#neighbourhood rundown

[tojisun]

the hand that feeds you

— “i take care of her, s’all.”

johnny mactavish x f!reader

cw: 18+ work - minors dni; age difference; daddy issues (kinda the central plot); cooking as a love language; slow burn but in high speed; a breath of angst; power imbalance; canon divergence - regular/non-military life au // amazing divider by @gildui! // 6.5k words

extra notes: this is a very self-indulgent work. there are holes in the plot, 100%, so ignore those holes pretty pls </3 also ik this is more of a captain johnny-verse but midway through, i started projecting so i might’ve written him incorrectly and im really sorry for that!!

being roommates with johnny is not as weird as it is; he’s amicable, at first, then full blown nice when days passed. he’s not loud, per se, but there’s always a constant chatter streaming from his space, like he physically can’t sit still through the silence which is great because you don’t fare any better with the stillness too, so reminiscent of how it was in the suburbs.

you moved to a neighbourhood just skirting past the inner city just because it’s a lot cheaper. but even then, rent was always high and your little box in a rundown complex wasn’t going to sustain you forever even if you wished it would. then, an opening in johnny’s townhouse was posted, almost half-price than whatever is up in the market, and it’s great despite your skepticism. hell, it’s more than great — it’s lifesaving.

your shitty job at the bookstore really can’t cover much of your expenses anymore, and sure student loans and the grant is great, but the growing debt makes you wince so it’s whatever at this point. you’re about to graduate soon anyway, pooling work experience from volunteering and club organizations, and it’s not like you can even go back to how it was.

(underway to law school, primed up before your father’s scrutiny but the burnout got to you before you could even write the LNAT. you realized that being a barrister wasn’t really what you wanted so you changed programs, midway, and switched to children’s education.

god, the disappointment in your pa’s eyes was so big, you knew to pack your shit before he could even kick you out.)

it’s… tough.

god, is it tough. none of your old friends and colleagues could stay in contact, which you don’t hold against them because most of them, by now, have graduated and entered law school. you’re straggling about two years back because of the switch in programs, and everything’s gone too tight. your budget. your social life.

your dating life.

johnny often distracts you from it all — he works in downtown, in one of those high-rise buildings often reserved for limiteds or holding companies, and has to travel off the city every three months. he makes good money, he said jovially, and you know it’s a nudge as to why your portion of the rent is cheap in the first place.

when you finally bit the bullet and asked why he put up one of the rooms in the market, johnny just shrugged and said he needed someone to house sit but sort off permanently. said something like last time he left, the pipes bursted and he couldn’t really fly back to help with the repairs.

it’s great being with him. he’s bright and bubbly, but also dependable in ways you never really thought about. like—

well, it’s all mundane things so listing them feels embarrassing, and it makes you feel as though you’re a touch-starved damsel and johnny just so happened to be the next older man to give you any attention and his time. but you can’t help it. god, you can’t help preen at the way he exists beside you.

he’s just so… beautiful, is what it is.

rugged and charming and loud and filling. the townhouse is too big for the two of you, but johnny makes it work. makes it feel like the two of you just fit into each other’s spaces.

early mornings are spent with him lilting between english and scottish, his exhaustion plastered onto him even after he’s downed two cups of coffee. he bumps his hip onto yours when he ambles out to prepare for his work, grumbling something like good morning and how’re you. afternoons are more lively and productive; it’s of you coming back from campus at six in the evening only to find him in the kitchen, fixing up dinner. it’s always something fancy and rich in flavour; something he always eats with wine on the side.

you, uh, you never thought he could actually cook, let alone feed himself well, but there he was, always a plate ready for you too like it’s expected that you’ll eat dinner with him. like spending time with him was just natural — the sky is blue, the ocean’s deep, and you and johnny fall into each other like there is an invisible string pulling you close to him.

it’s a beautiful change of pace, and there are more days now when you can breathe in a little easier, and you know it’s all because of johnny. it’s all him who pulled you out of your slump and out of that darkness and gave you the room, literally, to grow.

he’s beautiful, but you’ve said that already, haven’t you? he’s just… so good to be with.

then, johnny began picking up and bringing some home.

.

the first time it happened was shocking, really.

you had an early morning, something that’s so murky now in your memories so you’re unsure if it was anything uni related or work related, just that it was five in the morning and you were clambering downstairs as quietly as you could. you rounded the length of the hallway from the platform to the kitchen when you ran into someone.

“steady,” she’d said, voice hoarse and loud in her shock too.

you yelled, jumping, arms swinging because was there an intruder, and it took johnny physically subduing you for you to calm down. looking back now, you burn in embarrassment, but then you had been so worried, your body wound up so tightly in your fear.

“shh,” johnny had murmured with that wry grin. “s’just me, lass.”

your eyes danced between him and the brunette — pretty even in her rumpled shirt, with long legs and a small waist — trying to understand what was going on. you are sure johnny had told you before that he wasn’t seeing anyone so who—

“your girlfriend?” she asked johnny, turning to him with her lips pursed and her brow cocked up.

the question settled in your stomach, doing wonders to your already-fragile psyche. you’d just spent hours thinking about johnny and what he meant to you; what living with him meant. how it eased up something carved within the trenches of your being, like you’d always been waiting for someone like him.

the question was a reminder, like prickling you with icicles, leaving you to navigate the swoop. but johnny had laughed, nothing mean but so dismissive that you felt the curl of shame brandishing from the base of your spine like johnny was laughing at you.

“oh, nah,” he replied, arm still slung over your shoulders. “she’s sorta my ward, yes? i take care of her, s’all.”

that’s all. you’re nothing more to him but a ward. a tenant. not even a friend—

she hummed, then leaned over to kiss johnny, her eyes still drawn to you like she’s watching, waiting for a reaction, and when she got none, she trudged to the door. you and johnny watched as she bent down to slip in her shoes, some stilettos with red bottoms, before wordlessly disappearing into the darkened morning.

“pretty,” you chirped, trying to break the tension of whatever that was.

johnny laughed in that way that surely crinkled his eyes, only to steer the conversation away by asking why you were up early. you remembered what you had to do and you dived to the kitchen in a flurry, chatting about the deadlines and due dates — so it was a school thing — and johnny just watched, silent, humming, eyes still curved in his glee.

you left no sooner than his… paramour did and, for a while, that was that.

but your semester is coming to a close and your schedule is changing, but so is johnny’s. he’s coming home later and later, but always seemed to offer apologies in the form of easy-to-microwave meals for your dinner. they’re still homemade, probably cooked up in the morning before he left for work, and you’d messaged him to say that he didn’t need to worry about you. that, sure, you came to him amidst financial struggle, juggling work and school, and trying to decide if you would have to starve this month because of rent, but you can cook. for yourself and for him too.

johnny’s face did a terrible thing when you mentioned that in person, the first in a while after things got hectic.

“what,” you bit out, embarrassed.

“nothing,” he said, blinking like he was realizing things he shouldn’t. “s’fun doing things f’r you.”

then he clamped up, spooning soup into his mouth, some of it messily dribbling into his chin. it’s not like you were doing any better, with how your throat closed up at his words, eyes going wide.

it’s been a thing, is what it is, but neither of you two have ever acknowledged that it’s a thing. it’s been a wordless experience — of johnny taking over things when it comes to the house because of course he will, it’s his home, but he always covers things for you too. things you’re sure normal landlords don’t really worry about, but not johnny.

there’s always extra food in the kitchen, extra blankets when the weather dips. there’s even a new cooling machine for the summer even though you know johnny’s room already has an installed air conditioning. he’s even changed the seats in the dining room because he caught you once hitting your hip after an all-nighter on a project.

then, he refurbished the den to make it your office.

“you didn’t have to,” you told him, mind racing at your savings, wondering if he was going to increase your rent.

johnny just shook his head with an almost fond roll of his eyes and clapped your back, arm hovering there. “s’all yers, hen.”

everything he did always accounted for you. so why the women?

they’re all long limbed and trimmed waist, with eyes that sparkled even when all you’ve seen of them is always within the poorly-lit hallway. they have voices that curl teasingly, breathy like they’re enticing johnny for one more night. and they’ve always, always, treated you like a—

like a kid.

a burden, almost, of johnny’s.

and, hell, maybe you are. johnny’s almost twice your age; he’s also already well-established in his career, some senior position that you can’t really follow but one he talks about with fondness. he’s got land rover-money, the car in his garage big and black and almost military grade, and it looks so expensive especially beside the crappy civic you were able to snag for a cheap price because it’s got about three-hundred-thousand mileage already.

you’ve got nothing to give him, other than the lousy rent payment that he doesn’t even really need but is just asking for courtesy because it’d be so weird for him to offer a room, or two now given you have the den too, for free. you’ve got nothing on your name, and if it isn’t pity that makes johnny care for you, then you don’t know what.

maybe his string of one-night stands are right — you are just a kid.

that maybe you really are still too wet behind the ears for the real world that you go running to the next person that could protect you from it, stumbling into his life and licking up every drop of his attention, mistaking his kindness for devotion. his care for love.

.

you should have known, then, that the thoughts would ripple, leaving you to feel like the days are unnavigable. obsession quickly took root, growing fangs, and it ensnared you; a vice noose at what had been a pleasant coexistence.

hell, you can barely stand being with johnny because of the jealousy. it’s a shameful thing, but a part of you thinks you deserve johnny more than the others do.

you tell yourself that nobody knows about johnny’s nightmares and the horrors that spill from his lips when it’s twelve in the morning and the two of you have hit the bourbon. you tell yourself that nobody knows about johnny’s aversion to the windows in the living room; that the reason why the curtains are a deep green is not to match the new plants he’s allowed you to fill up his home but because they shroud the panels more than the cream ones had. you tell yourself that nobody knows that johnny can sing; that he can cook a mean tomahawk; that he likes reading; that his wrists were hurting so he’s currently scheduled for a surgery; that he’s soft to you.

the women don’t know this johnny, you tell yourself, nails clawing at the hems of your chest. they don’t know him the way i do.

it’s a pathetic whisper. it’s so laughable. so juvenile.

they’re right. they’re right.

(you’re just a—)

“i don’t see you anymore,” johnny murmured one morning, when things have gone quiet again, a cup of coffee sitting on the counter while he watches you throw orange peels into the garburator.

he just got back from a work trip in aberdeen, his exhaustion loud on his face. his hair is overgrown, the bottom ends of his mohawk curling along his nape. he was there for over three weeks, skirting almost close to a month — the longest he’s ever been away — and you had tried so hard not to message. not to drop casual check-ins because you’re sure no tenant ever does that to their landlord, but johnny had remained just as friendly; asking things like if you wanted another potted plant, a monstera or a dragon tree, or if you still had that swiss chocolate he brought home as a gift, or—

the list of his questions grew, but you’ve given him clipped replies, not knowing how to act right anymore since your quiet realization. even the “thing” that you thought you shared with him had fizzled at the drop of the women coming-and-leaving, and you are left to pick up the pieces.

it’s not like you’re broken or ruined or angry. god, no you aren’t.

but you feel unsteady, like now that you know that you liked him more than he liked you, you forgot how to breathe. how to live without that looming burden because your affection is nothing but a burden.

what will johnny do if he finds out? you can’t afford a new place to move into, not when you’re so close to graduating, the finish line just about to graze your very fingertips with how near it is. money is still tight, and johnny has already spoiled you rotten. has shown you how it is to live a comfortable life. and if he learns of your feelings, you would lose this. more than anything, you would lose him.

so you detached yourself from the noose, curling into yourself and using his work trip as a way to move on.

jesus — move on, huh? like there was a ‘you and johnny’ to even move on from. like there was anything there to read. like there was anything there to pull away from; twitching fingers drawing back into the spaces of your ribs, tucking yourself away from his warmth.

“i’ve been so busy, john,” you muttered, just as tired.

“yeah?” he said, still light. still jovial. “let me cook something nice for ye, huh? reward yer hard work and all.”

“i can’t.” you swallowed down the prickle lodged in your throat, eyes ducking away to avoid seeing his. “i’ve got a meeting with the club.”

(you missed the way johnny’s smile dipped.)

“oh,” he said.

you shrugged, internally wincing at your weak attempt at being normal, before gathering your thermos and your messily-wrapped sandwich. johnny was still standing by the counters when you turned around from the sink, his bulk so close to yours in ages. it had been so long since you could just reach over and feel his warmth; feel the soft pudge of what once were hardened muscles.

he’s looking at you with such sad eyes that it’s jarring to truly see because he’s looking at you like—

like he’s losing you.

“i’m gonna…” you trailed off, not really knowing how to end this truly awkward interaction.

“yeah, f’course,” he croaked out. “take care of yerself huh, lass?”

“thanks.” the smile on your face felt more like a grimace. “see you.”

he said nothing more after that, his eyes still searching; still furrowed like something’s changed and something’s happening, and it made your stomach drop because please. please don’t let him notice.

but johnny just watched as you went, his coffee all forgotten.

(something bloomed in the soft press of your heart, flickering like a young ember. you’ve never realized how longing could feel like your mouth is stuffed with cotton.)

.

johnny hasn't picked up since his return from aberdeen.

they’re getting a new firm so the shuffling has been brutal, leaving johnny to clamber out at five in the morning before coming back home when it’s pushing 11pm. the scruff on his face is becoming more unkempt, salt and pepper becoming more intense, but even then, he’s never looked more ruggedly beautiful as he is now.

it’s like he’s aged years and you shouldn’t be reacting so strongly to the change, but looking at johnny now makes you ache in a different way — core throbbing, throat parched and eyes stinging as you watch him. you’re so drawn to his gravitational pull, unable to detangle yourself now that it feels like he’s more back in your life than he ever was.

and you know it’ll end up hurting you. that you’ll go back to isolating yourself at the drop of a new girl in the house, the smell of her chanel or bvlgari perfume filling up the crevices that you’ve dutifully dusted every saturday morning while johnny’s out for a run. he’s made having casual lovers a cycle, one that you cannot blame him for because johnny doesn’t like you back.

but johnny’s been so attentive to you these days. he’s been a hovering presence even when he looks like he’s one blown wind away from passing out in his exhaustion, his warm hand always on the small of your back as he walks you to the door before chirping a hearty, “kick ass, bon!”

he’s back to fixing up food for you, like that blip in your schedule got him all creative because now, it’s not even just dinner. you’ve got breakfast waiting for you in the microwave, and packed lunch already in your bag, carefully tucked beside the manila folders and plastic envelopes for your capstone. it’s like he’s making up for something which is dumb and wrong because now, you’re all swooping stomach and prickling lungs.

“yummy?” johnny asked, catching you wriggling in excitement at the flavour bursting into your tongue.

your cheeks tingled, feverish, before giving him a shy nod.

he huffed, something so achingly fond, and rested his chin atop his crossed arms. you didn’t know what to focus on — the scruff on his face or the hard lines of webbing veins spilling from beneath his folded sleeves. then, he crooned, “good. that’s good.”

you ran upstairs to your room, throwing an excuse about finishing up your paper, before locking the door, and feeding your cunt two fingers to satiate the burn. the stretch was delicious, raw and sweet, and you humped your wrist, trying to douse the flames burning you up.

you thought of johnny, of the way he looked and how much nicer he’s been; of johnny and the way he was so kind to you, so caring like you’re up in his priority list again, overtaking his busy schedule and the firm restructuring, and his needs.

your orgasm felt like a ripping of reality, your mind splintering at the edges as you’re stretched thin. it felt like you’ve been pulled taut, then released with a resounding snap. it felt euphoric, like the explosion of something intoxicating. something wickedly addicting.

you knew that this could never be unmade. your affections had grown their tendrils, curling past the quiet admiration and spiralling into something unforgiving. into something greater than yourself.

