something under his breath.

“Charles,” you speak, and he jumps, completely and utterly startled by your presence. He sighs out your name softly, like he’s going to startle you back, and then he’s approaching slowly, cautiously, slipping his phone back into his pocket. “Who are you texting?” You ask.

“Who do you think?” He says, offers up a weak chuckle, and then, before you can say another word, “I’m sorry.” His voice is ridiculously sincere, all drowned in guilt and regret. His eyes are soft, his lips pursed. “I shouldn’t have said that, It was stupid and immature and I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

You sigh. “Yeah, it was,” you admit, voice half tinged with resignation.

He takes another step. His posture is so docile, lacks any kind of defense. He knows he fucked up. “I can be a real fucking idiot, sometimes,’ he continues, a rare example of self-awareness.

Despite your frustration, you nod. “Yes, you definitely are.”

He leans against the bricks next to you and you look up to the sky again, close your eyes and breathe the air again. Anything to keep your resolve, to keep your wits about you.

“But, you have to admit. I was right about one thing.”

Even closed, your eyes tell the whole store, scrunch and wince before rolling open to look back at him, certain that nothing you invite to come from his lips is going to make any of this better. You frown because curiosity always kills the cat. “And what was that, Charles?”

“I know you,” he huffs, pushes air past his lips like he knows better than to do what he’s about to do. “Well enough to know you know he isn’t a match for you, that you only brought him around to make me jealous.”

Honest, honest, it wasn’t your intention. It was an added benefit, sure, but it wasn’t the intention. No, the intention was to move past Charles, to finally, finally move on from what the two of you had. The problem with that, though, is that somewhere over the course of the last year, your type had become Charles. You’d tried to force the attraction with anyone who was opposite, to the antithesis of Charles, and that’s how you wound up with Jean. He was different, in every category, and the line between hate has always been very thin, you reasoned with yourself. Very thin. Very thin, you knew, because you walked it with Charles for twelve months. For all of the seasons.

“It hurt,” he admits. “It really bothered me seeing you with someone else and that’s not an excuse for what I said,” he continues, and you drop your head to look at him. He’s looking at the sky, too. Like he’s trying to rationalize his own words with even himself. “it’s not, but it’s the only explanation I can give you.”

Somewhere on the street, an overhead light clicks on, fills the street with orange, cuts harshly around the buildings and into the alleyway where you both stand. It casts hard shadows on everything, on everything but him. It lights him softly, somehow, apologetically soft like the universe itself wants to apologize for his actions.

You think maybe you should be the one who’s sorry, the echoes of your spat still hanging in the air, heavy in the darkness just a few steps away.

Your voice trembles when you speak. “I didn’t know it would hurt you that much,” you admit. “I was just trying to move on, to prove that I could.” Prove to him, or prove to you—you aren’t sure.

The pretense falls between you, almost suddenly, all at once, and the air is different. It’s not angry and it’s not apologetic. It’s just. The air is just shared. Shared pain, shared sadness and hope and understanding.

“You know,” he says. “You know you don’t have to pretend with me.” His voice is soft, but it’s firm, unwavering. “I never wanted you to.”

Your breath catches in your chest, heart pounding fast. Fast. Faster than you can think. You can feel it in your toes, in your temples, in your fingertips. He looks to you, your eyes meeting and your heart jumping that much more. “I can’t pretend anymore,” you admit, below even a whisper. It’s a miracle he hears you. “I can’t pretend I don’t care about you, Charles.”

He reaches out, fingers brushing against the skin of your cheek, wiping away a tear you hadn’t even noticed had slipped. He murmurs your name, half-pain, half-hope, and you finally recognize it, the something about the way he looks at you, the way he talks to you. The something, you finally see it. It’s been looking you in the eyes this whole time and you’d been so blind to it all.

He was wrong in Vegas, you could be this smart and that dumb all at once, because here he is, looking at you and speaking to you the same way he always does, and for the first time you see it for what it is: tender, candid, and utterly consuming love.

"I've been so scared," you confess, voice quivering. "Scared of losing what we have, scared of ruining everything if I let myself fall."

He holds your gaze, a comforting anchor in the midst of the uncertainties. “I’m scared, too,” he admits, and you find solace in it. That even him, who’s known for how long now—you can’t remember, even he feels scared. You don’t even care if he’s lying, if he’s just saying it because he knows it will make you feel better. You don’t care, because it does. It makes you feel so much better. “But, I’m more scared of not trying.”

The truth hangs in the air between you, fragile but undeniable, a connection that has endured far more than it should have. “I don’t know what we’re going to do,” you say, voice finding steady ground now, your eyes locked on his. “But I’m done denying what’s been here all along.”

He cups your face with both hands, a sweet smile on his face, a stutter to the way his Adam's apple bobs. His thumbs brush your tears, and he says your name so sure. “I’ve loved you for so long,” he says. “Through all of the painful silences and the complicated, unspoken shit.”

Tears stream down your face now, a mixture of everything overwhelming you in the best way. You place your hands over his, hold them against your face like it’s going to ground you to the reality of his words.

“I’ve loved you, too,” you whisper, voice riddled with quiet intensity. “I have,” you laugh. He smiles. “Even when I didn’t fully understand it, even when I pushed it away.”

Charles leans in, forehead resting against yours, breaths sharing the little space between your lips. “I want to be with you,” he says, a plea. “I want to be with you, even if it’s messy and uncertain.”

Your face is half as bare as your heart, now, and you’re sure he’s got mascara all over his thumbs, that you’re a real sight for sore eyes. But when you kiss him, he kisses you back.

He kisses you back, despite it all, despite how long you made him wait. He kisses you back and somewhere in the space between the kiss and the tears, you both find the space to laugh and you know you’ve made the right decision. The decision to leap.

For him, you don’t know why you ever hesitated.

#charles leclerc smut #charles leclerc fic #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc #cl16 #charles leclerc fluff #charles leclerc angst #f1 smut #f1 fic #f1 fanfic #f1 #f1 x you #f1 x reader #f1 angst #f1 fluff #ferrari

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ivys-garden · 5 days ago

Text

Life Series Recap: session 6.

Hey mcytblr. How are you keeping?

Well I've had Insomnia and accidentally ate half a loath of stale bread so let's distract ourselves from it all with some nice life series stuff, eh?