“fuck,” you had rasped out, eyes prickling with tears as shame rushed into your chest. “fuck.”

you didn’t need this. you didn’t need any of this.

but it becomes a cycle — wash, rinse, repeat.

johnny continues to go unshaven; continues to pour his attention to you. and you soak it up, needy and soft, unable to turn away with your tail tucked between your legs. you fall back to the ease of how it had been, hip bumping his, morning coffee shared in the silence, dinner a filling affair once more. all that’s changed are the lingering looks, the resonating touches.

how johnny’s wide hand falls to the small of your back more often; how his fingers just slots against yours every time he passes you your cup; how his eyes rove over your face, always searching for something you dare not hope for.

the last time he flicked his eyes down to watch the way your tongue lapped at your lips, swiping away at the extra cream, johnny’s pupils had constricted before a quiet groan rumbled from his throat. your thighs had quickly clenched close as heat exploded in the pit of your belly, spreading like wildfire through your veins. the pressure on your nub made you hiccup, like a whine dragging itself from your trachea, and johnny had snapped his eyes back to yours so quickly, it made you heady.

“bon–”

“i have to go,” you murmured, clamouring to shaky legs.

you fucked yourself to a deafening point once more, ears ringing as you squirted, the gush of your slick pushing past your fingers. you had to gnash your pillow cover to muffle the moan rumbling from the base of your throat, trying desperately to be good. to not be heard. to be better.

but johnny’s burning gaze on your lips was seared into your memory, blazing on top of everything, and you imagined—

god, you imagined.

the way he’ll take you — beard rough on your chin, thicker fingers spreading you wider, reaching deeper, before finally filling you up with all of him, bullying the whole length of his cock until he bottoms out.

you pressed on your stomach, dizzy, thinking about how johnny would hit that far. you know he would. the women he’s slept with have told you, anyway, in passing, describing how he was in bed with dreamy sighs like they weren’t still reeking of sex and johnny’s aftershave.

(you still wonder why so many of them were mean, their noses tipped up every time they saw you. they were the ones that johnny chose, the ones who were fortunate enough to have been his lover, so you wonder why they still sought you out like you were competition.)

“johnnyyyy!” you moaned, loud and long, your fingers prodding at your walls, and you knew that you’d regret the wrangled cry later, but you didn’t care then, too busy swimming in the aftermath of your orgasm.

.

but johnny heard it anyway.

he told you that he had heard you. 

it happened so quickly — one moment you were bent over the espresso machine, fiddling with the levers with bleary-eyed attempts, then the next thing you knew was that johnny was crowding you, trapping you between the warm bulk of his body and the counter, his eyes furrowed so deeply which made the lines on his forehead run much deeper.

“whu’?” you asked, blinking tiredly at him.

johnny just did this shaky breath that rattled his whole body, like he was propped up by a couple of sticks instead of his whole mass. the mood shifted with that weak inhale though, and you turned to fully face him, ignoring the beeping machine because johnny was still looking at you with those eyes.

the ones that made you feel seen, read, and laid bare before him. like he could weave his eyes past the fabrics of your shirt to peek into the very jagged shards of your heart and see the cross that you’ve been carrying. like he knew things about you that he shouldn’t.

“johnny?” you prodded again, finding his silence alarming.

“yer too young for me, m’eudail,” johnny finally rumbled out, voice thick and deep.

and it’s—

what.

your mind was pressing into your skull, trying desperately to link your synapses together; for the fog to clear and for your coherence to rise above the pull of drowsiness, but johnny was faster. like now that he’s said the first words, the rest just follow, unstoppable in their force and in their meaning.

“i told myself i couldn’t,” he murmured, still breathing shakily; gaze still too fragile. “that yer lookin’ for nothin’ like me, and that yer just tryin’ to get out there with yer career.”

he lifted a hand, fingers twitching, before balling it back down to a fist.

“told myself i’ve gotta let go. found a way to cope and shit.”

johnny took another ragged breath in, and it startled you into gulping one of your own — you didn’t even realize that you’ve held your breath as he spoke to you, your chest clenching tightly as your mind began to link the passageways together, filling you in on what he wasn’t really saying.

“but carin’ f’you was so easy. christ, it was even delightful, hen.” he chuckled, something that was somewhat raw and pained.

you licked at your lips, blinking wide eyes open. johnny tracked the movement, his nose flaring like you’ve done something more than a subconscious thing, his shoulders going taut.

“i like doing all sorta things for you. liked seeing y’eat what i cooked; liked seeing y’use what i got f’you. liked watching y’come home to me. to me.”

a soft sound echoed between the two of you, and it took you an embarrassingly long time to realize that it was a breathless whimper that petered out from the base of your throat. you didn’t even realize that you’ve curled into yourself, almost like you’re trying your best to shrink before johnny, and johnny crooned.

callused palm cupped the round of your cheek, his thumb swiping just underneath your eye. “told myself yer too young; that surely yer looking for someone closer to yer age, but bon, i heard y’last night.”

you startled in his hold, a quiet gasp piercing through the heat. johnny’s lips danced with mirth.

“s’right. heard a loud thump against the wall and ran upstairs, all worried, but guess my surprise, yes? y’were moanin’ my name so loudly, it’s like y’left yer door open.”

“johnny, i–”

“tell me,” he said, moving closer, his chest pressing against yours. “tell me t’stop, bon, an’ i will. but y’ve got to tell me. y’ve got to push me away.”

you looked at him, your eyes trembling at what he was laying out thickly, and your throat going parched at the blanketing desire rippling from him. there were so many things you wanted to ask, but his breath was tickling the bridge of your nose, dancing so close to the bow of your lips, and your heart ached.

desire coursed through you in waves, dribbling from the cup, and you lurched forward, chasing after his lips.

johnny melted into you. his hesitant touch turned greedier, more possessive, mapping your body and pulling you closer into him. his mouth devoured your own, gulping down the pleased little sighs and keens spilling from your lips. he kissed like a man starved, but you weren’t any softer; all nippy and desperate, fingers digging into his hair and fisting at the thin strands.

it was feverish, almost to a boiling point, and you needed more.

god, you needed more.

“johnny,” you mewled when he pulled away just enough to slide his damp lips along the cut of your jaw. “johnny, need you.”

“christ,” johnny sounded so wrecked, his voice rumbling deeply from where his lips were suckling on the soft curve of your neck. “i’ve been dreaming of this, mo luaidh. i knew i shouldn’t but yer so sweet to me and i– i wanted.” he said that word like it was dirty; like he’d been fighting tooth-and-nail to suppress it.

it made you tremble to hear how johnny desired you just as much. he had always felt unobtainable; always danced too far from your grasp and was always bigger than what you knew you could handle — his lovers had always looked divinely; pretty, yes, but fierce in their own right like they knew how to live without johnny; and you know they could, because they didn’t need johnny the way you do. they didn’t look at johnny like you do, like he hung the stars with those thick and aged hands of his.

but as you stood there, feeling every word punctured onto your skin, you couldn’t help but begin to cry, the tears springing from your eyes to slip down your cheeks. johnny rubbed your back, soothing and gentle. 

“i wanted t’take you – make y’all mine,” he whispered. 

you hiccuped, shaky from the weight of your hunger, and nuzzled close. your hands fell from fisting his hair so you could claw at the sharp corners of his shoulder blades, feeling the muscles there rippling, all taut when he bent forward and kissed you.

“please,” you began, feeling your mind thinning because you wanted more. more. more. more. “i can be– johnny, s’always been you. nobody else but you.”

you tugged him away, cupping his jaw and forcing him to look at you. and god, johnny looked so devastatingly beautiful, his eyes all furrowed and his cheeks all flushed, and his lips spit-sheened.

“fuck me,” you whispered, tired of dancing around.

he groaned, something that sounded so pained, before he was tugging you with him, up the stairs and skirting past your room and into his. 

you’ve never been in johnny’s room before, just as he had never been in yours since you moved in, and until now you still don’t know what you had been expecting upon walking in, but the smell of johnny wafting through was almost gut-punching. he smelled so close, like he was everywhere — surrounding you from the ground-up, dousing every pore with him until even your mouth felt full.

and johnny, he smelt like home. 

there were no more words uttered as he stripped you off your pyjamas, sure fingers making their way down the buttons, unlatching them from the hemmed slits. you watched with heavy eyes, blinking slowly like everything had been wrung out of you, leaving you pliant and soft. johnny hummed, appreciative, and mapped kisses from your heaving chest, teeth nipping at the fat, before moving on, sprinkling every expanse of your skin with such reverence. 

your hands were balled to your chest when he reached the jut of your belly, his chin hovering just above your crotch. johnny flicked up his darkened eyes at you, asking silently.

you gave him a nod, not trusting your own voice too.

johnny’s eyes had turned into slits, pleased, and hefted himself up just enough to be able to fit his hands on your hips and tugged your pants down. you shivered, the warmth in his room not enough to suppress the winter chill, and it made you buck into him. johnny comforted you with a quiet shh, rubbing his palm on the pudge of your thigh in soothing circles.

you don’t know why that touch was what did it for you, but soft sobs finally spilled from your mouth, scrunching up the desire into something undeniably frail. johnny didn’t startle though, like he knew that you had been wounding up to this tipping point, and instead continued to touch you tenderly, almost like if he could, he would cradle you close. 

“i love you,” you said, sniffling, because that was the crux of your vulnerability, right?

you love him. god, you love him. 

you’ve loved him since the day he sat you down for dinner and told you that you’ve got nothing to worry about, not anymore and not with him around. you’ve loved him since the day he flipped the den so you can have your own space for work; don’t mind the fact that he didn’t know if you were going to even stay, just that he insisted that you deserved that room either way. you’ve loved him since that swiss chocolate, since that cup of coffee, since he’s begun filling your painfully lonely days with his care. 

you’ve loved him since and now—

“oh, mo graidh,” johnny breathed out. “i love you too.” he kissed your thigh, scruff ticklish. “gu siorraidh is gu brath.”

you wanted to ask what that meant but johnny was already moving, sitting back up to strip out of his own shirt. you trailed your eyes down his body, capturing your trembling lips between your teeth at how breathtaking he was — soft with fat but still heavy with muscles, fuzzy with hair with the smattering pooling just underneath his belly button before trailing down to where they were hidden underneath his pants. 

you twitched before finally braving enough to reach out and brush your knuckle over the indents of his softened abs. johnny hummed, something that curled with appreciation, before covering your hand with his and holding it there. 

“all of me s’yers, hen,” he said with such finality that you felt it settle deep within the marrows of your bones. 

you nodded, emotionally spent and johnny lilted something else in scottish, so soft that it was almost a croon. you let him manhandle you — pushing your hips up so he could slot a pillow under for your back; you were so malleable to his touch as he took over, bending once again for a kiss while his fingers danced past the laces of your panties and into the damp heat of your pussy. 

you moaned, eyelashes fluttering when he pressed one in, so careful and slow, but you were so wet that it slid in with no resistance, gobbling it up knuckle-deep. johnny had groaned like he could feel your rising euphoria, before nosing along your temple as he wiggled the finger around, stroking at your walls. you wondered if he was going to tease but then he was pulling it out, only to plunge two in the next thrust, curling and stretching, and oh—

oh, ssss’good.

you don’t even remember how long he’d been spearing you with his thicker fingers, rough and long and reaching far, far deeper than you could with your own, but you laid there, sobbing, feeling your slick slip out, pooling, making a mess of your thighs and his sheets. johnny had moved from suckling on your neck to taking a nipple in his mouth, teeth softly gnashing at the bud. you felt like you were on fire, burning from your core, aching for a release. 

“cum f’me, m’eudail,” johnny groaned, breathless himself, his cock poking underneath his boxers, the fabric all wet from where his tip was, leaking pearled pre-. “let me see you.”

“johnny, i’m gonna– i’m–!” you squealed, legs jumping, squeezing johnny’s sides as you jolted, hips twitching at the bloating ecstasy. johnny just pushed down on your thigh, not letting up with the pace of his fingers. he was fucking you so hard that his hand’s slapping against your skin, his palm grinding down on your clit just right, and the pleasure sizzled into something biting. into something that was almost painful.

it was catastrophic, pulling you into two directions. johnny’s everywhere — his scent in your lungs, his fingers deep in your pussy, his mouth hot and wet on your tits, and like this, like this, you felt yourself breaking. 

ripping—

then, your orgasm was punched out of you. 

your senses had gone awry — throat throbbing as you cried out, your eyes going blind as they rolled into your skull at the final curl of johnny’s fingers. white noise filled your ears, and it was like you were submerged underneath water, wading through the crashing tides of your climax.

you came back to johnny peppering your face with soft kisses, whispering something you couldn’t decipher past the croon of your name and something like you did good and so beautiful. he’d already pulled his fingers out, and used both arms to cradle you close. you felt so empty — god, that wasn’t even his cock, yet — but your body thrummed pleasantly, almost like the itch was finally scratched. 

“johnny?” you puffed out, voice all scratchy and weak. 

“i’m here, bon. i’m here.”

you hummed, curling into his chest, head pillowed by his arm. you wanted to ask what about his own euphoria, but johnny seemed so content just laying there with you, not really desperate or needy, so you let it go, losing the battle against your drowsiness before finally slipping into a quiet sleep. 

.

johnny’s there for your graduation, carrying a big bouquet of only eden roses. you didn’t even know that those particular ones were expensive until someone from the graduation party oohed and aahed to their friend. 

your cheeks burned when their friend chirped, “well someone’s clearly loved.”

you know that what they said would have had johnny agreeing loudly if he was allowed in the lineup because he is never one to be shy about what he feels; or not anymore, anyway. he loves so fully and openly that you still wonder why it took the two of you so long to get together, but the days since then had just been kind and filling that you have long forgotten how it was to not be with him. 

they’re going to call your name soon, and your stomach swoops, excitement and anxiety mixing in a dizzying tandem. 

you’re graduating with a bachelor’s degree in psychology and a diploma in early childhood education, and this is not where you thought you would be when you first started university, but it’s the happiest you have ever been. and sure much of your poli-sci courses were scrapped when you changed majors, and that’s also a lot of money wasted, but you have three job opportunities lined up already and it’s like the seismic shift in your life had finally corrected itself. 

(your mom said she’s sorry that she and your pa couldn’t come, but you’ve stopped longing for their acceptance and told her it was fine.

there’s a date saved in your calendar, though, for a brunch with her and that was enough.)

you ducked into johnny’s arms when the graduation ceremony ended, careful of the bouquet he’s holding. 

“congratulations, bonnie,” he says, a hearty laugh rumbling from his chest. “christ, i’m so, so proud of you.”

you never pegged yourself for a crybaby, but tears begin to pool in the corners of your eyes at the weight of his words. 

“thank you,” you reply, soft and raw, and honest. 

johnny pulls you in, his lips warm as they’re pressed on your forehead. 

and this, just like this, you know things will only get better from here on out. 

[queen-of-diamonds-xo]

That Night (OP81)

Oscar Piastri x Reader! smut

🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂

Summary:

It was a fling, a one night stand;

A drunken mistake made in a moment of weakness.

But did he regret it?

Fuck. No.

Where Oscar Piastri, the hometown hero, sneaks his way to the end of your bar. No words spoken as he drinks his sorrows away after royally screwing up his home gran Prix. Oh, and to top it off his girlfriend left him.

Warnings: Smut! Alcohol consumption, p in v, unprotected sex (seriously wrap it before you tap it, who can afford kids in this economy?) slight!dom Oscar, angry sex, swearing

word count: 2k

A/N: Okay y’all here is a little Oscar smut for you all, written in my anxious state as I'm holding out for Monaco quali (i'm so nervous i'm gonna throw up). This is my first time writing smut in years, I hope you enjoy it! Let me know what you think, and what I should write next :)

Masterlist

🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂

🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂

Oscar thinks about that night, more than he will ever admit. His (ex) and him had decided to take a break- that’s what the media team told the press anyways.

In truth Oscar was crumbling under the weight of expectation, the ever growing pressure that comes with a growing career in formula one. He was acting out, pushing away anyone and everyone he could, cornering himself in a continuous cycle of sleep, wake, eat, simulator testing, data checking, press interview- you get the idea.

He stopped answering her texts and calls, stopped reaching out.

So, she told him she needed time, and space. Oscar respected her decision of course, knowing how self destructive his behaviour had been.

Oscar hated himself, disgusted in the idea of the man he had become. He had lost the one girl who had stood by his side through it all. He let her slip through his fingers as his world titled on his axis.

And to top it all off, he has just royally fucked up his home race, the first race of the season.

Fuck.

So, he drank.

Melbourne Australia, a dingy pub on the corner of a random street in some rundown and no doubt sketchy neighbourhood;

He sat alone, the time on the clock reading 1:15 am, last call had been announced and patrons slowly shuffled outside into the unknowing night. He had shuffled into he doors sometime past ten, sat there with his black hoodie pulled up over a hunched frame, eyes cast down on his shaking hands.

Hours ticked by on the clock as he ordered drink after drink, a polite yet taught exchange with the bartender, not once meeting her eye.

You had recognised him instantly as he made his way into the dimly lit room. His hood pulled up and hands stuffed deep in his pockets. Situating himself at the far end of the bar, sitting his phone, wallet and keys on the sticky surface without a care.

You watched as he breathed a deep sign, shoulder slumping and his rests his elbows on the bar, palms cupping over his tired and sore face. His rough hands cupping the dry and sensitive skin under his bloodshot eyes, the area red raw and stained with hot and heavy tears.

You heart skipped looking over at the man, his broken demeanour only accurately described as a sick puppy that had just been kicked.

You had watched the race- heartbreaking and shouts angering your neighbours as Oscar Piastri, the home hero, loses control and ends up stuck in the mud. You cheered for him, in your shittiy mould infested apartment as he reversed his McLaren out of the mud, and cried as he crossed the finish line.

Okay.

Be cool.

This. Is. Totally. Fine.

You walked over to him slowly, he clearly didn’t want to be recognised. So you weren’t about to go ask for his autograph or number or anything like that.

“Hi, my name is-“ he raises his hand to stop you. He huffs a deep sign and swallows harshly, biting back the sting of a sob in his throat.

“Just a vodka soda. Please-“ he stops, hand retreating back to his side, pulling out a stack of cash.

“I don’t want to talk, just keep my glass full.” His words weren’t harsh, or snobby like other guys you have had to deal with. He wasn’t here to flaunt his cash or try to pick up- he just wanted to drink.

And we’ll; it is sort of your job to comply.

And he is tipping so very generously.

So, as the night went on and the crowd got rowdy, demanding your attention. You continuously checked in on the man at the end of the bar. Filling his drink silently and stuffing his tips into your bra.

You flirted with the men around you, drinking in their attention. Low cut shirt revealing just enough to keep their money flowing your way. You weren't ashamed of your job. Flashing a bit of skin and doing shots while flirting with hot guys- all the while paying off your shitting apartment- not much to hate.

But as the night carried on, you couldn’t help the nagging feeling pulling on your chest. Dragging you towards the driver hiding at the end of your bar.

You never cared about the guys you meet, never paying much mind to their comments. Never wanting to know more.

But, you couldn't drag your mind away from him. Wanting to know his every thought, his every feeling.

As the night slowed to a crawl and last call was announced, you studied Oscar as he sat unmoving in his chair. You coworkers whispered, questing if they should get security or not. You wave them away, sending them home and closing up shop yourself.

As your coworkers shuffle out the door- kowling smiles on their faces- you lock it behind them, cussing out a good buy before latching the door closed.

You shuffled behind the bar, humming low to yourself as you cleaned away the mess of a busy night.

Oscar eyes peer at you through hooded lids. Dragging slowly up your frame as you lean over the bar. Tight jeans hugging your hips as you stand on your tiptoes, arm raising as you put away fresh glasses.

Your top raises with your movement, exposing the smooth skin on your side, Oscar’s eyes catching a brief glimpse of the soft black lace of your bra. He swallows and shifts in his chair as he watches you cautiously. Pulling his lip between his teeth unknowingly, unable to tear his eyes away.

You knew he was watching you, and could feel his hearted gaze burning into your skin. your body is warming under his watch. shaking off a shiver as it crawls its way up your spine, your stomach dropping and core tightening.

You shake your head, not missing the low chuckle rumbling from Oscar. Continuing your closing routine as you desperately tried to ignore the broad shouldered man. The air in the room seemed to thicken, a heavy blanket on your already warm skin. Oscar's demeanour seemed to change as he leaned back slightly- eyeing you up like a predator to prey.

The old bar stool croaked in protest as Oscar slowly rose to his feet, hands placed firmly on the bar- leading forward just slightly. The deep blue veins of his forearms presenting themselves under the strain of his body. A slight tilt to his head as his jaw clenched, tongue sliding over his teeth. His eyes were wild, breath escaping his nose in forced puffs.

Adrenaline spiked in your blood, stopping still. Hands growing clammy as you watched the man close, a wicked smile forming on your lips.

“You know-“ you started, slowly making your way towards him.

His face contorts in surprise, as he leaned back. The action sending gives you a boost of confidence.

“I know who you are.”

A sharp, manicured nail reaching forward. Lightly grazing Oscar's cheek. His skin flushing deep and eyes falling closed at the contact.

“And I’ve felt you staring at me all night.”

Your voice grew hushed as you leant across the bar. Oscars eyes falling unapologetically down to the hanging neckline of your stretched shirt. His cock jumping at the sight of your black lace bra, staffed and overflowing with cash. The sight awakens an unknown and hungry desire within him as a low groan rumbles in the back of his throat.

He was panting now, mind focused on nothing but the woman in front of him as he lifted his head to meet your sharp eyes.

“you going to keep staring at me Piastri or are you going to do something?”

In an instant he was in front of you, hopping with ease over the worn bar. His arm snaked around your waist as he pulled your body to his in an electric hold.

A gasp escaping your parted lips as his hardened cock presses into your thigh. One hand coming up to grasp your jaw, his grip firm but not uncomfortable. He titled your head, leaning forward slightly as his lips brushed yours. Stopping short, his gaze softening as he blinked at you.

“I need you to tell me what you want sweetheart.”

His voice was gruff as he spoke, his accent thickened as the words flowed from his mouth like honey.

“I want you to fuck me. Please Oscar.”

Your words dragging a feral growl from the man as he attacked your lips. His kiss burning with passion and anger- all Teeth and tongue as he swallowed the moan bubbling in your throat. Histhigh coming to rest between your legs, lifting to apply pressure to your soaked cunt. He rushed hands exploring your body, igniting your every nerve. Grabbing and clawing over your every curve, ripping the frail fabric of your worn tee.

His large palms come to rest on the rounds of your breasts. Tearing his mouth from yours as he kneaded the soft tissue, a small whimper escaping you as the rough edges of the notes stuffed in your bra scratched the sensitive skin.

“God, look at you.’ Oscar spat.

A huff coming from the man as he spins you in his arms, forcing your body down onto the cold bar. Yours hips tilting upwards as you stand on your tiptoes. arms coming forward to grip the edge of the counter, a soft whine escaping your lips.

”You want me to fuck you like thus huh?”

His hand coming down to strike your ass, the sound echoing through the crowded room. A sinister chuckled on Oscars lips as he leaned forward into you, his hard cock pushed against your hot core. His hand winding around your throat as he pulls your head back, his teeth grazing your ear as he whispered

”I need words pretty thing. Come on. Tell me how bad you want it.”

His emphasised his point with a teasing movement of his hips, drinking his hips into your core.

Your mind had gone blank, tongue tied and unable to form a sentence.

he hasn’t even touched you yet.

another pathetic whine escaping you as his free hand planting firmly on your waist- effortlessly stopping your desperate attempts to grind your hips into his.

“Please Oscar, need you. Please”

The last part stretching into a strangled moan as Oscar makes quick work of your jeans and panties, tearing the fabric down your legs. A teasing finger running over your desperate heat. Your body shuddering.

“Fuck your soaked. Okay baby girl. Give me a second here.”

He placed a firm hand on your back as he made work of his belt. Freeing his erection and hissing slightly as he pumped himself slow. His other hand leaves your back to land on your heat.

His fingers ghosting over your dripping slit, teasing you as he spreads your arousal over your folds. His thumb coming down over your clit in soft, precise motions. Watching as you shake and stutter under him. A shocked gasp escaping you as he prodded two fingers into your desperate heat.

“Fuck baby. So tight. You think you can take me huh? Gonna be a good girl for me?”

he drew his hand away, replacing it with the angry, leaking tip of his cock. Dragging it over your folds as you whisper his name in a silent plea, all the permission he needed to push into your dripping walls.

Moaning in unison as Oscars cock stretched the walls of your tight heat, his painstakingly slow pace driving you wild as your body is ablaze. Your mind is hazing as Oscar’s hips reach your ass, thrusting deep as he bottoms out inside of you.

He shakes behind you as his hand grips your hips, applying pressure that will sure blossom a bruise or two in its wake- not that you will complain.

Hes gasping, breathing heavily as he desperately clings to any sense of self control he can muster.

He holds you there for a moment, allowing your body to adjust to him. His resolve quickly crumbling as you jerk your hips back into him. A quick thrust sending you toppling forwards, his arm holding you in place.

his pace if battling, rough thrusts snapping his hips into you. The slapping of skin and dragged out moans filling the room.

The sounds coming from the man were anamalastic as buries his cock deep inside you. Grunts and moans falling from his lips as he fucked away all his anger and frustration.

”fuck yeah baby- thats it. Take it.” He speaks through clenched teeth, his hand winding in your hair.

You were completely powerless, body overcome with pleasure as Oscar pounded into you. Your mind fuzzy as you focus on the forming knot in your stomach.

“I can feel you clenching around me. Your gonna cum- huh?”

You could only moan in response, body falling limp as Oscar’s fingers find their way to your pleading clit. His movements sending you toppling over the edge unexpectedly as your came around Oscar’s cock, pussy gushing. The knot forming in your stomach unraveling as Hot tears spilling from your eyes

He didn’t stop, his hands coming down to grab your hips once more. Fingers burying deep in in your skin as dragged your hips into his, desperately chasing his own high.

his head thrown back as moans tumbled from his swollen lips, his eyes blown wide with lust, reveling in the way your body was spamming around him.

“Fuck pretty girl. Gonna cum.”

Oscar pulled himself out of you, pumping his cock in his fist as explodes onto your back.

He didn't kiss you, he couldn’t even meet your gaze as you offered to drive him home. He refused, shoving his hoodie in your hands as he made his way towards the door. Stoping once to turn and look at you one more time, before slipping into the night.

[losersiren]

𝘍𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘩 𝘔𝘦𝘢𝘵

"𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒘𝒂𝒚 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒍𝒊𝒑𝒔 𝒎𝒐𝒗𝒆, 𝒔𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒅𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒐𝒖𝒕 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒚 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒍𝒆𝒂𝒗𝒆𝒔 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒎."

CW: Fem reader (she/her), Time-appropriate misogyny, underlying themes of comphet, implied cannibalism, weird behaviour (?), cheating (in a sense?). N: To the two sapphics that wanted this, Merry Christmas!

New town, new neighbourhood, new people, and the sense of unfamiliarity hits you before the fresh air can as you open the mustard yellow cab door. 

Suburbia. 

Picture-perfect houses lined up perfectly as if they were soldiers waiting for an order from their sergeant; the lawns are flawlessly mowed, with no imperfections seen, just like the housewives inside those soulless clone houses. How…dull. Your hand unconsciously grips the metal door as your jaw clenches. Your heels hit the concrete when you finally get out of the taxi, too focused on the sight in front of you in a less content fashion.

In any other circumstance, moving into such an established community would be a blessing. Especially with the rise of Suburban houses and nuclear families after World War Two, people were scrambling to settle down before, god forbid, another war started yet again. You would have to be demented not to take an opportunity like this by its horns and celebrate. But you weren’t here to settle down with a beau in tow to populate this “great nation.” No. In this context, this place would be your collar for the foreseeable future; one misguided risk, you made one tiny mistake at your job, and now you’re on time-out.  

A journalist from the big city trying to make a breakthrough, which in itself is pathetic enough, but to add fuel to the flame, you’re a woman trying to achieve that unattainable dream. Getting into a male-centred field of work should've been nearly impossible, but you dipped your toes in it at the end of the day! Which is more than most could say; maybe it was your persistent attitude in your youth that gained your spectacular references or how you constantly pestered the journalist's office for a month straight to get a job since you were more qualified than 90% of the men in that fucking building. Still, you were placed into the “woman's” section. Which was an old rundown storage closet with a rotten-wooden desk in the middle of it…

Fast-forward to later, you were given only the bottom-of-the-barrel stories to research, and god, were you tired of them, you might’ve possibly “burrowed” one story from one of the rookie's desks; it's not like he could do any better than you. You quickly sift through whatever was attainable for you. Passing through possible big stories you knew you had no chance to break through quickly, such as “unknown serial cannibal still missing, when will they strike again?” or “Local government official caught embezzling after the war.” No, the story fitting your position was “Local priest fights allegations of using church money for the devil’s lettuce.” It's a perfect scandalous piece that is easy enough to get information on and would get your name somewhat out there.

You took that story and ran with it, and it turns out the more you looked into the story, the more the allegations had truth to it. This story would be your breakthrough! You would be among the first women to break through that glass ceiling! Yet, when you walked confidently into the office with an article written and sources in your hands, you left with a broken spirit, your article being taken by a male co-worker and a transfer to Pennsylvania. Your boss shouted at you in that box of an office, demeaning you in every way, but what stuck to you is when he scoffed out that the only thing you could handle was “the housewife section” in a newspaper nobody reads and that would be your only legacy other than dying a washed-up old woman with nothing to her name.

And here you were where you belonged. 

“Miss, the meter is running here. You just going to stand there or…?” a ragged, aged voice calls to you from the driver's seat. “Oh! Right…sorry sir…” You acknowledge him, breaking out of your dissociation, and march toward the cab's trunk, fighting with your heavy leather suitcases to get out of the damn thing. “Ya know, a young lady like yourself shouldn’t be doing all that work…your husband going to help you with that?” the taxi driver questions you as you struggle instead of assisting you. “Don’t have one,” you quip back as you huff, finally getting the second one out; his eyes give you run down, full of judgement. “Well, you aren’t going to apple butter a stud with that tone, that’s for sure; smile more, doll,” the older gentleman snorts as you give him the money you owe him. 

As the car drives away, you turn to see your already-furnished house, partly given to you by some distant relative who brought property. You barely even know him, which is why you have to pay rent. But who are you to look a gift horse in the mouth? 

As you take in your new life, your eyes bounce from the russet brown asphalt shingle roof to the moss-green mowed lawn. A sigh escapes you as your eyes finally drift to your neighbour's house; it's nothing too shabby; it's nearly identical to yours, sparing a few minor details such as colour and different window positions. Your curious eyes wander through one of the windows in your line of vision at a woman in her early to mid-twenties, skin so pale you could almost mistake her for a Jane Doe in a morgue. Her blonde hair resembles hay you would see decorated inside a barn, and her eyes are as lifeless as a cloudy blue sky before it rains. Her thin fingers scrubbed away at porcelain plates dazedly, hunched over just a bit over her sink so that she could compromise for her taller-than-average height. Once aimed at the dishes below her, her eyes now meet yours; her movements stopped like a deer in headlights. 

You goan, she probably thinks you’re giving her the royal shaft. Well, that’s it for first impressions. You give her a smile and a small wave, hoping she doesn’t misconstrue your curiosity for something worse and rush into your new abode. Her murky blue eyes clear the more they follow your figure, fading into your house.

-

Love.

It’s simple yet complex to comprehend. Since the dawn of time, humans have expressed love through multiple forms of media, languages, and art. Yet, despite all this knowledge of the emotion, it never resonated with Annabeth. No matter how many romance novels or novels she read in general about the topic (much to her mother's dismay), it never clicked. It didn't click when boys started paying attention to her in high school, and it didn't click when she debated the pros and cons for each boy in her grade to have an answer when her friends asked her about what boy she had a crush on. Maybe she was just broken; the emptiness of her heart matched her stomach when her mother took meals from her to have a figure to attract whatever city boy would come waltzing in their small town—born and raised to be a housewife, to have children then die like the cattle at her meemaw’s and peepaw’s farmhouse. So she adapted, pushing aside her heart-racing anxiety that should’ve been the flutters of butterflies in her stomach anytime a man romantically talked to her. All that is in the past now…she changed her “habits”…she has a husband, a good home, and he has an excellent job for the both of them.