Todays wild card was… OK so like, this is probably the weirdest one (and also probably my least favourite but that's a me issue)

So like… every animal dies. Then new ones spawn. Then they become something random… wat

Now despite what the random signs that keep suspiciously appearing around grian say, thus isn't actually TOO dangerous. But hey that just leaves more room for these Theatre kids to drama it up in this messy soap opera of a series

So, without further dillydallying, let's look at these fools

The Final Gals (Scott, Cleo, Pearl, Impulse, Bigb, Etho)

Billy is dead. So is Grian, probably. they've got like 20 reasons to kill that lil scamp now.

Today is a full on trap day it seems! Scott is once again enabling so everyone gets their murder hats on. Impulse traps the base with pitfalls, obviously taking inspiration from Mumbo.

Bigb also gets his traps on, killing skizz in revenge and killing lizzie for no reason. Ps are we ignoring that Jimmy almost called him a son of a bitch orrrrrrrr

Oh yes, Bigb and Etho are now officially full members, and now the Bigb is a hostile mob, we can trust him again!

I mean, not too weird, they've got a Cleo. A very big brained and Dastardly Cleo. They plan to trap the wheat field with bombs. Heck they convinced Tango and martyn it already was! They also managed to acquire a cheeky Villager, so bows of death may be making a comeback.

Speaking of bigb actually, he's like even more trust worthy. It's almost scary. He refuses to betray Pearl and instantly tattles on Scar AND when lizzie coms a knocking over I.pukse trying to kill her and Impulse blames him, he fully accepts guilt no questions asked! What was in his water today, are we sure this is the same guy?

Scott does some miscellaneous chores. He fully turned the tower into a cake, which yada yada two nickels. He also goes never raiding with Cleo and makes his once per session trip to go complement Jimmy in a totally jot fruity way, Promise. Ignore how it's only his parrot Scott tried to save from that Blaze that means nothing.

Now, Pearl. She is given the task by gem

To kill gem. So she and her new murder bestie Impulse get on they're cammel and get down to mischief. Starting with creepers!

They failed miserably with creepers. Gem is a very fast rat

They go for a raid!

The wild card kills it. Dam.

They go for a spawn egg trap + a cammel nap!

The session ends before they can pull it off God dam it.

Pearl also thinks complimenting gem will get her to like her again so take that as you will. I say, knowing full well how you fuckers will take it. I see you, and so does G O D.

Oh, Pearl also acquires a very special tool that I'll mention in Etho's bit, but needless to say he gives it to Impulse and provided he does bimbo his key binds… again, he could come back from the dead…

The Family (Gem, Joel, Etho)

Joel found a bloody trial chamber. what the devils. He looted that bitch so good.

Anyway

All the cows are dead.

Also, a new watchtower? Pog? No. Its hideous. Much like gems barn, which has become a real ship of Theseus.

Speaking of Gem, she invents new and exciting ways to hate Pearl! This week: forgetting that gem ripped her eye out!

Yeah no fair how did she forget that.

Anyway, as gem is fully insane she decides the only way Pearl can make it up to her is to (checks notes) Murder her. Yep. Now, if my friend murdered me I'd probably take that negatively, but not Gem. She's itching to 1v1 pearl. Shame that Pearl is actually being cautious and thinks that trapping her is more sensible (tho maybe she should 1v1 gem since Pearl sucks at making traps. Just saying)

Speaking of traps, Gem and Etho try to kill ren! For no reason! He's their friend! It doesn't work but like, what the hell guys!?

Gem also chose to give her life to skizz…. More on how that went at 11.

The Bamboozelers (Scar, Jimmy, Lizzie)

Oh the Bamboozelers. Where do we start?

The Bam Bunker of course! Scars off hand pipe dream was fully realised this session as Jimmy and Lizzie spend all session building they're super secret bunker!... Scott manages to bimbo his way in and Scar invites Etho in… and it's not hidden at all… but hey, bunker!

And just in time too, turns out living on an open grassy mountain with plants that limit mobility during a mob spawn wild card is a bad idea. Lizzie almost died to wither had Jimmy not killed her so as to not waste her life.

I mean he did waste her life by trying to kidnap an Iron Golem but, eh.

Now looking at pay offs for last sessions events, we get anticlimax! Jimmy tries to kill gem when she offers her help in murdering people and Lizzie finds out that Ender porters fail if you died after you set them up. Whoops!

Speaking of Lizzie failing, she blows up Martyn and Ethos tower! He was supposed to get Tango as requested by skizz, but he's too smart. Lucky that martyn isn't eh?

No, when Scar wasn't being ironically killed by vex in trial chambers, or trying to make Shulker boxes for Actually no reason, or ruining traps for people, he was…. Being gaslit into thinking evokers still dropped Totems by grian. He did come up with a good idea of egg farming, but unfortunately eggs were turned off it seems, guess no big brain Scar this session.

Also for some reason Scar tries to get people to kill Pearl. Pearl has done nothing to him, but I guess that fits Pearl overall, do nothing and forgive everyone and still people want to kill you.

Oh also shears is dead. :(

Renwood (Martyn, Ren)

Oh ren. He's having a time. He's trying to be polite and friendly and make a “zoo lake” and asks why he and Martyn aren't smooching.

But at every turn this man has his life threatened by his own allies, his animals die (INCLUDING THAT BLOODY HORSE NOOOOOOO) and his homie/probably husband is killing people! What's that about?.... The shot was sick tho.

Hey, He may now have no allies or food but…. At least the lake protected them?

Idk they're probably doomed.

Martyn has some strange happenings this session. He goes skateboarding on a camel for one. He is also back to calling people humpers God damn it.

He also does make up for knocking Skizz off his stupid bad incredibly dangerous bridge by trying to lure people into the danger zone for him, but this ends about as well as every other trap done by anyone. At least he helped Grian get…revenge…

The Tuff Guys (Bdubs, Tango, Etho)

Firstly, Pancakes.

Secondly, etho doesn't know what Mt Saint Hellens is. You mean Yellowstone, Mr. Kakashi sir.

Anyway, on to things that are actually important, Bdubs finished his house!

Oh wait, I said things of importance.

Etho decides to make my life difficult by allying with 3 teams, all of which hate each other. So thanks for that, glad you died in that stupid trial chamber.

Etho ignores whatever stupid goals Leader Tango set out and instead focuses on the important thing of getting a Wolf army kitted out with armour and the less important thing of trying to get a shulker box to solve his inventory problem. That sir, is actually just a skill issue.