At least up till now. 

The house next to her was always empty except when, once in a blue moon, the owner would come for a few days or even a month to check up and maintain the property. She didn't know the man well, she doesnt even remember his name – so when she felt eyes on her, the lonesome woman didn't expect you… 

There you were, staring at her in your grey blazer and matching skirt; your shoulder pads, as did your belt, accentuated your figure. Your eyes…such an alluring sight that they froze her on the spot, hypnotizing her until you retreated into the building. The breath she didn’t even know she held slipped out of her mouth, and her heart drums rapidly against her ribcage like it never had before.

One blink.

Two blinks.

What…

The soapy rag slipped from her hand, causing warm water droplets to splash on her face. This action snapped the blonde out of her trance-like state. 

Her pupils expand, her eyes frantically move left to right, and there’s a flare-up in her flight or fight senses, yelling at the housewife to do something! Anything! as if her body is unconscionably sending signals throughout her body to make a move, but the question is…for what reason? Annabeth thought of the most rational reason she was feeling such a strong emotional response, and of course, the only logical explanation was that she just really wanted to be your friend.   

The back of her hand wipes her once-damp cheeks.

Yeah, that’s the only possible answer.

The next few weeks became a blur of events, from immediately baking you sweets the next day to “welcome” you into the neighbourhood and telling you if you ever needed anything to holler at her. To her inviting you to dinner with her husband to help you get “accumulated” more into such a new environment from the bustling city– she’s an idiot. God, she’s a grade-a dumbass for even thinking that she could pull something off like this; why is she even nervous? 

The nail between her top and bottom teeth snaps, yet another fingernail lost to the unknown anxiousness of the night. The dinner went well, right? She hustled away on the food for a day or two and put the excellent cutlery out—you laughed throughout the night, talked to her, and complimented her. You wanted her opinion on topics, which barely happened to her in the first place! This night was…no, it is a smash, so why did she feel she was doing something wrong? Guilt in the back of her head slowly crept up like the common cold in an elementary school.

Heels clack against the title-checkered floors in the kitchen, and there you were, hand resting on the kitchen door frame, holding an empty wine glass by its stem. Your lipstick smeared onto the clean surface of the rim, and a small liquid of red wine remained in the cup. She didn’t notice you at first, too lost in her turbulent thoughts, till you said something.

“Mary,” you softly say, attracting her attention immediately.

It took her a second to recognize and respond to the name, but Annabeth did.

“Sorry! I didn’t mean to scare you; your husband just told me to tell you he’s resigning for the night,” you inform her sluggishly.

“Ah…” She exhales “..bless your heart, you didn’t hafta go through such a fuss just to tell lil’ ol’ me,” the blonde sputters, leaning against the kitchen counter, her bony finger tucking an out-of-place hairpiece behind her ear. “Does he always leave you to wash the dishes without helping ?” You griped, a crease forming between your brows as you set your wine glass on the counter closest to you. “ innit my duty, ya know, as a housewife or something,” she jokes, but you make your way toward her; “at least let me help…it’s the least I could do after you’ve given so much of your hospitality to me.” As you make your way to her, the more of you ingrates itself into all of her senses, the way your perfume smells so divine, the way the summer season has kissed your skin, and the way your lips move, sounding out every word that leaves them. 

The way… 

“Please…” Her soft hands stop you from coming further, the young woman’s voice timid yet light as a feather, “At least let me keep something of my hometown and give ya some southern hospitality. Yer real nice for looking out for me, but I don’t mind it.” She changes the subject so that you can no longer interject. “It’s late out. Do n’tcha got work in the morning, you mentioned earlier.” As if reality hit you, your eyes widened. “Ah! I forgot, gosh, I'm such a ditz; thank you again for your hospitality. You didn’t have to do anything; I really appreciate it.” you say in a hurry, and unbeknownst to you, the woman in front of you is heating up more than the fireplace in the next room. 

“No, thank you! For coming over and entertainin’ me,” She insists while fiddling with her frilly apron nervously. “I’m worried we’ll go on all night in a gratitude cycle if I don’t leave now. I’ll see you soon…I mean, we are neighbours,” you laugh.

“Mhm, I’ll see you…” Annabeth nods 

You smile and thank her again for good measure, then make your way out of the kitchen, but before you leave, you stop at the archway. 

Her breath hitches 

“Before I forget…and feel free to say no since you’ve done enough for me already, but you are the only person I know in this town. I was wondering if you don’t mind helping me with my work; clearly, I'm not a housewife, again, you can say..”

“I would love to!” She exclaims in excitement, “I mean…ahem, I would love to, anything to help,” 

“Then I'll see you soon,” you smile at her; by god, it's radiant.

When she hears the front door close and footsteps fading into the background, she squeals excitedly, having to bite her pointer finger to keep her voice down. She’s downright flush. The colour has finally seeped into her life, and it's like a rainbow after a rainy day; you, you are…you are something. She can tell you’re a great friend.

With newfound enthusiasm, she finishes cleaning the dishes in record time, finally putting down the wet rag before something catches her eye. The wine glass you left is still in the same place as before; she reaches for it and inspects it carefully. Usually, she would’ve washed it right away, but she doesn’t…she just stares at it, almost burning a hole in the damn thing. Yeah…she needs to wash it…dazed she grabs the damp rag near her, but that doesn’t clean the glass. No, her mouth moves without warning as her tongue caresses the rim where your lipstick was once stained. She was taking in the flavour of your lipstick and you, in a way, creating more smudges than there were in the first place.

There was a creak of a bed upstairs, a slight noise that snapped her out of whatever haze she was in, and her fingers twitched. Right, her husband. Her eyes automatically move toward the meat cleaver hanged. No, she changed; she has a new life now…she can’t. She looks down at the wine glass in her hand and bites one of her fingernails.

What is she doing?

And why…is her heart racing again?

She washes the cup but doesn’t put it back in its rightful place; instead, she hides it like a secret treasure. Finally, she resigns for the night, making her way up the stairs, and she hears it again: her husband moving in his sleep, causing the bed frame to creak.

Her fingers twitch involuntarily at her side.

It’s okay, though.

Now she has something to look forward to; she’ll see you soon.

End notes: What?...no! I wasn't gone for.... almost half of the year, hahaha... On a real note, every time I wrote, I felt like it was slop that should be burnt at the stake, but then it hit me last week that I'm literally writing for practice. I'm going to write slop, and that's okay!!! I also felt like I did too much for this fic, so I had to rewrite it so many times. But! in the holiday spirit! I'm back! I tried to write a country accent and input some 50s slang, but I don't know if either worked LOL!!! WATCH Carol (2015)!! Okay, I'll shut up now hehe

[rbbrbikerthorp]

Chavs No More

Liam and Josh, two 19 year old mates who were known around their neighbourhood for their cocky, rebellious attitude and distinct dress, found themselves wandering through an area of the city that had been neglected for too many years. As they walked and 'chatted shit' they spotted a disused warehouse with smashed windows and broken doors. It seemed like the perfect place to kill time, perhaps, indulge in a bit of mischief and check it our as a possible place to get together with their other mates for drinking and smoking.

Josh took a long drag from his cigarette, exhaling a cloud of smoke into the crisp air. The two life-long friends approached the rundown warehouse, its windows broken and doors creaking ominously on their hinges.

"Oi, Liam, reckon we can get in there?" Josh asked, nodding towards the entrance.

Liam smirked, "Easy. Watch and learn."

With a swift movement, Liam produced a crowbar from his bag, expertly jimmying the lock on the door. The two scallies slipped through the doorway into the building; their footsteps echoing in the emptiness of a very large space. The expanse of the space they found themselves in suggested the building's original purpose was a factory, although neither had a sense of what was once produced there. Josh lit up another cigarette, while Liam explored the desolate space hoping, perhaps, that he would happen upon something of value.

Josh stamped out his cigarette as Liam returned empty-handed.

"Liam, let's see if ther is like owt worth stealin'. look ova ther", Josh said pointing towards a set of double doors on the far side of the building.

The two friends began to wander across the former factory floor eventually reaching the double doors. Josh was about to push on the doors, but something was niggling Liam. He was unsure about going any further; grabbing Josh's arm.

"Did ya hear that?" Liam asked, looking around.

"Na, it's nothin'. Old buildings mack noises - c'mon"

That would be the last time that either of the two chavs would subconsciously assess the risks they may possibly face going further into the building.

Josh pushed on one of the doors. The squeaking noise made by the door opening suggested no one had used them in a long, long time.

The doorway opened up to a long corridor. Light emanated through opaque glass windows, many cracked and broken on one side of the corridor. On the other side there were rooms, which has clearly been used as in the past as offices. Most were just empty shells; the fixtures and fittings having been removed long ago.

As the two lads continued walking down the corridor they were so preoccupied by the thoughts of finding something valuable they could purloin that they didn't notice two wheelchairs left to one side. If they had been more observant they might have wondered why there were relatively new wheelchairs in an abandoned factory.

Liam and Josh carried on walking, passing more empty rooms and another wheelchair. Eventually they came to the end of the corridor where there was one, solid door. Unlike the others they'd passed by this door was padlocked. It also looked as though it had been recently fitted. The two older teens were eager to make their exploration of the derelict building worthwhile financially, so there was no way they wouldn't try break through the door.

Liam raised an eyebrow at Josh, who grinned in agreement. The crowbar made quick work of the padlock, and the door swung open, revealing a surprisingly bright, modern room filled with computer equipment. The room appeared unoccupied, but in the background was the sound of technology. All the screens were active; filled with row upon row of green text. There were two huge screens on one of the walls.

Josh was looking around the room; figuring out what they could easily pilfer and get the most money for. What caught Liam's attention was the dozen or so circular platforms in the middle of the room.

Josh tapped Liam's shoulder, "Look at these bruv," he said pointing to the middle of the room. Liam turned around looked to where Josh was pointing.

"What the..." Liam didn't finish the sentence before Josh interrupted.

"What the f*** is this like place?"

"You tell me bruv."

Intrigued by the peculiar sight, Liam and Josh couldn't resist walking over to the platforms, their chav bravado overcoming any sense of fear. The two chavs stood on the platforms, smirking at one another.

Until now they'd not noticed the body-sized, circular perspex tubes retracted above their heads. Just then they heard a motor start up above their heads.

Looking up, "look out," Liam shouted, but it was too late.

In a split second, the tubes above their heads dropped to the floor, enclosing the two scallies inside. Panic set in as they screamed for help, finally realising the gravity of their situation.

Josh and Liam's screams echoed through the room as the perspex tubes trapped the chavs on the platforms below. A weird mist began to seep into the tubes, swirling around the panicking duo. Initially resistant, the mist began to work its magic.

Josh and Liam's screams softened to muffled protests, and eventually, their once defiant voices fell into an eerie silence. The spine-chilling mist continued its work, transforming the rowdy chav friends into docile and compliant figures. As the eerie mist continued to swirl around the tubes, their eyes glazed over. After a few minutes the two chavs fell unconscious, succumbing to the mysterious effects of the mist - their fate unknown to them.,

Once it was confirmed that Josh and Liam were knocked out, the tubes retracted into the ceiling, leaving the room eerily quiet. Just as the last traces of the mist dissipated, the door creaked open, revealing two imposing figures in their early thirties. Tough and athletic, they entered the room pushing empty wheelchairs. The same ones that Josh and Liam had ignored as they walked along the the corridor not long ago.

Without a word, the mysterious pair approached Josh first, effortlessly lifting his limp form and placing him into the first wheelchair. The same process followed for Liam, their actions efficient and practiced. The once unruly chavs now sat, unconscious and passive, in the wheelchairs.

The two males wheeled Josh and Liam into an adjacent room, where a dim light revealed an array of sophisticated equipment. They positioned the wheelchairs in a calculated manner, whilst the transformative effects of the mist maintained its hold on their bodies and minds.

Whilst two chavs were unconscious, one of the males retrieved a pair of clippers. To finalise the process the two friends would go through they needed their heads shaving, and this was to be done before they came round.

Minutes passed, and gradually, the chavs began to stir. Their eyes blinked open, confusion replacing the previous chaos. Yet, as Josh and Liam looked around, their mannerisms had been already changed irrevocably. The aggressiveness and defiance that once defined them had been replaced with a newfound obedience and compliance.

Josh and Liam sat in their wheelchairs, their once-rebellious spirits now subdued. They looked at each other and then took-in their surroundings. The room was sterile, and the hum of fluorescent lights overhead added an eerie ambiance to the atmosphere. The two chavs awaited their fate.

Two shaved-headed males in green scrubs entered the room. They walked over to where Josh and Liam were sitting in the wheelchairs. They released the wheel brakes and pushed the two lads towards a pair of hospital beds. Without a word, they efficiently transferred Josh and Liam onto the beds and gently made them lay back. The once-rebellious duo stared blankly ahead, their eyes devoid of the spark that once characterised them.

The mysterious figures produced a pair of helmets from a nearby table. The helmets had curved face covering visors and were equipped with an array of wires and sensors. The men is scrubs carefully placed the helmets over the heads of the two chavs.

Left alone in the room, Josh and Liam lay motionless as the helmets began their work. Unseen forces rewrote their minds, further erasing traces of defiance and moulding them into compliant, obedient beings. The room remained silent, save for the faint hum of the equipment that orchestrated the transformation.

Once the process was complete, the two shaved-headed males returned to the room. The chavs' minds were now blank slates, ready for the next phase of their transformation.

They replaced the iconic chav tracksuits with sleek black skinsuits. The transformation was both symbolic and practical, signalling the departure from their previous identities. The once distinctive and brash street-wear was replaced with a uniformity that mirrored their new, compliant state.

With the skinsuits in place, the helmets were refitted once more, this time for further programming.

The room buzzed with unseen energy as the final touches were applied. The chavs' once-chaotic personalities were long gone. All that remained were compliant shells, devoid of all human emotion; ready to embrace a new purpose.

In a room filled with monitors, the shaved-headed males observed their work with a satisfied nod. They watched Josh and Liam laid on hospital beds, their minds blank and their bodies clad in black skinsuits.

The door opened and two technicians entered the observation room. It was time. The moment had come to usher the former chavs into the next phase of their transformation.

The compliant duo was wheeled into an adjacent room, where a series of machines resembling MRI scanners awaited them. However, these were not ordinary medical devices. Instead, they were machines designed to augment the human body, turning ordinary individuals into hybrid human-cyborgs.

The technicians meticulously positioned Josh and Liam in front of the metallic chambers, securing them in place. Over a three hour period, the two young males would go through a series of transformations, the first of which would prepare their bodies for the synthetic augmentations to come.

The low hum of the machines echoed through the room as the transformation began. The beds were pulled backwards into the MRI-like machines.

Once inside the first stage of the process began. Metal plates descended from the tubes, fitting onto various parts of the chavs' bodies with precision. Once this was complete, circuitry was added connecting the various metal plates. What couldn't be seen to the casual observer was that under the metal plating, a synthetic bonding was taking place. A bonding that permeated through the skinsuit and into the human flesh.

One by one, an artificial, mechanical limb replaced one of their natural ones. The flesh coloured arms and legs were now adorned with sleek, metallic enhancements, making them stronger and more resilient. The technicians worked with practiced efficiency, their gloved hands expertly activating the cybernetic upgrades.

Next came the ocular implants. The machines were programmed to approach installation of the eye replacements with precision. An implement descended from inside the machine, carefully removing one human eye from each chav and replacing it with the advanced technology. The blue glow emanating from the ocular implants signalled the integration of their new cybernetic enhancements.

As the machines continued their work, the once-defiant chavs had now been transformed into hybrid human-cyborgs, their bodies now a fusion of the biological and the synthetic. That said, other tha their heads, observers might struggle to find any visible evidence of the humans that were Josh and Liam - so much of their bodies now covered in metal.

The technicians stepped back, admiring their creation as the final adjustments were made.

The door to the room opened once more, revealing a figure cloaked in shadow – the former chavs' new master had arrived. With a wave of their hand, the technicians and shaved-headed figures in scrubs retreated, leaving Josh and Liam standing motionless, now fully augmented and awaiting the programming that would dictate their new purpose.

The master approached; a sinister figure with pale white flesh. dark veins and gas mask with eerie blue lenses that looked like it had absorbed into his face. The room hummed with anticipation as the final step of the transformation unfolded. The once-chavs, now hybrid human-cyborgs, were ready to serve their mysterious master. The machines had worked their magic, creating two obedient, formidable entities ready to carry out the bidding of their creator.

The enigmatic figure, shrouded in darkness, stepped forward and issued their first command to the newly transformed duo. "[Hiss] Josh, Liam, [Hiss] your first task is [Hiss] to bring others to me. You will bring [Hiss] your former friends to me. They, too, [Hiss] shall undergo the transformation [Hiss] and join your ranks as cyborgs [Hiss]."

Obediently, the two cyborgs nodded in unison, their blue ocular implants began glowing with a cold intensity. With a calculated efficiency, they left the room, their enhanced limbs moving with a precision that betrayed their former chav recklessness.

Before the cyborgs that were once Josh and Liam exited the disused factory, which was now serving a darker purpose, they donned a Nike Hoodie and skinny trackie pants - so they could blend in. The two friends roamed the streets, scanning the corners and alleys for their former comrades. Their new master's command echoed in their minds, drowning out any remnants of their past lives.

Finally, Josh and Liam located the group. The chavs, unaware of the transformation that awaited them, gathered in their usual haunt. The familiar faces turned to greet their once brethren. Expecting to see Josh and Liam, instead they saw the cold, unyielding gazes of the hybrid human-cyborgs.

[hollowed-theory-hall]

why is it considered canon that tom is from the east end? It’s hardly the only working class neighbourhood in london and unless I’m mistaken the one piece of textual evidence we have for where he grew up is the diary, which was procured in lambeth. Given that londoners pretty much don’t cross the river going south unless they live there, doesn’t it make more sense for him to be from vauxhall or bermondsey or elephant and castle? (I might just be biased by the idea of bb tom riddle running around doing odd jobs for alice diamond and her gangster friends lol)

I think it's mostly due to East End being more notorious and known globally. At least that would be my guess on why that's the assumption. I actually, too, always assumed Wool's was in the East End, but I wanted to check what we actually know of Wool's location.

Also, as we don't really know how Tom got the diary, he didn't necessarily live in the area the diary came from. So I don't consider it hard evidence either way.

What we do have, is JKR's tendency to write accents and whatever descriptions we are given of Wool's.

Honestly, the orphanage is really odd, since regardless of where in London it was, Tom would not have a room just for himself there, but I digress. What we are told about its location doesn't give us much besides, a little barren, rundown, and looking pretty grim in a bustling street (which fits a lot of places in London, so, unhelpful).

So, we'll look at Tom's accent in his first meeting with Dumbledore:

“You can’t kid me! The asylum, that’s where you’re from, isn’t it? ‘Professor,’ yes, of course — well, I’m not going, see? That old cat’s the one who should be in the asylum. I never did anything to little Amy Benson or Dennis Bishop, and you can ask them, they’ll tell you!”

(HBP) - That's the passage with the most "accent" I could find from him.

This suggests a working class accent to me (not a Brit myself, so I'm working off internet research here). Both for the slang used and the general informality of it, and the words used, but I didn't find something that would really suggest the accent is Cockney specifically (like dropping 'H's or the use of "ain't" or certain vowel shifts).

(Cockney accent is the one historically associated with the East End)

I looked at Mrs. Cole's dialogue as well (to cover my bases), as it's pretty similar to Tom's and they should be from the same area, and while it's definitely working class, I couldn't find strong indicators of Cockney either:

“I remember she said to me, ‘I hope he looks like his papa,’ and I won’t lie, she was right to hope it, because she was no beauty — and then she told me he was to be named Tom, for his father, and Marvolo, for her father — yes, I know, funny name, isn’t it? We wondered whether she came from a circus — and she said the boy’s surname was to be Riddle. And she died soon after that without another word. “Well, we named him just as she’d said, it seemed so important to the poor girl, but no Tom nor Marvolo nor any kind of Riddle ever came looking for him, nor any family at all, so he stayed in the orphanage and he’s been here ever since.”

(HBP)

And there is a character that JKR wrote very obviously with a Cockney accent, and that's Stan Shunpike:

“ ’Choo lookin’ at?” said Stan. [...] “Woss that on your ’ead?” said Stan abruptly. [...] “Yep,” said Stan proudly, “anywhere you like, long’s it’s on land. Can’t do nuffink underwater. ’Ere,” [...] “you did flag us down, dincha? Stuck out your wand ’and, dincha?”

(PoA)

The above experts have basically all the markers of a cockney accent. Shifting vowels, 'H's go missing, words like "'choo" and "dincha", replacing "th" with "ff", etc.

But he doesn't always speak this casually and he does speak more formally when giving Harry the initial introduction to the Knight Bus:

“Welcome to the Knight Bus, emergency transport for the stranded witch or wizard. Just stick out your wand hand, step on board, and we can take you anywhere you want to go. My name is Stan Shunpike, and I will be your conductor this eve —”

(PoA)

So, it's possible Tom and Mrs. Cole are from the East End, but JKR didn't write them with clear Cockney accents like she wrote Stan. I mean, Mrs. Cole got quite drunk in her conversation with Dumbledore, if she had a Cockney accent I would have expected to see letters dropped and vowels shifted like in Stan's first dialogue expert.

So, yeah, Tom grew up in a working class area, but his accent doesn't seem to be Cockney, so you can place Wool's in various areas in London and it's up to your headcanon/iteraputation. Lambeth is actually a very possible location based on the accent and description of Wool's, but there are other possible locations, so, yeah.

[14dayswithyou]

I was thinking over the landlord situation because a small detail stuck in my mind. Ren seemed surprised that the issues in Angel's building weren't being dealt with.

Possibly it's just that a negligent landlord would never happen to him with his fancy apartment, or he owns it, and he's out of touch with normal renting problems.

But for fun maybe he secretly is the landlord and wasn't getting the complaints because he doesn’t pay much attention to duties? Is he getting the complaints but putting himself in the position to fix them as 'Ren', impressing Angel? He already volunteered for guard dog duty against… himself.

Was it faked surprise because he's responsible for causing those issues for his own benefit? 

I feel Ren potentially did ruin the air mattress in advance hoping to be invited into the bed, blaming rats when it was discovered. Maybe it was done that day while waiting for Angel to get off work. 

Maybe he remotely jammed the elevator too because... idk why he'd do that, there should be cameras already in the lift and they should be hackable. Or maybe he just uses the stairs for stealth and only spies on Angel’s flat, so genuinely didn't know the crappy elevator wasn't working. Possible. Maybe he also wants the flat to be shitty and seem dangerous to push Angel into moving in with him.

Perhaps Ren knows who the landlord is and was surprised for that reason? It's not likely that he's installed a friend into the job if he's a loner, but I think he did once have family friends (of his parents) into some shady business. Perhaps they pivoted their legit real estate investments into a money laundering front and no longer attend to the tenants needs well. Maybe he knows the building layout from visiting them years ago as a child, and that's how he avoids being caught.

Or is Ren making a mental note to kill the bad landlord for inconveniencing Angel? and potentially take over the job

Anyway don't mind me, I like to puzzle on things.

✦゜ANSWERED: In case some folks might not know: if you make the right choices, you can actually meet the landlord in Day 3 instead of Olivia! They also address the rat complaints — though their response is kinda meme-y — and the overall scene isn't intended to be taken seriously.

Ren, however, does know the landlord’s identity already, but doesn’t do anything about it because they actively play a massive role in his plans.

⚠️ Day 3 + general lore spoilers under the cut!! ⚠️

Essentially, Ren wants Angel to move in with him — which is why he’s so adamant on giving them a key to his place. And like you picked up on; he keeps bringing up how awful it is to live in Angel’s neighbourhood in hopes of having them realise this and depend on Ren instead. After all, the only thing he wants is to be Angel's top priority and the person they go to first in any given situation.

Ren is also no stranger to rent problems while growing up. I've mentioned this before, but prior to living in a small, rundown home; Ren and his family used to live in a trailer park. There was hardly much room or privacy for everyone, and the maintenance there was awful.

I do like the theory about Ren using shady connections between his friends/family for his bidding!! Canonically though, Ren has no friends outside of Angel and River, and he hasn't been in contact with any of his blood relations in years.

Also!! I do want to restate that the rats in the demo genuinely are rats. It wasn't Ren tearing up a hole in Angel's mattress (he didn’t think you'd invite him over in Day 1 + he respects your comfort level), but it was him stealing specific items.

[groovyzombiellama]

Chemistry

Title: Chemistry

Requested? No.

Plot: You decide to try out as an actress and you move to LA, eventually landing a role opposite Nicholas Galitzine.

Words: 2243

---***---

You decide to give your dream a chance, to take the leap and head to LA, not knowing how many times you're gonna be rejected and have to start over, but confident enough in yourself that you can survive the rejections. Actors who get their first lead role after their first audition are rare, and you know that even sometimes the same actor will audition for the same role multiple times, just so the casting crew can solidify their choice, find their perfect casting to bring their characters to life. But you were ready, you felt ready and after finishing college and not being able to get a good job, you took the money you made at your odd jobs and other jobs you worked on and you were on the first plane to LA. You didn't have much, but it was a start, it would get you a hotel room for a few days, while you look for an apartment. The thought of one day actually getting the lead role in a movie or TV show filled you with immense joy, but even if you never do end up getting more than a minor role, or you end up having to go back home, you will still be happy that you tried, that you gave it all your could and didn't spend any more time simply sitting in your room, staring at posters of famous actors, wondering if you could make it.

Now you were gonna find out the answer to that question, and finally know if you had what it takes. You checked in to the hotel room, and freshened up, grabbing a newspaper from the foyer and immediately started looking for an apartment. You soon had a couple places circled, determined to check them out as soon as possible. Even if you don't end up as an actress, you could try and find another job there, after all, new places, new opportunities. A few days later, you'd already checked out a few of the places that you had circled. One was a lady that was kind at first, but hearing that you we're going to live in the apartment alone and you didn't have a husband, and weren't even in the works of finding one, she became rather rude to you, complaining about how there was so many women like you nowadays that didn't value the proper things and wanted your "independence".

Oh how you hated the face she made when she said that word in the most condescending tone you've ever heard. Another one was in a really bad neighbourhood, but you didn't even care about that, because all you'd be doing is heading to auditions and back, you wouldn't be bothering anyone, but the guy that was renting it had a sketchy vibe to him, even making a joke about always being able to come over in case you needed some "company", the implications really evident in the way he said that. And then another was a place almost rundown, filled with cockroachoes, and even rats, as one scurried across the floor as you entered the bedroom. Big nope on that one. So the next day, you decided to head to an audition. You didn't want to aim high and audition for the lead immediately, so you chose the script for a best friend character. You were super nervous about it, and that was probably the reason why they weren't so stoked to have you hired as the character. But you weren't going to give up. You went to another audition and another and another, eventually landing a role of an extra, with one line. Okay, that was a start, and you were excited about it.

Let's hope getting the apartment will also get sorted out. You were heading to more places you had circled, eventually coming to an agreement with a kind old lady for a studio apartment, close to the city center. You applied for a job at a nearby café, to be sure you'd be able to pay for the place if you don't get payed a lot for the role. At least you will have one credit under your name. You had landed another audition, only to be dropped a couple days later, due to as they say finding a better fit for the role. You were a bit sad about it, but trying not to let it deter you from pursuing further. Finally checking out of the hotel and moving to the small apartment, where the only separate room you had was the bathroom, you felt a bit more comfortable. You'd lived in studio apartments as a college student, so this was nothing new, and you didn't really expect to find anything large, nor did you need anything large. The most important thing to you was having a place to sleep, a place to eat and a place to shower. That was enough for you.

The day of shooting was approaching, and you were happy that you were gonna be there for even a day or two to say your line and to be a background extra for a few scenes too. Arriving at the specified location, you were directed where to go and when you got there, you realised who was shooting this movie. It was none other than your celebrity crush, Nicholas Galitzine. He was chatting with the director and the, what you assumed was, lead girl in the movie. He was chuckling at something that was said, and his smile made you stop in your tracks. You had his photo as your phone background and the background of your keyboard, specially photos of his smile, so seeing it in person was a whole new experience, and he was just as mesmerising as he was on camera. You had to quickly compose yourself and not stare at him for so long, and end up being perceived as a huge creep. So you stayed behind, as the background extra, and as the camera would no longer have you in frame, you would watch him act, smiling softly at his mannerisms and the way he looked, like he was born to be an actor.

Your big scene was approaching, where you were playing a bartender, that would be asking Nicholas' character what he wanted to drink and then making it and handing it to him, and you were genuinely nervous. Not just because you were going to be on screen, but because you are going to be on screen with him. You had a bit of experience as a mixologist, from working at a few bars, and so the crew didn't need to make the drink for you and just have you serve it, you knew exactly how to make it. Another thing you didn't even know was a dream of yours would come true. Not only were you a part of a scene with Nicholas, but also a part of a blooper, because he ended up spilling a bit of the drink on himself, making everyone on set laugh, including you, as you giggled at his adorable behaviour. He apologised to you for making you redo the scene, but you shook your head, not even remotely upset about it. After doing the scene again and the director yelling cut, Nicholas turned to you.

"You sure know how to make a drink. Where did you learn that?"

You smiled and told him about your background in mixology, the two of you sharing a couple of words, as you tried to calm your heart down, to make sure it doesn't burst out of your chest. He was not only near you, but talking to you, and you could see his lovely personality first hand. The director paused for a moment, seeing your exchange, the way your conversation flowed, and it got him thinking for a moment before approaching Nicholas to talk to him about another scene. It was true what they said, that Nicholas just naturally has chemistry with people. His co-star Anne Hathaway even said he could have chemistry with a lamp. And honestly you'd ve jealous of that lamp, but moving on, you were back to being a background extra for a few more scenes that day and a few tomorrow. The director couldn't seem to shake off a feeling he had seeing the interaction you had with Nicholas. He was trying to figure out if it was just Nicholas' natural chemistry and charm or if there was something else. He wanted to work with Nicholas again, but he was yet to find his female lead. Could you be that female lead?

As your part of the shooting wrapped up, you were approached and handed a few pages of a script and told that the director wanted you to try and audition for that role. You were extatic at the prospect of actually getting to go to that audition and you were so incredibly thankful to the director for even considering you and giving you a chance. You still had no idea you would be acting opposite to Nicholas if you got the part. You studied the script long and hard, trying your best to portray the emotions that were expected of you. You had panic attacks in college a lot, but you decided to try and not put so much pressure on yourself, and just do your best, and you if you succeed, you succeed, if not, you won't be mad at yourself, because you did your best. You arrived to the audition a few days later and you were told that if you got the part, filming wouldn't start until the end of the male leads previous project, but that they started looking for the female lead a but earlier. You did what was asked of you for the audition, and they told you they would give you a call. You were walking out of the audition room and saw a bunch of other girls who were auditioning for the same role, and you smiled at them, wishing them all luck, and you genuinely would be happy even if you didn't get the part and one of these other girls did.

About two weeks later, you were at work at the café as you got a call to come back and do another audition and that you'd be doing a chemistry testing also, since you were in the next round of auditioning. And so you arrived to the arranged address, did the audition, and they instructed you to stay outside the room as they wait for the male lead to arrive for the chemistry test. You were on your phone for a bit, as you heard a familiar British accent and lifted your head up to see none other than Nicholas Galitzine walking in. He smiled seeing you, and he actually recognised you from the set of his current project.

"So you're my new potential co-star? I'm happy for you getting the opportunity to do a lead."

He was so sweet, that it made you fall for him even more. He winked at you, which he definitely shouldn't have done to your poor heart and entered the room, where you were soon called in for the test. You were supposed to act out a scene together, the one you were given to rehearse. It was a breakup scene, and you had to get into that mindset, which was actually somewhat easy for you because you had this way of imagining scenarios as you read them and you imagined that scene multiple times in your head, so when it came time to do it opposite Nicholas, you already had the general idea of how it was supposed to go. And your crush on Nicholas definitely helped the feeling of not wanting to be apart from him, but having to.