Now, Wardens. Where there be Wardens, there be a Tango to adopt them. Yep the Tuff Guys get a warden… for about three seconds until it gets trapped and everyone tridents it to death. This is also when “The Suprise Tool” was acquired by Pearl, a TOTEM OF UNDYING. Yeah Impulse is effectively on green now thanks to that, Thanks Gri! Impy FTW

(Ps homework for y'all is to find out who got that last hit on the Warden)

Now, I seem to remember Tango doing something to skizz… it resulted in grian taking revenge and bombing the hell out of the Tuff Towers and

Oh No, Skizzle…

The Spanner (Grian)

Let's start with grian. He is MOURNING Mumbo, even though he got bloody atomised last session he still pretends he's here. He names an Iron Golem after him, who later kills Jimmy so hooray revenge! Go Bloop!

He also goes chamber busting and continues to be besties with Scar… hey weren't they trying to kill each other not 2 sessions ago or….

He also fixes the “Spider Nest” tnt launcher so skizz doesn't blow himself up, skizz also names the tower after Mumbo in his honour.

Oh Grian also forgot to activate the wild card for like 5 minutes. Silly Goose. Hey at least it got people nice and paranoid.

Now, Skizz. He starts of great, Bombing Gem. I mean gem let him and he lost the life like 10 seconds later but he did it! He then does the stupidest thing I've seen since Skynet and builds a rickety bridge to drop TNT on tango's head. He was asking for martyn to wind charge him off.

Skizz seems to be really focused on Tango, he did ask Jimmy, Bigb & Lizzie to kill him after all.

But, well… Tango killed him. Did he thi k it would? No. But it did anyway. He tossed a wind charge up at Mumbo Tower and skizz fell. Grian didn't even have to watch to know what happened.

The Tuff Guys tried to make amends, but at that point it was too late. Also etho didn't help by talking to the wrong Grave like a Bimbo.

Grian then has a mental breakdown! And he does what people who have those in this series do and decides allying with Joel is a good idea somehow. He tries to replace the Spanners with the family. To pretend nothing happend.

It isn't working.

What will happen next? Who can say…

Me. Tango is gone next session. Mark my bloody words

More importantly tho, JIMMY HAS HIS BEST PLACEMENT (not counting real life) WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! PHOENIX BLESSING IS REAL

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tobyislame · 1 year ago

Note

Hi this is awkward s/o person again, you have fueled my toby brain and I'd like to make another request (if you're willing)

What would he be like with his s/o on Halloween? Does he dress up with them, get candy, or maybe stay home and watch scary movies with them? And very important question...if he dresses up, who would he dress up as?

toby rogers x reader: HALLOWEEN EDITION!!!!

welcome back friend!!! i will always be willing i love your requests!! OHOHOHO i am going to get soo silly with this one

- toby goes fucking BALLISTIC over halloween oh my god. it's the only time of the year where he can go into town and just be normal. everyone's got masks on, everyone's donning costumes, so he blends in like butter on bread. being able to exist in a public space without so much as a dirty look is fucking elating, it's one of the only graces of normalcy that he gets and he milks the opportunity for everything its got. what most would treat like any other day, he treats like a paragon. for one night he isn't toby rogers, wanted dead or alive - he's just some guy.

- he's suuuper fucking annoying about it too. he wants to do ALL the halloween stuff and he WILL drag you along with him whether you want it or not. his mansion buds aren't exempt from this treatment either no one is safe

- before night falls and the real fun begins, you guys are staying in and he's making SURE you have a good day. he's got those cheap halloween cookies in the oven (you know the ones they got pumpkins on em), his place is done up with lights and tacky dollar store decorations, and he's got a pot of apple cider simmering on the stove that mixes with the woodsy smell of his cabin just fucking beautifully. he tries really hard.

- he gets really fucking into it, and you can't help but find his admittedly childlike excitement over it a little endearing. if you ever commented on it, about how he hardly gets this excited over anything else, he'd probably just get all weirdly defensive and dismissive over it. he's been this way about it since he was a kid, never really grew out of it. even after everything.

- he's putting out a SPREAD of treats for you guys: candy corn, caramel corn, the works. can't have it any other way if you're marathoning slashers. there's a sort of unmentionable effort he puts into it with the halloween paper plates he goes out of his way to get (steal), one of those little details that puts this subdued warmth in your chest. he wants to make everything nice for you. he wants for you to have good things.

- you two. on his pilled up couch. grandpa sweaters. steaming apple cider in thrifted (stolen) mugs. flannel blanket. crackling embers from the log burner. oh yeah baby

- he makes halloween movie watchlists. oh yeah he's serious about this. he only really likes the kind of stuff you can snag off rental store shelves: sleepaway camp for eye candy (we need more slutty slutty men in horror flicks), hellraiser but only the 1987 one, texas chainsaw massacre but only the 1974 one (he's got a crush on leatherface that he'll never admit to anyone or himself), the thing is his fucking FAVORITE horror movie of all time, throw the final destinations in there just for fun, stuff like that. saw movies are his guilty pleasure. even with you, he tries to be some hard-ass and play it off when he gets all spooked and jumpy, though the way he clings to you just a little tighter says something else.

- yea this man has split skulls and gotten brain matter stuck in his hair and horror movies still scare him

- now the most important question: costumes.

- ok i have two visions for what he'd be and in both events he's forcing you to dress up with him: for one i can totally see him throwing on some ferris bueller getup and dragging you along as either sloane or cameron, or y'all are going as bill and ted and he's calling dibs on bill (so he has an excuse to wear a crop top it's totally only for the costume). if you refuse to dress up he will not shut up about how you're "no fun" until you give in

- he also uses the holiday as an opportunity to terrorize the general public. you guys are hiding out in corn mazes and jumping out at whatever poor soul happens to walk by like some surprise scare actor, pretending to be ghosts to scare off the kids who think hanging out at cemeteries makes them cool. he's the village menace. genuinely the HOA puts up a sign saying look out for this guy

- he takes you "trick or treating" but with the biggest quotations ever. he'll go around to the houses that just have bowls of candy out with a sign that says "please take one" or something and straight up just take the bowl

- when he isn't having (mostly) harmless fun and treating the townspeople like his plaything, he's treating you to some good wholesome traditional halloween activities, and he's a massive sucker for those. like, no fucking question about it he is dragging your ass to the pumpkin patch. if he's lucky he can get a five finger discount on some caramel apples for you two. of COURSE he's hauling some pumpkins home for you guys to carve, even if he'll just inevitably leave them to rot on his porch but he SWEARS he'll throw them out soon he SWEARS

- he insists on going to at least one haunted house even though he's the one that always gets you two kicked out for clocking scare actors. he's banned from most of them

- at some point in the night you'll probably end up crashing some college house party and, even though they scare him shitless, nothing makes him feel more like a guy than standing around with a red solo cup in his hand. he isn't there to make friends anyway (god knows he has no clue how), he's the one that just kinda pets the dog the entire time then leaves

- at the very end of day you guys are falling asleep tangled up in each other on the couch, smoke hanging in the air and the dvd screensaver bouncing around on the tv screen

#hes just a guy man idk what 2 say #he gets to hav a little humanity as a treat #ticci toby #ticci toby headcanons #ticci toby x reader #toby rogers #toby rogers x reader #creepypasta #tobyhcs #tobyxreader

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lunaloveskpop23 · 28 days ago

Text

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Summary: The reader lives in a village that starts having werewolves at night and they tear up the village. What would happen when the werewolves never go near her family farm and the villagers want to sacrifice her to the werewolves?