"I know I can't ask you to wait for me-"

Nicholas started and you were supposed to come in next and cut him off.

"Then don't. Don't "ask me to wait". Just don't go."

Nicholas sighed, fully in character and approached you to lean his forehead against yours, making your heart skip a beat and your eyes admired his features as he spoke about how he had to do it, and then it was your turn to sigh, knowing that there was no way to get him to stay. The two of you went on with the scene, and you were so into the moment, that your tears flowed naturally, as he hugged your frame close to his chest, begging you not to cry, as he couldn't bear it. As the scene came to an end, the two of you untangle yourselves from each other and you wipe your tears, as Nicholas smiles at you. He genuinely thought you did a really good job and hoped that you'd be cast as his partner. And in the end you were. A week later you got the call to tell you that you got the part, all that was left was to rehearse and prepare as Nicholas wrapped up his previous project, and could work on this one. Being in the lead role and acting opposite of your celerity crush, it was your dream coming true. Nicholas is no longer going to be a crush you watch on screen, he was gonna become your friend, your co-star. Would he become more?

---***---

I am doing my best to try and get back into writing, I'm not sure this is any good, but I wanted to write about my favourite little british bean. This guys charm and wit and talent have truly captivated me, that I just had to put it into writing to stop thinking about him constantly. And I still continue to do so. It's a little something I did today on the bus to my college town. I'll try my best to get to my requests as soon as possible... Sorry for not being more active...

[ashwantsafreepalestine]

What is happening in Jenin camp?

A brief yet very important rundown of the US-backed terrorist state of Israel's brutal siege on Jenin refugee camp.

"On January 21, 2025, the Israeli occupation army began carrying out a large-scale military assault on Jenin refugee camp, systematically destroying its neighbourhoods and forcibly displacing its residents."

This is pure Israeli terrorism.

(source)

[redstuffs-ig]

snippets of a possible star wars modern au I may make, but mostly just translating the events and characters of the series into a modern setting, let's call it "Whillstown". most of these are general fandom consensus, some are taken from AUs i've seen on Tumblr which I've really liked, but i've sprinkled some stuff of my own too

The Disaster Lineage is just a long, winding, complicated string of relationships. Great-Grandpa Yoda refuses to die and speaks cryptic riddles to whoever will listen. Grandpa Dooku won't shut up about politics and lives alone in a massive house with an adopted young adult going through one hell of a phase and his weird pet gecko. Anakin and Obi-Wan are adopted brothers, who both deal with their dad Qui-Gon's weird schemes and potential gambling addiction in the making. They've somehow befriended a kid called Ahsoka who babysits Ani's twins from time to time. Anakin's wife Padme is a town councilor and proud holder of the single set of brains in the entire family. Anakin is a real gearhead, with a loyal dalmatian named Artoo and a neurotic ginger cat called Threepio.

Palpatine is like. A regular politician. Somewhat shady, a bit controversial, but he's just the kindly mayor of Whillstown. The 'Dark Lord Sidious' meme spread when a young Luke Skywalker snapped a covert picture of the mayor in his favorite, hooded black dressing gown, and it's haunted the old man since.

Clan Fett is a gigantic extended family whom no one can make heads or tails of. Jango Fett is presumed to be the family's patriarch, despite only fathering a single son. Rex and Anakin are inseparable, while Obi-Wan and Cody are cordial co-workers who kinda had to become besties too in order to wrangle their brothers. Boba Fett is already a delinquent in his tweens, while an estranged offshoot somehow got custody of the only girl in the family.

'Mother' Talzin Opress is the neighbourhood witch. She has a... Complicated relationship with her three sons, and is an old friend of both Dooku and the mayor (She pretty much strongarmed Dooku into adopting the orphaned child of one of her late friends). Weird green light comes from her house at ungodly hours of the night, and few dare to even approach her door. Her eldest and middle children, Savage and Maul both started a punk rock band called 'Crimson Dawn', and even managed to unite all the town's bands for a music festival once. Maul and Obi-Wan beef over the pettiest shit, and Ahsoka beat him up once.

Han Solo and his dog Chewie live in a rundown trailer park off the outskirts of Whillstown. Despite being older than Luke and Leia by a few years, he became their best friend in their teens, something cranky old Ani does not approve of. He owns an utter shitbox of a Honda he lovingly calls the Falcon, which has a tendency to break down very often at the worst possible time. He also has beef with Boba Fett. Like, a LOT of beef with Boba Fett.

Lando Calrissian on the other hand is easily the most charming boy in town, and Han's ""best friend"". He always find success in his ventures while Han's numerous get-rich-quick schemes always find a way to blow up in his face, something the latter greatly resents.

In highschool, Leia got into a long feud with persnickety Headmaster Tarkin by way of numerous cases of malicious compliance and outright disobedience. The uptight principal was none-too-pleased to find the academy crest distorted into a 'wretched gray ball of death' one morning, after having imposed a strict break policy earlier in the week.

[nykie-love-anime]

The Weight of a Golden Fadeaway

The humid air of the old rundown neighbourhood clings to you like a second skin, heavy and familiar. It’s been years since you last stood on this cracked pavement, inhaling the scent of smoke and exhaust fumes. You are here for a funeral, for Aunt Yuki, whose laughter could always chase away the shadows that clung to these streets.

He's here too.

You spot him instantly, even among the sombre crowd spilling out of their cars, walking towards the small town church that could fit no more than 30 people. He's taller, broader, sculpted by years of disciplined training. The designer suit he wears looks so out of place against the backdrop of peeling paint and chipped brick walls. You take a look again just to be sure.

It’s him, alright.

Katsuki Bakugou, the boy who used to build kingdoms out of cardboard boxes with you. Now, he's Katsuki Bakugou, the renowned basketball superstar, plastered across billboards and magazine covers.

You hesitate, a knot forming in your stomach. The last time you saw him, he'd been in the midst of everything, a scholarship secured, a beautiful woman by his side, the world waiting for the up and coming superstar basketball player. He hugged you goodbye, a promise in his eyes and in his heart to never forget.

But promises, you’ve learned over the years, are fragile things.

You approach with cautious steps. He's surrounded by people, a small group of men and women alike, their voices hushed with a mixture of respect and awe for the superstar. He catches your eye, and for a fleeting moment, recognition flickers. Then, a practiced smile spreads across his face, the same toothy, perfect smile that graces magazine covers.

"Do I know you?" he asks, his voice a smooth baritone, a world away from the boyish tone you remember from all those years ago. The knot tightens. "It's me." you say, your voice barely a whisper. "It's… you know me from around here." You say voice low almost a whisper.

His eyes scan you, a slow, deliberate assessment. Then, a flicker of genuine warmth breaks through the polished facade. "Wow." he says, the word laced with a hint of disbelief. "Wow, it's you. What are you doing here?"

"Aunt Yuki," you start to explain, gesturing towards the church. "She was a big part of my life."

His face softens, a touch of the boy he once was, returning. "I'm sorry Y/N." he says, his voice sincere. "She was always so good to us, wasn't she?" All you can do is nod as the priest call upon everyone to join him in the small church.

The funeral passes in a blur of grief and shared memories of sweet Auntie Yuki. You find yourself standing next to him near the gravesite, the silence thick with unspoken words and tears slowly rolling down your eyes. The years that have stretched between you feels like a seemingly impassable gap.

Later, as the crowd begins to grow thin, he approaches you again. "Look Y/N/N." he starts, shoving his hands in his pockets, the gesture oddly familiar to the little boy you once knew getting scolded by his mother. "This is weird. I haven’t been back here in ages. Everything feels so… small."

"It is small," you reply, a hint of defensiveness creeping into your voice about the town you once called home. "But it's home." "Yeah," he murmurs, staring at the cracked pavement. "Yeah, I guess it is."

He asks about your life, filling the silence with polite questions. You tell him about your coffee shop and job at the local library to wind down for the weekend, about your small apartment with the view of the brick wall and about the quiet flow of your days once you get back home. You avoid mentioning how you follow his career, cheering him on from afar, a silent spectator in his growing success which you could not be prouder of.

He offers to take you to dinner at some fancy restaurant a town over which you decline. "There's a Mapo Tofu truck nearby," you say, "best Mapo Tofu in the city."

He hesitates, a flicker of discomfort crossing his face remembering the last time he ate there. But then, he shrugs. "Okay." he says, a genuine smile finally breaking through his facade. "Okay, Mapo Tofu it is."

The truck hasn't changed much over the years. The same chipped paint, the same aroma of spices filling the air. As you eat, the familiar flavours unlock memories of your childhood, stories tumbling out of you both like long-forgotten treasures. You laugh, you reminisce, you remember the shared dreams, the scraped knees, the imaginary adventures in the overgrown lot behind your houses.

As the evening progresses, you take a tour around the neighbourhood, giggling like children about the memories popping up. You show him the old basketball court where he honed his skills over and over, now overgrown by weeds and grass, the corner store where you used to buy candy with your spare change you scrounged by the vacant lot where you built those cardboard kingdoms.

He looks at everything with a newfound perspective, a hint of regret flickering in his eyes. He sees the poverty, the desperation, but he also sees the resilience, the community, the unwavering spirit of the people who call this place their home.

"I forgot." he says softly, his brows furrowing, standing in the middle of the vacant lot, now overgrown with weeds. "I forgot how much this place meant to me." Sitting down in the middle of the lot, tears filling both your eyes.

He stayed away for so long, afraid to be reminded of the life he left behind. Afraid of the love he left. Afraid to face the boy he used to be. Now, standing or rather sitting here with you, surrounded by the ghosts of your shared past, he's starting to remember the good old days as people like to call it.

As the night draws to a close, he looks at you, his eyes filled with a vulnerability you haven't seen in years. "Thank you," he says, his voice husky. "For showing me all of this again." A vulnerability in his voice gesturing around you guys. "Thank you for letting me remember all the fun we used to have growing up."

You don't know what the future holds. You don't know if he'll come back, if he'll truly reconnect with the life he left behind, where he left you behind. But for tonight, under the flickering stars and moonlight of the old neighbourhood, you've managed to bridge the gap, to remind him of who he was, and perhaps, who he still could be. And maybe, just maybe, that's enough.

Masterlist | Main Masterlist  

[estellan0vella]

Sunshine's Guide To Murder│Lee Minho

Chapter Nine: Out SS: 4 (ignore time stamps and dates) Word Count: 2.6K Content Warnings: Mingi being a creep (sorry!), mentions of an inappropriate faculty and student relationship Previous Next Masterlist

The mood inside Minho’s car is thick with tension as they drive through the grittier side of the city, heading toward Song Mingi’s apartment. Jisung stares out the window, his fingers restlessly fiddling with the recorder in his hands, while Felix leans back in his seat, arms crossed tightly, the muscles in his jaw twitching. Jeongin, usually the lighthearted one, sits unusually quiet in the back, his foot tapping anxiously against the floor.

Minho grips the steering wheel with a white-knuckled intensity, his eyes fixed on the road ahead as the clean, modern skyline gradually fades into a worn-out stretch of older buildings and graffiti-tagged walls.

As they pull up to Mingi’s apartment building, a crumbling relic of the past, Jisung lets out a low whistle. "Jesus," he mutters, shaking his head. "What a shithole."

Felix leans forward to peer through the windshield, his eyes narrowing. "This looks like the kind of place where people get murdered and no one asks questions. Sketchy as hell."

Minho smirks, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. "Or somewhere someone goes to disappear."

The building in front of them is falling apart. The brick exterior is covered in layers of grime, windows either boarded up or barely visible through the haze of dirt.

Graffiti decorates the walls in aggressive strokes, and the few people loitering nearby give the car a wary glance before turning away. It’s the kind of place that breeds suspicion and secrets, where no one looks too hard at their neighbours.

Minho parks, and they all step out, the air around them tense as they exchange quick glances. The neighbourhood is unnervingly quiet for this time of day, with only the occasional sound of distant traffic or a muffled shout in the background.

They make their way to the building entrance, the heavy door groaning as they pull it open. Inside, the stairwell smells like mildew and stale cigarettes, and each step up the creaking stairs feels like a warning.

When they reach Mingi’s door on the third floor, Minho doesn’t hesitate. He pounds on the door, the sound reverberating through the narrow hallway. The silence that follows is almost suffocating, but after a moment, the door creaks open.

Song Mingi stands in the doorway, his dishevelled appearance giving off the same aura as the building. Unkempt, rundown, but with a sharpness behind his tired eyes. He’s wearing a wrinkled T-shirt and baggy sweatpants, and there’s a lazy smirk on his face that immediately sets everyone on edge.

"Well, if it isn’t Han Jisung," Mingi drawls, leaning casually against the doorframe. "Lia said you might stop by for a little visit."

Jisung grits his teeth, glaring at Mingi. "Then you know why we’re here."

Mingi’s smirk widens, his eyes flicking over the group before landing on Minho, sizing him up. "Looking into Yuna’s death, are we? Quite the crew you’ve assembled."

Felix leans in slightly, muttering under his breath, "This guy’s a real piece of work."

Jisung ignores the comment, his jaw tight as he pulls out the recorder and flicks it on. Mingi steps aside, waving them in with exaggerated politeness. "Come on in. No need to stand out in the hallway like lost kids."

The inside of the apartment is as grim as the building itself. The air is thick with the stench of stale smoke and old alcohol. Empty beer bottles litter the floor, and the furniture is mismatched and worn down, as if no one had cared enough to replace it in years. There’s a suffocating heaviness in the atmosphere, a claustrophobic sense of decay that clings to everything.

Jeongin looks around in disgust, wrinkling his nose. "Lovely place," he mutters, sarcasm dripping from his voice.

Mingi doesn’t bother to respond, collapsing onto a threadbare couch and gesturing for them to sit anywhere. Minho, however, stays on his feet, arms crossed, his eyes locked on Mingi, watching every movement like a predator waiting for the right moment to strike.

Without wasting time, Jeongin speaks up, cutting straight to the point. "We know Yuna was seeing an older guy. Was it an affair?"

Mingi’s eyes gleam with amusement, like he’s enjoying the show. "Eh, you could call it that," he says, waving a dismissive hand. "Yuna seduced one of the professors at the university. Don’t know which one exactly. Then she started blackmailing him for money. They used to meet up at the chapel near campus."

The revelation hits the room like a gut punch. Jisung’s grip on the recorder tightens, his knuckles going white, while Felix’s face twists into a grimace of disgust. Jeongin, usually unshakable, narrows his eyes, taking in the information with a growing sense of unease.

Felix is the first to speak, his voice tight with restrained anger. "What do you remember about the night Yuna disappeared?"

Mingi leans back into the couch, clearly relishing the attention. "Not much," he says lazily, as if discussing the weather. "She left to meet that guy, like she usually did. Next thing I know, cops are at my door the next day, asking questions."

Minho, his patience wearing thin, steps forward, his eyes dark. "That was one of your infamous parties, wasn’t it? What were you doing that night?"

Mingi’s smirk never falters. "Looking after your friend," he says, his voice dripping with mock sincerity. His eyes flick to Jisung. "The girl who’s always stuck to your side."

Jisung’s stomach churns, a cold wave of dread washing over him. "Hayun?"

Mingi nods, still smirking. "Yeah. She drank way too much that night. Passed out pretty early."

Minho’s expression shifts instantly, his eyes narrowing with barely controlled rage. He steps closer to Mingi, his voice low and deadly. "You, a twenty-year-old, were alone in a room with a fourteen-year-old girl?"

For the first time, Mingi’s smirk falters, just slightly, his eyes narrowing in response to the accusation. "I was looking after her," he says defensively, his tone growing sharp. "I wasn’t the only one there. All kinds of people came to my parties. I was doing the right thing."

Minho’s lip curls in disgust, his voice dripping with venom. "A real saint, aren’t you?"

Mingi glares back, his arrogance flaring again. "You wanna accuse me of something? Get proof."

Jisung steps in quickly, sensing the tension about to boil over. "No one’s accusing anyone," he says, trying to keep the peace. "We’re just trying to figure out what happened."

Mingi relaxes slightly but remains on edge. "Good. But I’ll tell you something. Yuna wasn’t just buying from Yeji. She was dealing for her too."

Felix’s jaw drops, his eyes widening in shock. "Wait, what? Yuna was a dealer?"

Mingi nods nonchalantly, as if it’s the most normal thing in the world. "Yeah. She dealt for Yeji on the side. Made decent money, too."

There’s a stunned silence as the group processes this new information, but Mingi doesn’t seem fazed. His eyes flick back to Jisung, a smirk creeping onto his face once again. "Speaking of, where’s Hayun? You three are usually inseparable with that podcast of yours. Did she finally get sick of you?"

Jeongin jumps in quickly, his tone light but firm. "She’s got strep throat. Nasty case. She’s resting up."

Mingi chuckles darkly, clearly not buying it. "Sure she is. Well, tell her to drop by once she’s feeling better. Now that she’s legal, I’m sure we could catch up."

Minho’s entire body tenses at the comment, his eyes flashing with barely contained fury as he steps forward again. "Yeah, that’s not happening."

The tension in the room spikes, thickening like a suffocating blanket. Mingi leans back, clearly amused by the reaction he’s provoked. "Well, if there’s nothing else, you know where to find me. Don’t forget to say hi to Hayun for me."

Jisung, face set in a hard line, clicks off the recorder. "We’re done here."

As they head toward the door, Felix mutters under his breath, "What a fucking creep."

Jeongin nods silently, but Minho lingers by the door for just a second longer, his gaze burning into Mingi’s smug expression. "We’ll be back," he says, his voice cold and threatening.

Mingi just laughs, the sound echoing through the grimy apartment. "I’ll be waiting."

The door slams behind them as they leave, and the cold night air hits them like a slap to the face. Minho’s fists are clenched tightly, his jaw locked, the anger radiating off him in waves as they walk back to the car.

Felix shakes his head, his voice low. "That guy’s bad news. Worse than we thought."

Jeongin finally speaks, his voice quiet but determined. "We need to dig deeper. Something’s not right. We’re not telling Hayun that Mingi said hi or that she should go over, right?”

Jisung doesn’t even hesitate, immediately scoffing as he turns in his seat to look at Jeongin. "Are you out of your mind? Obviously not, pabo," he mutters, smacking Jeongin lightly on the back of the head. "She’d freak. No way in hell are we telling her that creep even mentioned her."

Felix, uncharacteristically quiet for most of the ride, finally speaks up, his voice low but tinged with disgust. “There’s something seriously off about that guy,” he mutters, his eyes hard as he stares at the headrest in front of him. "I don’t know what it is, but... he gives me the creeps. Like, real bad vibes."

Minho’s grip on the steering wheel tightens, his knuckles white as he navigates through the dimly lit streets. His eyes are fixed on the road ahead, but his mind is clearly elsewhere, churning over the events of the evening. "Even if he wasn’t involved in Yuna’s murder or Chaeryeong’s, he’s hiding something. And whatever it is, it’s not good."

Jisung shifts uncomfortably in his seat, glancing out the window as the city blurs by, his brow furrowed. "And I think Hayun knows exactly what it is," he mutters, more to himself than anyone else.

Jeongin turns his head, casting a glance at Minho. “Minho thinks Mingi’s got some kind of blackmail on her,” he says quietly, his tone not quite asking for confirmation but seeking clarity.

Minho doesn’t even glance at him, but his jaw tightens as he nods slightly, his voice clipped. "I asked her. She didn’t answer, but she didn’t need to. Her silence was enough."

Jisung lets out a frustrated sigh, running a hand through his hair, the tangled mess reflecting his own jumbled thoughts. "What the fuck could he have on her that’s kept her quiet for five years? And why wouldn’t she tell us? We’re her friends."

Felix leans forward from the backseat, twisting to face them, his eyes dark with worry. "It’s gotta be something bad, right? To keep her quiet for that long. She must have been scared out of her mind. She still is."

Jeongin, chewing on the inside of his cheek, finally speaks up, his voice quiet but thoughtful. “Mingi’s not going to admit anything. And I doubt Hayun’s gonna come clean about what’s going on anytime soon. She’s always been good at hiding her shit. Way too good.”

Minho’s eyes flash with anger as he changes lanes, weaving through the thinning traffic. His frustration is palpable, barely contained. “Chan and Changbin have been asking around campus. Every time they bring up Mingi’s name, the women they talk to just shut down. Like they’re scared of even being associated with him.”

Jisung frowns, leaning forward in his seat, the tension in his body almost unbearable. "What the fuck did that guy do that makes the female population of campus terrified of him? This isn’t normal."

Minho glances at him for a second, then looks back at the road, his voice dropping. "You should probably ask your sister, Jisung. Lia was close to Mingi. Closer than any of us."

Jisung’s face darkens at the suggestion, his lips pressing into a tight line. His hands ball into fists in his lap as he stares out the window. "Lia wouldn’t keep something like that from me. She’s not that kind of person," he says, though there’s a hint of uncertainty in his voice, like he’s trying to convince himself as much as the others.

Minho’s tone softens, but there’s still an edge of frustration. “If telling the truth would implicate her in something, she would. We’ve all kept secrets, thinking it would save our own skin. And your sister? She’s good at keeping secrets, isn’t she?”

Jisung leans back against his seat, crossing his arms tightly over his chest, the tension in his posture clear. “Yeah, she’s good at keeping secrets,” he admits grudgingly. "I won’t deny that"

Felix shifts uncomfortably, his brow furrowing as he pieces things together. "You think she’s hiding something else? Something bigger?"

Jisung’s gaze flickers with uncertainty, but there’s a hardness in his expression. “I’m not gonna say Lia’s innocent in all this. One thing we’ve learned from doing the podcast is you don’t assume someone’s innocent until you’ve eliminated all the possibilities. But..." He pauses, shaking his head. "If we go in assuming she’s guilty of something, she’ll shut down. We’ll get nothing."

Minho nods, his voice low and calculated. "Exactly. You make the person feel like they’re helping, like they’re on your side. Then they’ll open up."

Jeongin looks between them, the wheels in his mind turning. “If Lia’s hiding something, and it’s connected to Mingi or Yuna, then it’s probably the key to unlocking all of this. She was too close to both of them to not know more than she’s letting on.”

Jisung’s eyes harden, his voice taking on a determined edge. “I’ll talk to her. But we can’t just go in guns blazing. We need to be smart about this. If she’s hiding something... I’ll find out.”

Felix leans back in his seat, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “This is getting messier by the second. If Lia knows something about Mingi, or Yuna, or both, and she’s keeping it from us-”

Minho’s gaze stays fixed on the road, his voice cold but steady. “We’ll figure it out. One way or another.”

A heavy silence settles over the car, the weight of the situation pressing down on them all. Each of them is lost in their own thoughts, the puzzle pieces swirling in their minds but refusing to fit together.

The investigation, once thought to be a simple dive into Yuna’s death, is becoming more tangled with every passing day. Secrets are piling up, and it feels like every lead drags them deeper into a web of lies and danger.

Jeongin breaks the silence again, his voice quieter this time. "You know Hayun’s not gonna talk to us about Mingi unless something big happens, right?"

Jisung sighs, his head dropping back against the headrest. “Yeah, I know. But she’s not safe as long as we don’t know what’s going on. I don’t trust that guy to leave her alone.”

Felix nods in agreement, his expression grim. "The way Mingi talked about her. It wasn’t just creepy. It was dangerous."

Minho’s hands tighten on the steering wheel, his knuckles white. "She’s not going near him. Not while I’m around."

Jisung lets out a long, tired breath. "We need to watch each other’s backs. If Mingi’s involved in Yuna’s death, or Chaeryeong’s, or even something worse, he’s not going to go down without a fight."

Minho doesn’t respond, but the fire in his eyes says everything. They’re not done with Song Mingi. Not by a long shot.

Taglist: @hityoulikebahng @drewsandsebastianswife @fackeraccount @lily-loves-kpop @stilldontknowhoiam

@ziggy1221 @justaspoonofjam @tr-mha-fan

[flwrkid14]

I’d love to see your spin to “Friendly Neighbourhood Robin” by bluethursdays perhaps Tim not only having Gotham rogues owe him but villains like trigon and Darkseid lol

I'm so sorry anon!! I don’t actually know what that post/story is about and I tried looking for it but couldn’t find anything... could you maybe give me a little rundown of what it’s about? or just a general idea of what you’d like me to write? even a link if you have it would help a ton! sorry for the inconvenience!! <33

[allthecanadianpolitics]

Over the past 32 years, painter Frances Foster has seen the view from her studio window shift from old railway yards and rundown factories to trendy businesses, new residents and high-end cars. Inside, however, feels empty. Foster was once one of more than a dozen artists working in the former industrial building. Today, she's one of two left, after narrowly surviving an eviction attempt that led to all the others leaving over the past three years. The owners dropped their case to evict her last year "because they had achieved their goal of evicting the majority of the artists, some of whom had been living in the building for 20-plus years," she said. Montreal, which was named a UNESCO city of design in 2006, has long been known as a haven for artists, thanks to its vibrant culture scene and rock-bottom rents. But as rents rise and former industrial neighbourhoods are redeveloped, some artists are being priced out or evicted as the community searches for creative solutions.

Continue Reading

Tagging @politicsofcanada

[trulybetty]

323 Mulefall Crt. Chapter One | Monday

Pairing: no outbreak!Joel x OFC Word Count: 3,048 Warnings: mentions of alcohol, food, minor mentions of a previous relationship, a brief suggestion of possible cheating, Cousin Joel™️ comes with his own warnings, as does David! Chapter Summary: Cousin Joel has officially arrived on Mulefall Crt. and happenstance has Katie running into both him and Will. AO3: Linked

A/N: it's finally here! Or should I say he's finally here? 😏 This has been in the works for such a long time in collaboration with @rhoorl that it feels surreal to be posting it! We hope you enjoy this as much as Jess and I enjoyed creating these characters! Thank you Jess for allowing me to come play in your sandbox and being such an amazing friend! 💕

x. master list | x. delta landscaping

There wasn’t a drawer in Katie's office that wasn’t open and rifled through. If anyone was to walk in at that moment, they’d think she’d been broken into. However, as she wiped her sweaty brow and tried to catch her breath, it was evident that it was Katie who was responsible.

She checked her watch on her wrist, “Fuck,” she muttered as she noticed the time, she had less than an hour to find the missing USB drive, get back to the office, give Miranda the rundown of the presentation and, oh, squeeze in a drive through visit for a very much needed obnoxious coffee to get through all of the above.

She shoved papers back into drawers, her eyes scanning over the desk one more time. Had she checked her car? Yes, it was the first place she’d looked after it was missing from her office desk. Did she check the kitchen, the place where everything usually ended up getting left to be sorted later? Yes, she’d broken a knob on one of the drawers she’d have to repair later. After the shake-down she’d given the usual spaces she dove back into the mess of her office, tossing aside pens, staplers, and old receipts, cursing herself for not being more organized.

Gritting her teeth, she moved onto the file cabinet that sat under her desk. Each and every drawer yielded nothing but old invoices, her passport which she’d actually been looking for the previous week, and the phone bill she still needed to pay. With a grunt, she sat back in her office chair, idly swinging side to side, trying to remember where she saw it last.

With a heavy sigh of frustration escaping, her eyes wandered towards the large window that framed the view of her front lawn; it had been the main reason for choosing that room as the location of her home office. It was where she mostly worked from, only dropping into the office on occasion. Today was a big presentation for her team, and she was the one leading it and had painstakingly created the deck. Foolishly though, she’d saved it to a USB drive rather than the cloud. Fooling herself into thinking she’d upload it when she was done, which wasn’t the case.

Chewing her lip absentmindedly, she caught sight of Will’s iconic red Jeep pulling up across the street. Despite her current predicament, a small smile tugged at her lips. Will and Benny Miller’s arrival on Mulefall Court all those months back had been a welcome one. If anything, the two brothers and their friends often provided a welcome distraction from the routine of work-from-home life.

Usually, it was Benny with Will, but today it was someone else. Climbing out of the passenger seat was the elusive ‘Cousin Joel’, a character of great interest in the neighbourhood group chat as of late, especially when news of his impending arrival for Benny’s fight later that week was announced.

Curiosity piqued, she leaned forward in her chair, angling to get a better look over her monitor setup at Joel. With his broad shoulders on display, swathed in green plaid unbuttoned to reveal a white t-shirt, he had a rugged charm about him. Sunglasses perched on his nose, he closed the Jeep’s door as he took in the neighbourhood.

However, as if sensing her gaze, Joel suddenly turned, his eyes, though hidden behind his sunglasses, seemed to look directly at her. Despite logic telling her there was no way he could likely see her, panic set in. She dropped to the floor in a frantic attempt to hide, her heartbeat furiously in her chest, and only part of that was due to the idea of being caught. The absurdity of the situation was not lost on her, a grown woman ducking from view over harmless curiosity.

Trying to get her bearings, her attention was taken by the buildup of dust under the desk, cursing the RoboVac for not reaching the far corners. Just as she was backing up to climb up from under her desk, her fingers brushed against something familiar. The USB drive! There, hiding in plain sight, she let out a laugh at the silver lining of her comical dive under the desk bringing her to the reason for running out of the office half an hour ago.

Relief washed over her but was quickly replaced by a sharp pang of pain as she bumped her head on the underside of the desk in her haste to stand up. Rubbing at her head, she made sure she was clear of the desk before she stood to avoid hitting her head again. Standing, she brushed down the front of her pencil skirt from the dust from under her desk. The last thing she needed was to turn up back at the office in a state before the departments' directors.

Running to the kitchen, she grabbed her phone, then made a path back to the front door, picking up the various items she’d strewn upon arriving home. Knitted duster, check, purse, check, car keys, check, and then finally, her heels she’d kicked off as soon as she was over the threshold. Trying to hold her balance, she slipped on the pumps and cursed her panic in leaving the office and forgoing the flats she usually wore for driving.

The mid-day sun was high, casting long shadows over her driveway as she navigated what was becoming the too-familiar obstacle course of loose and warped planks of her porch. Each step was a calculated risk, the heels of her shoes threatening to catch in the gaps. She reminded herself to finally arrange to get it fixed, a mental note she’d made countless times before after Will’s discovery that the whole thing was barely holding on and was likely on the cusp of collapse. A problem for future Katie, right now she needed to get back to the office with the USB.

Checking her tote’s contents, ensuring the USB drive had not moved since she last checked on it only five seconds previously, her focus was interrupted by a voice from across the way, “Hey, Katie!”

It was Will.

He was jogging across the street, a figure trailing behind him looking both ways across the street as they followed. As they approached and as she caught up with what was happening, her heart skipped a beat or two. ‘Cousin Joel’, the man whose all but brief mentions in the neighbourhood had launched a thousand theories and gossip threads in the group chat. He was even more ruggedly handsome up close than the view out of her window and through any of the photos she’d caught sight of at Will’s and the one FaceTime chat she’d briefly been a part of.

He had a casual confidence that was magnetic, and as she tore her attention back to Will, missing the appreciative once-over Joel gave her legs as she was too busy trying to find her voice, suddenly at a loss for words.

“Hey, Will,” she responded, trying to sound composed.

Will, oblivious to her internal struggle over Joel’s presence, gave her a wide smile, “Katie, I wanted you to meet Joel. He’s in town for an overdue vacation and just in time for our Benny’s fight this weekend!” He patted his cousin on the back, and it was evident without knowing, in just how he spoke about his cousin, that Will held him in great regard.

Joel extended his hand, his sunglasses now pushed to the top of his head, his deep brown eyes alight as his smile turned into a friendly smirk as if he was fully aware of the thoughts in her head, “It’s great to finally meet you, Katie,” he shot a look at his cousin, “I’ve heard a lot about you from Will.”

She took his hand, the warmth and firmness of his grip almost made her knees buckle. “So you’re the infamous Cousin Joel we’ve been hearing so much about?” she replied, hoping her voice sounded steadier than she felt.