Warning: cussing, angst, violence, mentions of blood, a character who gets wounded.

Genre: angst. fluff.

*PLEASE DO NOT STEAL MY WORK*

*THIS IS PURELY FICTION*

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Y/N's POV:

In a little village, there lived a girl who has always lived there with her family. They have a farm called Aurora farms. Named after her grandmother. She has two siblings, her younger brother Huening Kai and her older sister Rose.

Her and her older sister do not get along. But her and her brother get along. Her mom and dad are not that rich, but they farm for the market and she helps run the stan at the market.

They usually work near the bakery where her friends run. Hongjoong, Seonghwa, Yunho, Yeosang, San, Mingi, Wooyoung, and Jongho. Hongjoong's mom opened the store after a general's daughter gave her the money.

Y/N is the girl. She is currently 22 helping her family out and she is currently at the stan trying to sell produce and vegetables.

*Now to the story*

"Thank you, have a wonderful day!" I sold my last tomato and I write that down.

"Get more tomatoes for the stan." I say to myself as I write.

"Y/N!" I look up and see Yeosang running up to me.

"Yeosang! Hi!" I hug him. I haven't seen him nor any of my other friends from the bakery in a while. I missed them.

"It's been awhile love. We made you something..." Yeosang pulls away and smiles at me. "Close your eyes."

I close my eyes happily. He takes my hands and I feel him putting something soft in my hands.

"Open love." I open my eyes and I gasp. It's their famous bread. I get so happy.

"Oh my god! Thank you!" I say happily.

"It's enough for your family. I know we haven't seen you in awhile and we miss you. So we decided to give you the famous bread."

I smile and blush. They are always so caring to me. I really loved them. I fell in love with them after being friends for 2 years. They've cared for me and even helped me at the stan sometimes. They make me feel loved and important.

"I appreciate it," I say softly.

"Do you need any help while I am here?" He asks me.

"Oh sure! Could you put the fix that over there?" I pointed towards a pile of boxes and one of the boxes was on the ground.

"As you wish, Y/N." He says softly. He picks up the box and sets it down on top of the boxes. "Like this?"

"Perfect! Thank you!"

"Y/N!!" I look up and see Rose, my sister. I fake a smile.

"Hi, sis! What brings you here?" I ask.

"Well, mom wants your help. She says one of the horses is acting weird." She says and looks at Yeosang. "Oh, hi Yeosang." She flutters her eyes.

Yeosang had a fake smile and clearly looked uncomfortable. "Um hi, Rose."

"I'll go check it out. Please stay at the stan until 5, ok?" I tell her.

"Ok, fine. Would you like to help me, Yeosang?"

"Um....." Yeosang looks uncomfortable again.

"Yeosang!" We turn and see Yunho and San run up to us.

"Sorry laddies, but we need Yeosang. It's his turn to bake some cakes." San says.

"Oh, that is totally ok, you can take him." I say and Yeosang smiles at me.

"Its good to see you, Y/N!" San and Yunho yell over their shoulder as they walk away.

Rose starts looking angry.

I take off my apron and set it down.

"They would never like someone like you, little sis," Rose says angry. She's always had a crush on them as well, but I'm closer to them and they always ignore her.

I roll my eyes. My sister, always had someone crushing on her. She is popular around the village and loves the attention. My friends are the first men who aren't giving her any attention and it makes her angry.

"Just get to work. I'm off to go see what is up with the horses." I put my hair up in a ponytail and leave.

"One day, I'll get you, little sis," Rose whispers to herself.

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I go to the barn and hear some of the horses going crazy.

"Woah woah woah, hey." I run up to my horse Firefly. I try to calm her down and it works.

"Shhh, what's wrong love?" I ask. After she calms down, every other horse starts settling down.

"They started freaking out after we heard rustling near the field." I look up and see my brother Kai.

"I wonder why they did?" I soothe Firefly.

"Mom says dinner is almost ready by the way," Kai says.

"Ok, I'll come in and help." I almost get up.

"Oh no, sis. It's ok! I already set everything up! You do not need to do anything." He says happily. I smile.

"Thanks, little brother." I smile. "Did Rose help at all?"

"No. All she did was sit and play with Lily." Lily is our dog.

"Really? And she got away with it?" I ask.

"I mean, she always does. She's so spoiled." He says angry.

"Well, let's just go inside." I say, standing up. He stands up and we go inside.

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*after dinner*

I nearly went to my room, until I hear my parents say something.

"Have you heard about Diana's farm?" My father ask.

"The one near the village?"

"Yes."

"What happened?"

"Well, her farm....apparently got destroyed by wild animals."

Wild animals? Near here?

"Wild animals??" My mother asks.

"Some people in the village are spreading that....it's werewolves."

I quietly gasp.

My mother laughs.

"Oh, come on. Werewolves? Those are just myths, honey."

I quietly run to my room. I shut my door silently. Werewolves? Do they actually exist?? What if they do?

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A few days later, the attacks on farms get worse. It started to become a problem with everyone. So the mayor planned a curfew for the entire village. But of course, people would still not listen and go out.

Like my sister. She wanted me and her to get apples. For pies to make for our father's birthday.

"I never understood why we are going now? It's dark!" I say angry.

"Its just a quick trip stupid. Just keep up." Rose says angry.

I sigh and we walk. We get there to the tree......but no apples.

"Damn! That bitch Violet must have gotten the apples!" She throws a fit.

"I'm sure there will be more soon. Let's just g-" I hear a growl. Oh no....

"No! There's a peach tree! Let's get some of-" I grab her hand. "Hey!!" She yells and we run.

We run and I hear something run behind us. I try not to look. Then I trip and fall.