Joel's smile widened at Katie's question, a spark of amusement flickering in his eyes. “Infamous, huh? I hope Will's been keeping it positive,” he joked, his voice deep and slightly tinged with a flirtatious undertone that wasn’t missed by Will as he raised a humoured eyebrow at Joel’s antics.

Before Katie could open her mouth to try and muster something that might have resembled a coherent sentence the boisterous voice of Benny Miller rang out through the street, “J MONEEEEYYY!! You made it!”

Benny charged across the road and with a running start leapt at Joel, who managed to catch him mid-air without so much as a stumble. Benny’s infectious energy was palpable, even without the wide grin spread across his face.

Suddenly, the air was filled with booming laughter

“Bean,” Joel rumbled, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he returned the hug with equal enthusiasm. “It's good to see you.”

Benny pulled back after a moment and grinned at Katie, “So you got to meet the man, the myth, the legend himself!” he said as he patted Joel’s shoulders, showing him off as if he were

a grand prize. Joel rolled his eyes but the smile never left his face.

“Indeed,” Katie responded, somewhat overwhelmed by the hive of activity that had descended upon her driveway, she was pretty sure several members of the group chat were twitching their blinds at Benny’s rowdy entrance, “but, J Money? Did I hear that right?”

Joel laughed as he shook his head, “It’s a nickname,” Benny swung his arm around Joel’s shoulder in pride, “It’s a long story,” Joel continued flashing Katie another smile that instantly made her stomach flip-flop once more.

Before the conversation could continue, Katie’s phone buzzed in her hands, bringing her back to reality, a reality where she needed to be back in the office doing a presentation in less than forty-five minutes.

“Sorry,” she held up her phone in a way of an apology.

She thought she caught a glint of disappointment across Joel’s face, but she quickly shook it off as just her imagination in the chaos of Benny’s arrival.

“Work?” Will asked, giving her a sympathetic look.

“Yeah,” she mumbled as her eyes skimmed over the message on the screen of her phone before she looked back at Will and Joel. “Unfortunately,” she said, forcing a smile onto her face despite the sinking feeling in her stomach at the weight of its importance rearing its head again. “Big presentation.”

Will nodded sympathetically, but still had a wide smile on his face conveying that he had the utmost confidence she was going to ace it. He had heard her talk about it for weeks, been an ear as she vented, and he knew she was well-prepared despite her fears, “No rest for the wicked.” he quipped with a wink.

“Yeah,” Katie murmured distractedly as she began to dig in her tote for her car keys, cursing how she could misplace them just steps from her front door. One last deep dive of her tote she finally fished them out from the bottom of the bag.

Before she could say anything, Will placed a reassuring hand on Katie’s arm as Benny regaled Joel about his training regime, “You got this Kat.”

She gave him a forced smile, “Thank you,” her phone buzzed again and she sighed, “Okay, I really have to go now.”

It was a quick round of goodbyes, but Katie couldn’t help but feel like she’d gotten lost in Joel’s gaze as he gave her a wide smile telling her it was nice meeting her. But before he could say any more, Benny was dragging him away talking loudly about the preparations for his fight Friday night and asking if Joel would come by the gym for his training session with Frankie. It was impossible not to notice the admiration Benny had for his older cousin from the pep in his step combined with his excitement and infectious enthusiasm that Joel seemed to share.

Reaching her car, Katie allowed herself one last glance back, catching the boys walking up the driveway of Will and Benny’s place. Benny animatedly talking with his hands flying in sparring moves, Will laughing with his head thrown back at something Benny had just said but what caught her breath was Joel watching her with a small smile on his face as he nodded his chin at her in a means of goodbye and a look in his eyes she just couldn’t quite figure out.

“Oh lord,” she muttered to herself feeling her cheeks flush with heat, “you’re a grown woman Katie.” With a deep breath, she opened the car door and took a deep breath as she got herself situated and dialled Miranda as she checked her mirrors and reversed down the driveway.

“Hey, Miranda, I’m on my way back to the office… yeah I’ve got it. We need coffee, what can I get you?”

Katie stretched out her legs across her sectional sofa, sinking into the corner and enjoying the plush cushions nesting her in. Despite the day’s presentation going off without a hitch, the day had been a long one. With a glass of white wine in one hand and a bag of chips in her lap, she settled in hoping to switch her mind off with some trashy TV.

She wasn’t far in on some reality home design show when her phone started to ping persistently. Dropping the bag of chips she picked up her phone from beside her and saw that the group chat was flying back and forth, the notifications already in the double digits.

She squinted at the screen, annoyed she’d left her glasses in the kitchen, as she scrolled through the chat. It mostly consisted of David asking about any and all sightings of ‘Cousin Joel’ and a picture of Joel. One that Katie zoomed in on with a pinch of her fingertips, squinting even further to make sense of the already blurry picture, that looked like it was taken from David and Ty’s house.

Katie: David, did you take this from your bathroom window?! David: 👀 no comment Ty: I stopped him before he got the binoculars out Melissa: has anyone actually seen ‘Cousin Joel’ in the flesh?! Olivia: I saw Ms. Katie with the boys and Joel this morning 😏 David: Katie baby, I need ALL the details!!!

Katie laughed at the enthusiasm of the chat, which turned into a giggle when she saw David’s last message.

Katie: Sorry to disappoint but I’ve got nothing juicy for you. Ran into the boys this morning, that’s all. David: so you’re telling me that sexy man was there and nothing came out of it?! David: Have I not taught you anything?! Olivia: give her a break Dave 😂 Ty: Olivia’s right. Let Katie live! David: give a man something Katie! Ty: Please Katie, he’ll be clawing at the walls for the rest of the night 🤦🏻‍♂️ Olivia: and maybe for the rest of us too… just saying 👀

Katie laughed again as she took a sip of her wine finishing the glass.

Katie: Okay, okay… He was hot, his pictures Melissa dug up do not do him justice David: 💀💀💀🪦 Melissa: Is David okay @Ty? Ty: I think he might be talking in tongues, I’m about to put a Stanley straw under his tongue so he doesn’t choke on it Olivia: This might be first time David has been rendered speechless

The group chat slowing down and some throwing out good night wishes, swiping out of the app and with a loss of interest in the HGTV show of the moment against her better judgement Katie opened Instagram and began to mindlessly scroll through her feed. It was a mix of family and friends’ updates, a few work colleagues and the occasional celebrity. She double-tapped a picture of one of her brothers posing with his dog and was about to swipe away from the app when a picture caught her eye, freezing her mid-motion.

It was Seb. Seb with his arm wrapped around her, Petra. His ex… No, not his ex anymore. The caption underneath read “She said YES! 💍”. There was a flood of congratulations and heart emojis in the comments section which Katie had expanded against her better judgement. She hadn’t realized she still following him since he rarely used social media.

A flood of emotions washed over her—surprise, a twinge of pain, and an odd sense of finality even if their divorce was almost a year out. She remembered their conversations at the start of their relationship, the way he’d always had that far-off look when he ‘joked’ about “the one that got away.” — then as their relationship progressed and things started to plateau and go south Katie tried to convince herself that she could be enough, that their love could be stronger than his past. But in the end, despite three years of marriage, she was just a placeholder until he found his way back to Petra.

Letting out the breath she didn’t know she was holding, she tried to shake off the feelings of inadequacy that threatened to resurface. The engagement announcement was a stark reminder of why she’d packed up her life in Chicago to move to Florida, to a house she bought sight unseen for a fresh start.

Before she could be tempted to go back through his profile page Katie quickly hit the unfollow button, a final act in moving forward.

Switching back to the group chat, she skimmed through the talk of Benny’s fight coming up that Friday. David asking if cigarette pants were appropriate attire and Olivia asking how late these things ran so she could arrange a babysitter.

Throwing her phone back onto the sofa Katie took a deep breath in a moment of reflection. The day had been a long one and filled with the ups and downs of the morning's events without news on Seb. Standing up she turned off the TV and walked back to the kitchen to refill her wine and on the way back she grabbed her glasses and her book she’d started over the weekend, hoping she’d find some distraction in its pages.

[gurokiitty]

if reqs are open, what would happen if the reader managed to escape strade? i can imagine she did her best to act as if she loved him (like if she developed stockholm syndrome) but when least expected, strade finds out she’s gone??

LOL i love drama like that & i just gotta know how he would react!!

i luv your acc ☆〜（ゝ。∂）!!

a/n: thank you for your kind words! i absolutely adore drama too lmao, so i had fun with this. hope you enjoy :3c

{ strade x f! reader }

warnings/tags: generally SFW, stockholm syndrome, psychological and emotional abuse themes, flashbacks, dependency, reader was held captive before ren (to justify why he isn't in this LOL).

After months of careful deception, you learn to mimic signs of affection and dependency, crafting a façade of compliance. Gradually, you familiarize yourself with Strade’s routine, seizing on his rare moments of carelessness. This observation reveals where he hides his keys and the device needed to disarm the shock collar around your neck.

The day finally comes when he leaves you home alone, overly confident in your supposed submission. As his car vanishes down the driveway, a surge of fear and exhilaration grips you. You quickly disarm the shock collar and slip out barefoot, dressed only in the thin tanktop and shorts he provided.

Once outside, the stark reality sets in. Without belongings, money, or means to communicate, you find yourself overwhelmed by uncertainty. The unfamiliar streets and neighbourhood only heighten your sense of vulnerability.

Your deep-seated fear of what Strade might do to anyone who assists you, prevents you from seeking help. Remembering his threats and knowing his capability for cruelty, you avoid involving others as much as possible, fearing that any attempt they make to help could lead them into grave danger.

Upon discovering your absence, Strade's initial disbelief rapidly spirals into rage and paranoia. Anticipating that you might seek police help, he destroys any evidence of your captivity before starting his search.

Despite his rage and sense of betrayal, he is calculated in his approach, reviewing footage from hidden cameras he installed around the house to trace your last known direction. He predicts your likely paths and potential havens, using his intimate knowledge of your behaviours and fears to narrow down his search.

Meanwhile, he may begin to leave cryptic messages in places he suspects you might visit; each laden with intimate references designed to manipulate and unnerve you.

The longer you're free, the more you recognize how deeply your dependence on Strade has become. Every shadow and unfamiliar face triggers a panic that he might be lurking nearby. Despite your desperation for freedom, there's a twisted comfort in the life you left behind.

You find yourself grappling with survival on the outside—seeking food, shelter, and a semblance of normalcy. The harsh practicalities of life make you question whether you can truly exist without the perverse care Strade provided. Amid these struggles, you feel an overwhelming sense of isolation and disorientation.

After wandering the streets aimlessly, you eventually stumble upon a small, rundown shelter for the homeless; where the dim lights and hushed whispers contrast the nighttime silence you've grown accustomed to in his home. Lying on a worn cot, a memory of sleeping in Strade's bed unexpectedly floods your mind.

It was the first night he invited you upstairs, a night that marked a disturbing progression in your captivity—a sign that you had somehow earned his trust or, perhaps more accurately, successfully played into his delusions. This memory was far removed from the stark and unforgiving confines of the basement where you initially spent your days.

It feels surreal now, as distant and detached as a scene from another person's life. The warmth of his bed and the false sense of security he provided starkly contrast with the thin, scratchy blanket provided by the shelter. You remember how he held you close, his breath steady in the quiet room, making you feel, for just a moment, that you were something more than a captive. It was a night when the boundaries of your grim reality seemed blurred, and you almost allowed yourself to forget the bars of your gilded cage.

Now, lying amid the restless stirrings of others seeking shelter, you feel a stark loneliness. Here, there are no arms to hold you, no illusion of safety. You pull the thin blanket tighter around yourself, trying to stifle the shiver that runs through you, not just from the cold, but from the haunting clarity that here, in this place of refuge, you are utterly alone.

The following morning, as the grey light of dawn filters through the shelter's windows, you gather your sparse courage to face another day. Stepping outside, you draw a deep breath, bracing against the cold. Your breath catches in your throat when your eyes land on Strade's truck ominously idling at the curb. He's leaning against it, smoking a cigarette. He startles you—not just by being there, but by his calmness, as if this morning is merely another routine pickup, not the recapture of an escapee. "Good morning," he says, his voice disturbingly casual, as though the recent events were just a minor disruption. The street is mostly deserted; the few early risers are too wrapped up in their morning routines to notice your tense reunion. He pushes off from the truck and steps towards you, his movements controlled, almost gentle. "Let's go home," he says, his words sounding more like an invitation than a command.

As you climb into the truck, the familiar interior greets you—a stark reminder of your first time in this seat, marked by its distinctive coppery smell and the notable absence of a passenger-side handle. When the shelter recedes into the background, a wave of finality washes over you, and tears begin to stream down your face.

Upon reaching his house, Strade quietly guides you inside. As the door locks behind you, it becomes certain that you will never step foot outside again.

[lgbtpopcult]

October 2024 wlw entertainment rundown

TV

Lucky My Love, First episode drops October 28th on YouTube

Everything Now, Netflix, October 5

The Fall of the House of Usher, October 12, 2023

Movies

Tripped Up, October 20,

Books, Games, Music etc.

In A World Of Our Own: Chasing Dreams And Love

Sophia Miller, an openly lesbian supermodel, enjoys her solitary life in the bustling heart of New York City. But when her gay millionaire best friend, Chris Anderson, requests her to play his pretend girlfriend for a family gathering in Texas, she can't refuse. After all, Chris is on the brink of becoming the CEO of the billion-dollar Anderson Corp.

Enter Alissa Anderson, the Oxford and Cambridge-educated, closeted lesbian daughter of the conservative and formidable Henry Anderson. With the CEO position at Anderson Corp now up for grabs, Alissa finds herself in a fierce rivalry with her own brother. Ascending to the top of the family business and shattering traditional gender roles has always been her ultimate dream. However, her well-laid plans begin to unravel when she encounters her brother's "girlfriend" at a pivotal family gathering on their Texas ranch.

When Sophia and Alissa's worlds collide at the Anderson estate, everything is on the line: the coveted CEO position, concealed sexual identities, a sham relationship, and a burgeoning real one that threatens to bloom amidst the chaos.

“Sushi for Empress Setsuko” is a cozy and comedic point & click adventure game and yuri dating sim set in a fantastical Japan-inspired land. Follow Mizumi Nagashima as she travels around the Empire, seeing gorgeous views, catching delicious fish, and charming beautiful women.

RELEASE DATE:

3 Oct, 2023

Iris Kelly Doesn't Date

A fake relationship after a horrible one-night stand is anything but an act in this witty and heartfelt new romantic comedy by Ashley Herring Blake.

Everyone around Iris Kelly is in love. Her best friends are all coupled up, her siblings have partners that are perfect for them, and her parents are still blissfully married. And she’s happy for all of them, truly. Iris doesn’t want any of that—dating, love, romance. She’ll stick to her commitment-free hookups, thanks very much, except no one in her life will just let her be. Everyone wants to see her settled down, but she holds firmly to her no dating rule. There’s only one problem—Iris is a romance author facing an imminent deadline for her second book, and she’s completely out of ideas.

Perfectly happy to ignore her problems as per usual, Iris goes to a bar in Portland and meets a sexy stranger, Stefania, and a night of dancing and making out turns into the worst one-night stand Iris has had in her life. To get her mind off everything, Iris tries out for the lead role in a local play, a queer retelling of Much Ado About Nothing, but comes face-to-face with Stefania, whose real name turns out to be Stevie. Desperate to save face in front of her friends, Stevie asks Iris to play along as her girlfriend. Iris is shocked, but when she realizes the arrangement might provide her with some much-needed romantic content for her book, she agrees. As the two women play the part of a happy couple, lines start to blur, and they’re left wondering who will make the real first move....

Moonlight in Garland is a cozy open-ended life-sim video game that sees you making a new life in the bustling metropolis of Garland. Find an apartment and make it perfectly yours, befriend your neighbours, grow your urban garden, solve community problems and experience all the weirdly wonderful stuff that city living offers.

Of course, city life isn’t all farmers markets and fancy coffee. Will you step in to stop the heritage building from being torn down and preserve a piece of history? Look after the neighbourhood so more residents stick around? Figure out which jerk is stealing packages from the mail room? Be swept up in a whirlwind romance along the way?