"Owww..." I say. Rose doesn't look back. She's running still.

"ROSE WAIT!" I yell.

She has left me and I couldn't believe it....I look and see 8 werewolves. I get scared and back up to a tree.

One of the wolves came up to me and sniffed me. I try not to cry. It backs up and licks my face. I look at it confused. I look into the wolves eyes. It's brown.....why do those eyes feel familiar?? I look at the other wolves. They look at me and walk away. I get confused.

What just happened???

*a few minutes later*

I get home and I see Rose crying to our mom and dad.

"Then she says, "Go! Leave me here. I'll sacrifice myself for you!" She says dramatically.

"At least you are alive, my dear." My mom says happy and hugging her.

I couldn't believe what I was seeing.

"Sis! You're alive!" Kai says happily and hugs me. I hug him.

My mom, dad, and sister looks at me. I look at them.

"Rose....you left me there..."

"No. I never did. You just don't remember sweet sister. You're being delusional." She says while petting my hair.

I slap her hand away and go upstairs. I slam my door and go to my bed. I cry for what felt like hours. I hear a rock at my window....can people leave me alone?!

I get up and look out the window. I see my friends....I haven't seen them in a while. Well, besides Yeosang, San and Yunho. I open my window.

"Why are you guys here?" I whisper.

"We wanted to make sure you are ok! We heard about the creatures going towards farms and we wanted to make sure you and your farm is ok!" Seonghwa says sweetly.

I smile. They always cared. What I noticed about them was that their clothes were a bit dirty and there was some blood on their clothes. Odd? They are bakers....I don't think about it anymore.

"Everything is OK. I promise." I tell them. They smile at me.

"Want us to come up there, princess?" Mingi says. I blush and shake my head. Him and Yeosang always flirt. Wooyoung too. Well, all of them actually.

"No, it's ok! Just go home. Everything is OK. I promise." I say trying to give them encouragement.

They nod and wave to me, bye. At least them and Kai cared.

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*the next night*

Mayor's POV:

"Sir, someone is here to see you." A guard says. I signal him to let the person in. It's a woman.

"How may I help you"

"Well, I have an idea to help get rid of the werewolf situation." The woman looks familiar to me.

"Oh? And who are you to give me ideas?"

"I'm Rose. Rose L/N."

I stop. The Aurora farms oldest daughter?

"My idea would guarantee us safety." She says.

"Go on?"

"Well, I know for a fact that my sister is a witch and that the wolves like her. She didn't even die when they were in front of her."

I get quiet.

"So, we sacrifice her. To the wolves."

*the next morning. Back to Y/N's POV*

Y/N's POV:

The mayor asked for a meeting with the village.

"I would like to let everyone know that we have an idea to get rid of the werewolves. We will sacrifice a witch."

Everyone gasps.

"A witch?!" Someone says.

"In our village?!" People start to freak out.

"Silence now! We will call the witch up and she'll go with my guards to the woods and wait until the werewolves can find her. Will....Ms. Y/N L/N come up here."

Everyone looks at me and I stay silent. A witch? Me?!

I nearly start crying, but i walk slowly up there.

"Everyone, look at the witch! Say goodbye!" The Mayor says.

Ateez's POV:

"What's going on?" Hongjoong and her friends come up whispering because they are confused. They forget to wake up early and they see a meeting happening.

"A witch is getting sacrificed to the werewolves." Someone whispers to them.

"A witch?" Seonghwa says confused.

They get closer and see.....Y/N?

"Y/N?!" Jongho says angry.

They knew she wasn't a witch. They were confused what was happening.

They all get angry and Mingi and San nearly go up there to punch the mayor.

"Guys, hold them." Hongjoong says and hold them.

"We need to keep calm. Please! No one cause a sc-" Mingi gets free and stomps up there.

"Oh no." Yeosang and Jongho run after him.

Mingi goes up.

"Hey, you're not allowed to get close to the sacr-" mingi punches him.

Jongho grabs mingi.

"Ahh Hongjoong and his team of lazy bakers. How humble for you to see this." The Mayor says.

"Let her go asshole!" Mingi yells.

"But she is a witch. She'll be sacrificed to the wolves. Everything will be back to normal!" The Mayor says.

Hongjoong grabs mingi as well.

"What you are doing is wrong. And you all are letting this happen! Because you believe such stupid rumors! Such cowards you all have become!" Hongjoong yells.

"Keep talking and you'll end up in jail. You and your group. Now, say your words to her."

We all look at Y/N. She's crying. We get close to her.

"Hongjoong?" She whispers.

Hongjoong bends down.

"We promise you. You will survive." Hongjoong whispers.

She sobs, and the guards take her away in a carriage.

They are mad and have to come up with an idea to save the woman they love.

"Hongjoong..." They turn to see her brother crying.

"Will she be ok?" Her brother cries out.

Seonghwa grabs him and gives him a hug.

"Shhhh she'll be OK. I promise." He rubs Kais back.

They had to come up with something fast. Before the moon......they become a different person....

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

Y/N's POV:

I cry and get cold. It's officially nighttime, and I'm cold, hungry, and exhausted. Also extremely thirsty.

The group of guards laugh and surround my carriage.

"Its getting dark, sweetheart. They'll be here soon!" They laugh.

I stay silent. I hear a growl. I look up and see 4. Wait.....I thought there was 8?

"Ah! There's some! Here!" They open the door and grab me and throw me towards the wolves.

"She's all yours. No one in the village wants her. You can keep her. Or eat her!" The guard says happily.

I look up and the wolves look at me.

I get scared. The wolves start growling and starts walking towards the guards. I get confused and three of them go towards the guards. One stays near me.

I look at the werewolf confused. What is happening?

The guards stop laughing and start getting confused.

"Hey! She's the one you want! Not us!" The guy who threw me said.

The wolves start attacking the guards. The guards weren't putting up a fight besides one and he hurt one of the wolves and it lays on the ground. It starts transforming into....Mingi?

I get confused and think about it for a minute......they are the werewolves?!!! I look up at the one in front of me.

Who is this one?

"Mingi!" I yell to mingi, who is passed out. I start crying.

The werewolf who was next to him attacked the one who hurt Mingi.

The fight was over, and the werewolves transformed back into their human forms. San, Yunho, who attacked the guy who attacked Mingi and Yeosang, was the one in front of me.

"Yeossss-" I pass out.

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

*a few hours later.*

I wake up and see San and Wooyoung cuddling me.

I get confused and look to see Seonghwa and Hongjoong in my room talking. They look at me.

"You're awake. Thank god!" Seonghwa says happily.

San and Wooyoung wake up. Yeosang was in the room and near my feet on my bed. Yunho and Jongho was in here too. By the wall.

"I'm sure you have questions." Hongjoong says.

I nod.

They explained everything. How a witched cursed them all after their fathers trashed her house and destroyed it. How they were scared to tell me and how it was them causing problems in the village.

I nod. Not knowing what to say.

"I know it's a lot to take in..." Yunho says.

"But we are still the same people you know and love." Wooyoung says.

I nod.

"Is Mingi ok?" I ask.

"He's ok. He just got hurt a little bit. He is sleeping." San whispers.

Thank God. I was worried about him.

"We wanted to protect you." Yeosang says.

I look at them all and blush.

"Thank you. For saving me.." I smile.

They smile back and all of them one at a time hug me gently. I feel kisses from them.

"I love you all so much." I say.

"We love you too. Always." Wooyoung says caressing my face gently. I blush.

"Now Woo, don't kiss her. Let her pick who she is kissing first!" San whines.

I giggle.

I love them.....my werewolves.

*fun little bonus scene.*

I walk and see Mingi awake. I gently walk in the bedroom. He looks up.

"Y/N!" He hugs me gently. I hug him.

"Mingi..." I snuggle into him.

Hw kisses my neck gently and kisses my face.

"I was scared. I thought I lost you, princess." He says. I pull his face.

"I'm ok. I promise." I say softly and I kiss him gently.

"Nooooooooooo!! Why did you kiss him?! I wanted to be the first you kiss!" Wooyoung whines. Seonghwa grabs him and shuts the door. I giggle. I'm so happy to have them in my life. I don't care that they are werewolves.

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

Hi, my pookies!!!! How are you all doing? I hope doing well. I hope you guys are enjoying the Halloween stories. This was supposed to come out on Halloween, but it never did and I apologize. It has been a hectic week. I promise more stories are on the way. Just you wait. 🩷💜😊

- Luna 💜🩷

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superscourge · 3 months ago

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any family shenanigans in the resurrected au that is wholesome and makes scrouge happy that he has people that care for him and make iblis and infinite and mephilis glad they stick around to see the possibly sillier side of scrouge or just him acting his age and not some god or king

ok one thing i really love to think about is how scourge makes his "world famous grilled cheese" which is just the worst grilled cheese in the world actually. bread's not toasted all the way. cheese is hardly melted. everything's uneven. but everyone loves it bc he gets so excited to make it and does the grilled cheese dance while he does it

also scourge and meta playing video games together bc infinite got them gaming consoles for enrichment. scourge is REALLY FUCKING GOOD at fighting games in particular and its the only thing he's genuinely better at than sonic lol. even meta is like..super struggling against him in those games and loses most of the time

scourge just havin fun with life after a while. he's gotten to the point where he can accept himself for himself and worry less about being compared to sonic bc now he Does have ppl who genuinely love him and support him and want the best for him. he has not one but Three parental figures (and flatline i guess LOL but hes more like the weird gay uncle of the family) as well as a little brother so he has ppl he can look up to and go to for advice and also someone he can be a role model for... ahhhhh. AHHHHHHHHH RESURRECTED AU

#arealscourge.txt #resurrected au

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rabbitshat · 14 days ago

Text

I have such a devious little idea, imagine with me if you will.

RiseTMNT and Arcane AU

Theres no Rise Mystic/Magic, its all Arcane cannon magic

The hidden city becomes the Undercity/Zaun and NewYork is replaced by Piltover.

Humans are first class citizens, Yokai live in the Undercity as second class citizens and Mutants are third class.

Donnie(20) my beloved with spinal issues bcs of some accident in his youth working his ass off to gain footing in Piltover and trying to make the world a better place for the people in the Undercity(a Viktor replacement in a way). He left the Undercity about five years ago.

The rest of the turtles have to steal from humans, as one does, to survive. But when that stops being a reliable source of money for food (necessities in the Undercity are suuuper over priced, even to Piltover standars, but what are they gonna do? Go up top and buy there? Thats a joke.) Raph(23) goes to work for Big Mama and gains her as a patron in a way. Hes still massive and a scary bastard, he has a side hustle in the BloodDome as one of its best fighters.

Leo's(20) leader of the Firelights, a real revolutionary that one. After Raph started to work for BigMama, Leo took the reigns as Mike's(17) big bro. He started to gain a sort of street rep similar to Raph's, but in a much more "family man" kind of way. He is known to have loyalty that kills, the family comes first and if someone --even if they themselves are a part of the family-- threatens his family (especially the younger ones) they will face a painful death.

Mike's(17) know as the Icarus but simultaneously the Sun of the Undercity. He's a dreamer and almost all teens his age in the city love to hate him. The kids love him and his art of course, he even might teach you how to run the rooftops. But the teens hate how untouched by the cruel life in the Undercity he seems, there's a lot of prejudice in those thoughts in the "how dare a mutant be so care free". Of course they cant really DO anything to him, what with Leo and Raph's reputations on the streets (even if BigRed isnt around all that much) but they go to extreme lengths to ostracize him.

Splinter, a very reputable and beloved Council member that got mutated by ~mysterious circumstances~ that runs away to the Undercity only to find the four brothers.

Imagine with me, Donnie on the bridge that connects the Undercity Leo beside him begging him to cone home. He tells him how isolated Mike is, how Raph has been working and fighting for BigMama. How he needs to just come home so they can finally be a family again. A lie he knows all too well, he tells it to himself everytime he catches a glance of Raph on the more seedy parts of the Undercity standing over a beat up yokai, the pink glow of BigMama's drug enhancements reflecting off the alley's walls. He repeats it every time he sees the other teens ridicule Mike as if he were some sort of vermin.

If Donnie, his brother, his twin just comes home everything will be ok again. Its been so long and his back looks so much worse, and please just leave it all behind and come home.

Its an unfair ask, he knows that, its selfish but he cant do this anymore.

"I cant, i have a lot left to do still. I promised you id only go back when i found a way to make life better for everyone. And i did! I just need time-"

"How much time do you STILL need Donnie?! Its been five years! Mike's not a little kid anymore- hes seventeen! I almost cant recognize Raph anymore, Dad's gone and it feels like im losing YOU. What? Do you think you fit better up here?! Are you better than us now that you 'made it' up here?! Are you one of the good ones just because you have something to give them?!"

Its an ugly fight, words were said and their already fragile bond feels like someone took a serrated bread knife and cut into it a thousand times.

Leo has never wanted to die more than the day the news of the Council being blown up reaches his ears, the day the people of Zaun celebrated the start of a battle for freedom. The day he thought his brother was dead and the last thing they did together was fight.

(I haven't watched the new Arcane season but im very exited to lol)

#fanfiction #au #arcane #arcane au #tmnt #tmnt au #rottmnt donnie #rottmnt leo #rottmnt #rottmnt mikey #rottmnt raph #rottmnt au

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myers-meadow · 9 months ago

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Wifey, can I have a hug, and maybe perhaps som Halsin fluff headcannons, I’ve had a stressful day 😭

I need wifey comfort 🫀

my beloved💞,

I hope you are okay 🥺💗 and that tomorrow will be better! It needs to be. for you!! 🍀

(BLESS YOU @mercymaker FOR THE GORGEOUS GIF)

Oke oldfashioned, sweet Halsin comfort !! got it ✨

You come back from a day at camp, immediately sitting down to rest your weary legs. They hurt and have been bothering you all day. Knowing you, you probably waved off your companion's concerns in the morning, and are now no longer able to ignore the pain.

Halsin sees you, and your grimace at the pain, you don't have to say a word.

"Do you want a hug, my heart? I can carry you to wash up, if you like." His voice alone is the greatest comfort. You only nod, holding your arms out to him. He carries you like it is nothing to him. Once you're at the river, he brings you what you need to wash up (steals Gale's softest towel), and leaves you to it. You seem overwhelmed, so he thinks it best. In a moment, he will look you over, herbs and spells at his fingertips. He brings back sweet snacks too, and bread and cheese, so you can get some of your strenght back.

He sets it all out in front of you, almost hoping to distract you with the food, so he has the time to look you over properly without you fussing that you're fine. He borders on too worried, but that's how he shows his love for you, so you let him. As soon as another companion approaches, either with questions about the next quest, or with requests for your attention, one look of him is all it takes to send them trudging back to their tent. They can figure it out by themselves, tonight.

As the night air cools you down, he wraps you in his arms, and brings you to your bedroll to lay down. If that is too out in the open, he takes you to his tent instead, shielded from the others, close to the edge of the woods. You feel at ease there, its comforting. Halsin smells like dirt and leaves, his warmth is all around you.

Nothing is too much for him to ask. Anything you want, he will get for you. A massage, of course, consider it done. Food, wine? It's already by your side. With him, you can rest easy. He sings you to sleep with a soft hum, and you feel the movement of his breaths in his chest, against your back as he spoons you and holds you close. A dreamless sleep is granted you, knowing that if you wake up, he is there for you.

As a bonus, for your listening pleasure, here are voice lines of Halsin aiding the player, in and out of combat. The whispered ones are a great highlight <3. Imagine he is healing you right now <3.

youtube

#ask #bg3 #bg3 halsin #halsin silverbough #baldurs gate 3 #halsin bg3 #halsin #halsin x tav

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violettduchess · 2 years ago

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hi there talented writer. I would love to request headcanons (3 or 4?) for the princes and them doing something with a small child (their son or daughter)

I'd love for it to be Leon, Luke, Gilbert, Silvio or Chevalier but I will leave the choices up to you!

Thank you!!!

A/N: Alright anon....here you go!! Sorry this took so long! I did them all 😉

Word Count: 1878

Leon

She has his hair. Wild locks the color of dark walnut that spill down her small back in a wavy cascade. You braid it every morning but by the end of the day, it has escaped its braided prison and curls with abandon. And so it is up to you or Leon to tame the wild beast with the best weaponry you have: a silver hairbrush and a dollop of oil.

It's his turn tonight. You walk into your bedroom, the night's book selection in hand, to find them on the bed. She sits cross-legged in front of him, telling a very detailed story about an adventurous ladybug she found crawling on the window of her room. Leon is carefully brushing her hair, fingers gentle as he works the brush through her dark tresses.

You pause, watching them. Her small hands gesture to punctuate her story, a perfect imitation of her father. He listens, nodding intently even though she can't see him. Her story is taken seriously and you love him so much for it.

He sets down the hair brush, running his hand over the soft fall of her hair. Knowing they are done, she spins around with the type of energy only young children can have, throwing her short arms around his neck. He embraces her, hugging her tightly before pressing a kiss on her dimpled cheek. She giggles and so he does it again, growling like a lion.

Her laughter fills the bedroom, bright and clear as wind chimes. "Papa!" Her voice is bubbly with glee. He kisses her and tickles her and she howls with joy. He tosses her onto the bed, still growling playfully, continuing his loving onslaught.

As she wiggles and giggles at her lion Papa, you sigh through your smile. Her hair is getting tangled and he'll have to brush it again.

Somehow you know neither of them will mind.

Luke

Your son, with his shock of bright red hair and wide green eyes, is the spitting image of his father. He has inherited Luke’s gentle nature, his easy-going smile and not surprisingly, his love for honey. You set the freshly baked bread down onto the kitchen table, watching the way two sets of moss green eyes light up with anticipation.

Setting a generous slice of thick, dark bread down on his plate, you push the honey jar toward your little guy. Enthusiasm fills him as he reaches for the prized jar and the little metal spoon nestled in it, when Luke’s large hand covers his gently.

“Let’s do this together, ok? Just like last time.” His son nods and with Luke’s help, carefully scoops out a spoonful of honey and then plops it onto his bread. His gaze darts to you and you nod approvingly, rewarded with a cherubic smile. Luke hands him the smaller, child-sized butter knife. “Like we practiced," he reminds his son gently.

The little boy nods, taking the knife and then very, very carefully begins spreading the honey across his bread. Luke watches, reaching out to help him with the rounded corners, words of encouragement and praise murmured whenever he lets go. The knife at times digs into the bread. Sometimes the honey is spread right off of it. But the bright light of pride shines in your son's eyes as he looks up, challenge conquered. “I did it!”

Luke smiles, pride mirrored in his expression as he nods, reaching out to ruffle the boy’s head with a large hand. “You certainly did. Now let’s eat!”

Gilbert

“Papa! Ich brauche Hilfe!” (Papa, I need help!) She races across the thick carpeting of your bedroom, dark hair flying behind her like a wayward banner. Gilbert has just finished pulling on his black leather boots, readying himself for a family excursion while you rifle through your drawers looking for a scarf.

“Slow down, Mäuschen,” he says gently, an undercurrent of laughter discernible to you in his words. He kneels with a grin as she skids to a stop in front of him, catching her breath long enough to point at her coat. It’s made of rich black wool with large, round, gold buttons, a perfect size for her little hands. “I need help. It’s not working!” She is a perfect, flustered combination of eager to get outside and frustrated that she needs to ask him for help.

“First of all,” he says, reaching for her hands. “It’s much easier to close the buttons if you are not wearing these.” He carefully pulls on the tips of her small black leather gloves, removing them from both hands and laying them on the edge of the bed. “Now, try again.” At first she looks at the gloves in dismay and you know from experience how proud she is of them and how long it probably took her to get them on. But she blinks her bright ruby-colored eyes and turns her attention back to the coat. Reaching up, she takes hold of one shiny button and holds the flap of the coat with the other hand. Several attempts later, the button isn’t through and she looks up, brow furrowed in annoyance. “It’s still not working.”

Gilbert reaches out, straightening her coat. “Try again. I’ll hold it still for you.” He keeps hold of the bottom of her coat, pulling so the material is now stiffer, less bendable. Again she takes the button between her small fingers….and this time slides it right through the buttonhole. She doesn’t celebrate yet. The job isn’t done. Determination shadows her young face as she does the same for the entire row of gold buttons. It’s only when the last one slides into place that she looks up with a smile ablaze with pride. “Geschafft!” (Done!)

He leans forward, pressing a kiss to the cool skin of her round cheek. “Toll gemacht, Mäuschen.” (Well done, little mouse) He stands, a loving hand lingering on her shoulder as she happily grabs her gloves and begins the process of pulling them on. His gaze finds yours, his smile warm with happiness. This could take a while.

Silvio

Your son is sitting outside on the terrace, the cobalt blue-tiled floor warm from the sun's rays. In front of him are several pots of paint which he is enthusiastically dipping his chubby fingers into before smearing them across the pages of white paper. You're sitting on the wicker chair nearby, one eye on him and one on the book you are reading.

This is the peaceful scene Silvio comes upon after returning from a meeting in the city. The familiar jangling noise of his clothing and jewelry alerts you both to his presence. Your son leaps up in a hurry, excitement thrumming through his body.

"Papa!" Silvio catches his colorful little hands by the wrists, a wry smile on his face. “Ah topolino, what happened to these?” He makes the little boy's hands wiggle back and forth to an eruption of giggles. “I’m painting, Papa. Come, paint with me!” Silvio releases his son who scurries back to his art. The child glances over his shoulder, eyes as bright as the sea in summer. “Papa?”

Silvio slides off the light, white coat he is wearing and then comes to where you are reading. He pretends to seriously inspect his son’s paintings as he slowly removes the golden rings from his fingers, one by one. You reach up, taking them from him and he flashes you a grin. “Keep a good eye on my treasure, tesoro.”

You resist the urge to roll your eyes at the bad word play but you cannot resist the smile that curves your lips as Silvio lowers his long body onto the tiles, leaning close to the boy with hair pale as dolomite and eyes blue as summer skies. “Now maestro, tell me, where do we need to paint?”

Chevalier

Together they stand in front of the white bookshelf in her room, the one with pink painted roses climbing up the sides. He holds her small hand in his as they consider the many, many books she has managed to collect thus far in her rather short lifetime. His pale head nods towards a dark blue book with gold lettering. “We’ve only read this particular story twice.” She turns, her long pale braids swinging as she shakes her head. Her small fingers wiggle, adjusting her grip on him. “That story is about pirates and we read the story about mermaids yesterday. I would rather not have another nautical adventure.”

His inflection is echoed in her young voice, his influence in her vocabulary. He nods, eyes scanning the shelves for another, more suitable choice. “Perhaps the desert instead of the sea.” He taps a finger against a beige book with the title in darkest brown along the spine. Her head tilts to one side, brow furrowed in consideration. “Whenever we read this story and it talks about how hot the desert is, it makes me thirsty and I’ve already had-” She glances over her shoulder at where you are laying out her clothes for the next day. “How many glasses of water did I have at dinner, Mama?”

“Three,” you answer as you lay a pale blue sweater over the sunflower yellow dress you’ve chosen. She turns back to her father. “I’ve already had three.” He tears his gaze away from the bookshelf, regarding her with a shadow of a smile on his lips. “That is very pragmatic of you.” She nods solemnly, squeezing his hand before examining her books once again. Her eyes light upon a book bound in deep green leather, embossed with a tall tower made of gold. “This one!” She slips her hand from him to take the book off the shelf. Though excited, she is careful. Books are treasures and her collection is more pristine than some libraries. Chevalier looks down at her choice and you see how his expression softens. “You’ve made this selection twelve times in three weeks.”

“I like how you say all the new words!” The book is a story of a princess who travels the world and learns how to say hello in a multitude of languages, all of which Chevalier can speak. She takes his hand in hers again, the book cradled against her chest as she leads him to the large, velvet armchair, the one whose pink perfectly matches the dusty roses adorning her bookshelf. He settles into the chair and she climbs onto his lap, scooting back until she is comfortable. Reaching around her, his arms encircling her, he holds the book upright. “Shall we begin?” She nestles against his chest, azure eyes already eagerly on the book. “Yes, Papa!”

A split second is all it is. Just a breath of time before he opens the book, but in that space the length of a heartbeat, you see how Chevalier allows the moment in: his daughter curled up on his lap, safe in the soft, warm light of her room, eyes bright with excitement as she waits for the magic of a book to begin, for her father to create that magic for her. His expression is the tenderness the dawn has for the sky, love painted in soft hues across his noble features. And then he clears his throat, opening the book to her delighted, already sleepy smile, and begins.

Tagging: @aquagirl1978 @alixennial @alexxavicry @queengiuliettafirstlady @rhodolitesrose @ikemen-prince-writers-posts @bellerose-arcana @thewitchofbooks @redheadkittys @dear-mrs-otome @firestar-otomeobsessed @curious-skybunny @kpop-and-otome @mxrmaid-poet @silver-dahlia @wendolrea @otomefoxystar @neoqueen-sailorvirgo @myonlyjknight @queen-dahlia @aceuuuuu @scorchieart

#ikemen series #ikemen prince #ikepri #ikepri leon #leon dompteur #ikepri luke #luke randolph #ikepri gilbert #gilbert von obsidian #ikepri silvio #silvio ricci #ikepri chevalier #chevalier michel #ikemen headcanons #ikemen fanfic #ikemen fanfiction #otome fanfic #otome games #violettwrites

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